authority, the
avenues of pin-oaks are a splendid feature of the great boulevards which
are serving already as a model to the whole country. Let us plant oaks,
and relieve the monotony of too many maples, poplars and horse-chestnuts
along our city and village highways.

I like, too, to see the smooth little acorns of the pin-oak before the
leaves drop; they seem so finished and altogether pleasing, and with the
leaves make a classical decorative motive worth more attention from
designers.

While I am innocent of either ability or intent to write botanically of
the great oak family, I ought perhaps to transcribe the information that
the flowers we see--if we look just at the right time in the
spring--are known as "staminate catkins,"--which, being interpreted,
means that there are also pistillate flowers, much less conspicuous, but
exceedingly necessary if acorns are to result; and also the fact that
the familiar "pussy-willow" of our acquaintance is the same form of
bloom--the catkin, or ament. I ought to say, too, that some of the oaks
perfect acorns from blossoms in one year, while others must grow through
two seasons before they are mature. Botanically, the oak family is
nearly a world family, and we Americans, though possessed of many
species, have no monopoly of it. Indeed, if I may dare to refer the
reader to that great storehouse of words, the Encyclopaedia Britannica, I
think he will find that the oak is there very British, and that the
English oak, surely a magnificent tree in England anyway, is
patriotically glorified to the writer.

But we want to talk of some of our own oaks. The one thoroughly
characteristic is surely the noble white oak, a tree most admirable in
every way, and most widely distributed over the Northern States. Its
majestic form, as it towers high above the ordinary works of man,
conveys the repose of conscious strength to the beholder. There is a
great oak in Connecticut to which I make pilgrimages, and from which I
always get a message of rest and peace. There it stands, strong,
full-powered, minding little the most furious storms, a benediction to
every one who will but lift his eyes. There it has stood in full majesty
for years unknown, for it was a great oak, so run the title-deeds, way
back in 1636, when first the white man began to own land in the
Connecticut Valley. At first sight it seems not large, for its perfect
symmetry conceals its great size; but its impression grows as on