selves on the open plain, they sprawl upon the ground,
choked with the grass, and cropped and trampled on by beasts, until at
length they perish. But placed in woods or hedgerows, they clasp with
their living tendrils, or embrace with their whole bodies, their
vigorous neighbors, climb to the light and sunshine by their aid,
display their blossoms, and bear their rich delicious fruit in full
perfection. And we are like these trees. We must have support from
others, or perish.

This is not all. Even the stoutest and strongest trees, such as the oak,
the ash, and the sycamore, do best in company. Plant those trees in
groves, and guard them from the crushing steps and greedy maws of
cattle, and they grow up tall, and straight, and smooth. They shield
each other from the stormy winds, and they show a sort of silent
emulation, each raising its head as high as possible, to catch the
freshest air and the fullest streams of light. But plant one of those
trees alone in the open field, and leave it unfenced and unguarded, and
the probability is, it will perish. If it should escape destruction, its
growth will be retarded, and its form will be disfigured. It will have
neither size nor comeliness. It will be cropped by the cattle, and bent
and twisted by the winds; it will be stunted and dwarfed, crooked and
mis-shapen, knotted and gnarled, neither pleasant to the eye, nor good
for timber. Not one in a thousand would ever become a tall, a straight,
and a majestic tree.

Mr. Darwin says, that on some large tracts on which, while they were
unenclosed and unprotected, there was not a tree to be seen, there soon
appeared, after the land was enclosed by a fence, a countless multitude
of fine Scotch firs. The seeds of these trees had been sown by some
means, and they had germinated, and the embryo trees had sprung up; but
the cattle had cropped the tender shoots, or crushed and trampled them
down, and not one had been able to raise its head above the grass or
heather. On looking down and searching carefully among the heather, he
found in one square yard of ground, no fewer than thirty-two small
trees, one of which had been vainly trying to raise its head above the
heather for six and twenty years. After this tract of land had been
enclosed for awhile, it was covered thick with a countless multitude of
fine young trees. And so it is with Christians. Leave them in the open
common of the world, and they gradually come down to a level with