suddenly upon the stillness, a distant boom and
splash, awakening every creature. Then the silence again closes down and
we know that a cypress, perhaps linking a trio of centuries, has yielded
up its life.

Leaving the hundred other mysteries which the trees of the tropics might
unfold, let us consider for a moment the danger which the tall, successful
tree invites,--the penalty which it pays for having surpassed all its
other brethren. It preeminently attracts the bolts of Jove and the lesser
trees see a blinding flash, hear a rending of heart wood, and when the
storm has passed, the tree, before perfect in trunk, limbs, and foliage,
is now but a heap of charred splinters.

Many a great willow overhanging the banks of a wide river could tell
interesting tales of the scars on its trunk. That lower wound was a deep
gash cut by some Indian, perhaps to direct a war-party making their way
through the untrodden wilderness; this bare, unsightly patch was burnt out
by the signal fire of one of our forefather pioneers. And so on and on the
story would unfold, until the topmost, freshly sawed-off limb had for its
purpose only the desire of the present owner for a clearer view of the
water beyond.

Finally we come to the tree best beloved of us in the north,--the
carefully grafted descendant of some sour little wild crab-apple. A
faithful servant indeed has the monarch of the old orchard proved. It has
fed us and our fathers before us, and its gnarled trunk and low-hanging
branches tell the story of the rosy fruit which has weighed down its limbs
year after year. Old age has laid a heavy hand upon it, but not until the
outermost twig has ceased to blossom, and its death, unlike that of its
wild kindred, has come silently and peacefully, do we give the order to
have the tree felled. Even in its death it serves us, giving back from the
open hearth the light and heat which it has stored up throughout the
summers of many years.

Let us give more thought to the trees about us, and when possible succour
them in distress, straighten the bent sapling, remove the parasitic
lichen, and give them the best chance for a long, patient, strong life.

In the far North stands a Pine-tree, lone,
Upon a wintry height;
It sleeps; around it snows have thrown
A covering of white.

It dreams forever of a Palm
That, far i' the morning-land,
Stands s