maple, as well as of the richest
and warmest hue. Particularly in New England does this maple provide a
notable spring color showing.

[Illustration: Young leaves of the red maple]

The leaves of the red maple--it is also the swamp maple of some
localities--as they open to the coaxing of April sun and April
showers, have a special charm. They are properly red, but mingled with
the characteristic color is a whole palette of tints of soft yellow,
bronze and apricot. As the little baby leaflets open, they are shiny and
crinkly, and altogether attractive. One thinks of the more aristocratic
and dwarfed Japanese maples, in looking at the opening of these
red-brown beauties, and it is no pleasure to see them smooth out into
sedate greenness. Again, in fall, a glory of color comes to the leaves
of the red maple; for they illumine the countryside with their scarlet
hue, and, as they drop, form a brilliant thread in the most beautiful of
all carpets--that of the autumn leaves. I think no walk in the really
happy days of the fall maturity of growing things is quite so pleasant
as that which leads one to shuffle through this deep forest floor
covering of oriental richness of hue.

As the ground warms and the sun searches into the hearts of the buds,
the Norway maple, familiar street tree of Eastern cities, breaks into a
wonderful bloom. Very deceptive it is, and taken for the opening foliage
by the casual observer; yet there is, when these flowers first open, no
hint of leaf on the tree, save that of the swelling bud. All that soft
haze of greenish yellow is bloom, and bloom of the utmost beauty. The
charm lies not in boldness of color or of contrast, but at the other
extreme--in the delicacy of differing tints, in the variety of subtle
shades and tones. There are charms of form and of fragrance, too, in
this Norway maple--the flowers are many-rayed stars, and they emit a
faint, spicy odor, noticeable only when several trees are together in
bloom. And these flowers last long, comparatively; so long that the
greenish yellow of the young leaves begins to combine with them before
they fall. The tints of flower and of leaf melt insensibly into each
other, so that, as I have remarked before, the casual observer says,
"The leaves are out on the Norway maples,"--not knowing of the great
mass of delightful flowers that have preceded the leaves above his
unseeing eyes. I emphasize this, for I hope some of my readers may be on
the outloo