sts with those who
care for trees, not alone with those who ought to care. To talk about
the greatness and beauty of a fine oak or maple or tulip, to call
attention to its shade value, and to appeal to the cupidity of the
ground owner by estimating how much less his property will be worth
when the trees are gone or have been mishandled, will aid to create the
necessary public sentiment. And to provide wise laws, as may be often
done with proper attention, is the plain duty and the high privilege of
the tree-loving citizen. The trees are defenseless, and they are often
unreplaceable; if you love them protect them as you would your children.

The white-oak leaf is the most familiar and characteristic, perhaps, of
the family; but other species, close to the white oak in habit, show
foliage of a very different appearance. The swamp white oak, for
instance, is a noble tree, and in winter particularly its irregular
branches give it an especial expression of rugged strength as it grows
along a brookside; but its leaves smooth up on the edges, giving only a
hint of the deep serrations that typify its upland brother. Deeply green
above are these leaves and softly white below, and in late summer there
appears, here and there, on a stout stem, a most attractive acorn of
large size. Its curious cup gives a hint, or more than a hint, as to the
special designating character of another oak, the mossy-cup or bur. This
latter species is beautiful in its habit, rich in its foliage, and the
fringed or mossed acorns are of a remarkable size.

[Illustration: An old post-oak]

Of all the oaks, the sturdy but not lofty post-oak spreads the richest
display of foliage. Its peculiar habit leads to the even placing of its
violoncello-shaped leaves, and its generous crop of acorns gives added
distinction in late summer. It is fine in the forest, and a notable
ornament anywhere.

It has been said that a proper penance for an offending botanist would
be a compulsory separation and description of the involved and
complicated goldenrod family; and I would suggest that a second edition
of the same penance might be a requirement to name off-hand the first
dozen oak trees the same poor botanist might meet. So much do the
foliage, the bark, and the habit of growth vary, and so considerable is
the difference between individuals of the same species, that the wisest
expert is likely to be the most conservative. An unbotanical observer,
who comes at the f