Part 10

The most important, though not the largest, of the American trees of the Oak family, and the one that is most like the English tree, is the American White Oak. It puts forth its branches at a comparatively small height, not in a horizontal direction, like the white pine, but extending to great length with many a crook, and presenting the same knotted and gnarled appearance for which the English oak is celebrated. Individual trees of this species differ so widely in their ramification that it would be difficult to select any one as the true type. Some are without a central shaft, being subdivided at a small height into numerous large branches, diverging at rather a wide angle from a common point of junction, like the elm. Others send up their trunk nearly straight to the very summit of the tree, giving out lateral branches from all points almost horizontally. There is a third form that seems to have no central shaft, because it is so greatly contorted that it can only be traced among its subordinate branches by the most careful inspection. The stature of the White Oak, when it has grown in an isolated situation, is low, and it has a wider spread than any other American tree.

The leaves of the White Oak are marked by several oblong, rounded lobes, without deep sinuosities. They turn to a pale chalky red in the autumn, remain on the tree all winter, and fall as the new foliage comes out in the spring. The tree may be readily distinguished from other oaks by the light color and scaly surface of the bark, without any deep corrugations. In Massachusetts very few standard White Oaks have escaped the axe of the “timberer,” on account of the great demand for the wood of this species. Were it not for the protection afforded by men of wealth to oaks in their own grounds, all the large standards would soon be utterly destroyed. Democracy, though essential to republican liberty, is fatal to all objects which are valuable for their poetic or picturesque qualities. It has no foresight, and no sentimental reverence for antiquity. It perceives the value of an object for present use; but it disdains to look forward to the interest of a coming generation. In regard to nature, what is called progress in America is only another name for devastation. How great soever the political evil of large estates, it is evident that in proportion to their multiplication will be the increased protection afforded to our trees and forests, as well as to the birds and quadrupeds that inhabit them.

THE SWAMP OAK.

The Swamp Oak bears resemblance in many points to the White Oak; but it has less breadth, and abounds in strangling branches growing from the trunk just below the junction of the principal boughs. This gnarled and contorted growth is one of the picturesque appendages of the Swamp Oak, distinguishing it from all the other species, and rendering it an important feature in a wild and rugged landscape. This cluster does not, like the vinery of the elm, clothe the whole extent of the bole, but resembles an inferior whorl of branches below the principal head. Above it, the tree forms rather a cylindrical head, and the principal branches are short compared with those of other oaks.

The leaves of this tree bear some resemblance to those of the chestnut. They are almost entire, and bluntly serrated, rather than scalloped. They are of a slightly reddish green when mature, and turn to a leather-color in the autumn. Trees of this species are at the present time very prominent objects of the landscape in Eastern Massachusetts, where they are very frequent in half-cleared lands that lie only a little above the sea level and contain considerable clay. The Swamp Oak in some favorable soils attains great size; but in New England, though an interesting object in scenery, it is only a tree of second magnitude. The Chestnut Oak is not uncommon around New Bedford and many other parts of New England, but it is not an inhabitant of the woods near Boston.

THE RED OAK.

The Red Oak is the largest of the genus belonging to American woods, and the least useful for any purposes except those of shade and ornament. It is very regular and well proportioned, having a remarkably wide spread, and branches comparatively but little contorted. It is taller than the white oak, and does not branch so near the ground; but it possesses in a high degree that expression of majesty for which the oak is celebrated. The scarcity of trees of this species by our roadsides is remarkable, since they display the union of so many of the qualities which are desirable in a shade-tree. The Red Oak thrives well on a poor soil, and grows with great rapidity; its foliage is very beautiful, and deeply cleft, like that of the scarlet oak, though larger, and its reddish-purple tints in the autumn are hardly inferior. Perhaps the scarcity of oaks in general by the wayside is owing to the peculiar shape of their roots, which extend to a great depth in the soil, and render the trees very difficult to be transplanted. Hence the wayside oaks are such as have come up spontaneously in the places they occupy, and were there when the road was laid out.

THE SCARLET OAK.

The Scarlet Oak in many points resembles the one I have just described. Like the red oak, its branches are regular and comparatively free from contortions, and the quality of its timber is inferior. The leaves are distinguished from those of all other species by their deep sinuosities, being almost like the skeletons of a leaf, the lobes terminating in narrow teeth with long sharp points. This tree is greatly admired in landscape, and on large estates it is constantly preserved as an ornament. Its chief attraction is the bright color of its autumn foliage; but the fine gloss and deep verdure of its leaves in summer are very beautiful. It turns in autumn to a dark crimson, not a scarlet, as the name would imply. It could not justly be named scarlet, save when it is brightened by sunshine, which adds to all crimson foliage a little gold. But as the oaks are very late in assuming their autumnal tints, and are not in their brightest condition until the maples have faded, the Scarlet Oak, when it has attained its full splendor, is the most beautiful tree of the forest.

There are certain trees which we do not highly value in landscape as single individuals, while they attract our attention in assemblages. Our hills, for example, in some parts of the country, are nearly covered with a growth of Scrub Oak, or Bear Oak. They are not ornamental as single trees, and they are prone to usurp the whole ground, excluding that charming variety of shrubs which constitutes the beauty of our half-wooded hills.

THE BLACK OAK.

It is not my intention to enumerate all the species of this genus; but I must give a passing notice to the Black Oak, because it is a common and very large tree in favorable situations. It has been named Black Oak on account of the very dark color of its outer bark; and Yellow Oak,—a name quite as common as the other,—from the yellow color of its inner bark, which produces the _quercitron_ used by dyers. It may also have been so called from the yellowish leather-color of its leaves in the autumn, resembling the color of a dry oak-leaf. Many large trees of this species are found in the New England States. In Kentucky it is named Black Jack, and constitutes the principal timber of those extensive tracts called Oak Barrens.

THE LAUREL.

Of the Laurel, so celebrated in the romance of classical literature, there are only two species in the New England States,—the Benzoin and the Sassafras. But those two shrubs, being deciduous, are not associated in the minds of the people with the true Laurel. They have given this name to the Kalmia, which is evergreen and bears a superficial resemblance to the Laurel of the poets. A curious fact is related by Phillips, in his “Sylva Florifica,” of the Laurel, which may not be out of place in these pages. In the Middle Ages, favorite poets, who were generally minstrels, were crowned with wreaths of Laurel branches containing the berries; and this custom was imitated in colleges, when they conferred a degree upon graduating students. “Students,” says Phillips, “who have taken their degrees at the Universities, are called _bachelors_, from the French _bachelier_, which is derived from the Latin _baccalaureus_,—a laurel-berry. These students were not allowed to marry, lest the duties of husband and father should take them from their literary pursuits; and in time all single men were called bachelors.”

THE SASSAFRAS.

The Sassafras-tree is usually a shrub in this part of the country, abounding in almost all woods, and very generally sought for the pleasant aromatic savor of the bark. Occasionally I have seen the Sassafras growing to the height of a middle-sized tree in Massachusetts, but it rarely attains such dimensions except in the Middle and Southern States. All the large trees in this region have perished, and I have not seen one since my boyhood, when there were many of them. I am therefore led to believe that the changes in our climate consequent upon the general clearing of the forest, whatever their general effects may be, have not been favorable to the Sassafras, which has become extinct as a tree in this latitude.

The Sassafras often attains the height of sixty feet in the Southern States, and nearly forty feet in the country round Philadelphia. The leaves, when young, are downy, very deeply lobed, mucilaginous, and aromatic. The flowers are greenish, inconspicuous, and only slightly fragrant. The berries are of a bright blue color, and are the favorite food of some small birds. On account of its agreeable aromatic properties, the Sassafras became known to the Europeans at an early period, and was very generally employed in medicine. At present it is simply used as an aromatic stimulant. Gerard calls it the ague-tree, and it was believed to be efficacious in the cure of many diseases. There is a tradition that the odors of the Sassafras, wafted from the American shore, led Columbus to believe that land was near, and encouraged him and his mutinous crew to persevere on their voyage.

THE BENZOIN.

The Benzoin is never more than a middle-sized shrub, sometimes, though rarely, attaining the height of eight or ten feet. It is not branching, but sends up its long stems, like some of the dwarf willows, directly from the root, without assuming a tree form. We often find these long branches covered with foliage from the root to the extremity. The leaves are of a handsome ovate form, and are highly aromatic, but differ essentially from the Sassafras in their odor. The berries have been used as spice for culinary purposes.

CLIPPED HEDGE-ROWS.

No art connected with gardening has been so generally ridiculed in modern times as the topiary art, or that of vegetable sculpture. It is certainly not worthy of defence; and yet it seems to me quite as rational to cut out a figure in box or yew, as to shear the branches of a hedge-row to reduce it to architectural proportions. I cannot see why vegetable architecture is any more rational than vegetable sculpture. I cannot see why those persons who admire a clipped hedge-row should object to an “Adam and Eve in yew,” or a “Green Dragon in box,” nor why those who are willing to torture a row of shrubbery by this Procrustean operation should not be pleased with a “Noah’s Ark in holly,” or an “old maid-of-honor in wormwood,” as described in Pope’s satire. Of the two operations, I consider the one that still maintains its ground in popular taste the most senseless. “An old maid-of-honor in wormwood” would at least have the merit of being ridiculous; but a clipped hedge-row is simply execrable, without affording any amusement.

TREES AS ELECTRIC AGENTS.

To a poetical mind there is no exercise more agreeable than that of tracing in the economy of Nature certain trains of causes and effects that seem to represent her as a kind benefactor, aiming to promote the happiness of all creatures. While we treat of the beauty of trees and of their capacity to afford shelter, shade, and salubrity, it is pleasant, while continuing our observations, to find no end to the advantages that flow from them. We have studied them as the beautifiers of landscape, as the sources of vitality and salubrity in the atmosphere, as our shade in summer and our shelter in winter; as the cause of equability, both of temperature and of moisture. We may also discover in them and their branches an infinite number of lightning-rods, presenting millions of points both for the discharge and the absorption of electricity. Trees differ from other plants in this respect only by presenting their points at a greater elevation, where they can act more immediately upon the clouds.

Trees, especially in dense assemblages, may therefore, in frequent instances, be the immediate occasion of showers, by conducting to the earth the electric fluid of the clouds, and inducing that non-electric state which precedes the discharge of rain. This seems to be effected by electric disorganization. An _organized_ cloud is an aggregation of vaporous particles, which are suspended in the atmosphere and held in a state of _union without contact_. Being in a similarly electrified condition, they are kept separate by that law of electricity which causes two pith-balls, suspended by threads, when similarly electrified, to repel each other at certain distances. All those clouds that show a definite and organized arrangement, and resemble feathers or lace, are charged with electricity. As they accumulate they lose their symmetrical arrangement, but do not mix, until some object, charged with opposite electricity, comes near them and draws from the mass its electric fluid, when the vaporous particles, losing their mutual repulsion, immediately coalesce and descend in rain.

To illustrate the action of trees in producing showers, we will suppose a dense electric cloud to be passing over a dry plain containing only a few trees. Not meeting with any conducting objects of appreciable force on its journey, it remains suspended in the heavens until it reaches either a large collection of water, or encounters a forest, over which, as over a lake, there rests always, in calm weather, a stratum of invisible moisture, which is a powerful conducting agent. The trees, with their numerous vegetable points, and the vapor that overspreads them, combine their force in drawing down the electric fluid from the cloud passing over, causing the whole mass to descend in showers. The damp stratum of air which, in still weather, rests upon the surface of every large sheet of water, being a powerful conductor, serves to explain a phenomenon often observed in a dry season near the coast. A dense electric cloud is seen to pass over our heads, without shedding a drop of rain, until it reaches the ocean, when the humid air above the waves, acting as a conductor, causes the cloud to part with its electric fluid and to fall in copious showers at the same moment.

Occasionally a similar cloud, after rising in the west about thirty degrees, will be turned from its direct course, and repelled by the dry, heated atmosphere resting on the plain, and, attracted by the invisible cloud of moisture that hovers over the river valley, is seen to take the course of the river in its journey toward the sea. Hence it is notorious that in a very dry time the rivers obtain more showers than the plains, and the wooded mountainous regions more than the open and level country. And we may regard it as a happy accident in the economy of nature, that trees should be the most serviceable in nearly all other respects, hardly less than as electric agents, upon those situations which are of the least value for the purposes of agriculture. Their branches on lofty ridges and elevations, extending near the level of the lower clouds, are like so many lightning-rods on the buildings of an elevated city, and exert a powerful influence in conducting the electric fluid from an overcharged atmospheric stratum, and preventing, in some degree, those accumulations that produce thunder-storms. Nature employs this grand vegetable apparatus as one of the means of preserving that equilibrium, both of moisture and electricity, which cannot be greatly disturbed without dangerous commotions.

I have said nothing of trees as a protection from lightning; but there are many curious facts and superstitions on record in relation to this point. “When a thunder-storm threatened,” as Suetonius relates, “Tiberius never failed to wear a crown of laurel-leaves, impressed with the belief that lightning never touched the leaves of this tree.” The general opinion that certain trees are exempt from the stroke of lightning is very ancient. It probably originated in some religious ideas of their sanctity, and men in more enlightened times have endeavored to explain it by philosophy, instead of rejecting it as fable. It was affirmed by Hugh Maxwell, an American writer, that lightning often strikes the elm, the chestnut, the oak, the pine, and less frequently the ash; but it always evades the beech, the birch, and the maple. Captain Dibdin remarks, in a letter to Alexander Wilson, that in the forests of Virginia the pines, though taller than the oaks, were less frequently injured by lightning, and considers them pretty secure when growing among oaks. These accounts by different writers are too various and contradictory to be of much value in aiding us to discover the truth. It is probable that the partial exemption of certain trees from the stroke of lightning, if any such accounts be true, depends on their size and shape. A tall tree in an assemblage would be more exposed than the others. It may also be supposed that if a tree has a regular ramification, smooth and straight branches and trunk, it is better formed for a conductor, and that it would be more liable to receive a charge of the fluid. But all these opinions are probably of the same character with those respecting the antipathy of serpents for certain trees,—traditionary notions which are hardly worthy of investigation. The opinion of the ancients concerning the immunity of the laurel was probably derived from their idea of its sanctity as the tree which was dedicated to Apollo. At the present day there exists in Italy a similar notion concerning the white grapevine. Some of the peasantry of that country are accustomed to twining its branches around the head and waist as a protection from a thunder-stroke.

Trees are generally believed to protect a house adjoining them from lightning; on the contrary, it is known that men and animals seeking refuge under a tree in an open plain are in greater danger than outside of it. The lightning is therefore probably conducted by the water passing down on the surface of the branches and trunk; for if the tree itself were the conductor, the lightning would pass through the trunk into the ground, and, like a lightning-rod, act as a protection to objects near, but not in contact with it. Dr. Franklin thought the safest place a few yards distant from a tree, and a little outside of its widest spread. It is unsafe to stand under the drip of a tree, which might convey to the person an electric charge. It was the opinion of M. Arago, that trees overtopping houses at small distances cannot be regarded as affording sure protection, like a properly adjusted lightning-rod; but he admitted that when a storm passes over a forest it is decidedly enfeebled. The forest certainly diminishes the power of a thunderbolt. The security derived from trees attaches principally to large assemblages. Though a house may receive but little protection from a few tall trees standing near it, it is not to be denied that a village or hamlet is rendered more secure by adjoining woods.

THE GROUND LAUREL.

There is only one Epigea in this country,—a very fragrant and beautiful species, creeping close to the ground, and bearing dense clusters of pearly flowers, edged with crimson. The flowers are not unlike those of some of the heaths, though of larger size. It grows abundantly in many parts of New England, particularly around Plymouth, and in various localities from Canada to Georgia. It is a creeping shrub, occupying dry knolls in swampy land, and growing along on the edges of the swamp upon the upland soil. The leaves are almost round, evergreen, light-colored and slightly russet, partially overlapping the dense clusters of flowers, that possess a great deal of beauty and emit an odor like that of hyacinths.

No plant has more celebrity among our people than the Ground Laurel, the earliest of all our wild flowers. I cannot consent to apply to it the common unmeaning name of “Mayflower,” thus associating it with the fetid Mayweed, and falsifying its character by an anachronism that assigns to the month of May a flower belonging to April. The name of Mayflower, as applied to the Epigea, means nothing except what is false. Almost all our early flowers belong especially to the month of May. This is distinguished from them by appearing almost alone in April. Its popular appellation is a plain misnomer; and as an apology for it, the name is said to have been given to it by the Pilgrims, in commemoration of the ship that brought them to this country. I cannot believe the Pilgrims ever took any notice of it. Mayflower is a name that originated with some ignorant people, who could not think of any better name than the one it bears in common with fifty other species.

THE BEARBERRY.

The Bearberry is a more common plant, and more elegant in its foliage, with less conspicuous flowers, than the ground laurel. This plant covers extensive tracts on the borders of woods and partially under their protection. The foliage, resembling that of the box, has always been admired, and nothing makes a neater or more beautiful covering of the turfs which it adorns. The Bearberry is a native of both continents. It abounds in light sandy soils, forming a frequent undergrowth of a pitch-pine wood. The berries are eaten by quails and robins in winter, when they can seldom find any animal food except a few dormant insects.

THE CHECKERBERRY.

The Checkerberry is peculiarly an American plant, well known by its pleasant aromatic flavor, its shining evergreen leaves, its delicate white flowers, and its scarlet berries. There are no wild fruits so attractive to young persons, from the time they begin to redden in the autumn, and all through the winter, when the ground is open, until they are seen hanging on the vine with the blossoms of spring. Indeed, this fruit is not perfected until it has remained on the bush during the winter. The severest cold has no effect upon it; and the berries increase in size, after the spring opens, until they become as large as strawberries.

This plant is very abundant in all woods in New England, and seems to be confined to no particular soil or situation. Indeed, I doubt whether another woody plant can be found so generally distributed throughout the New England forest. If it has any preferences, they seem to be the lower slopes of wooded hills and mountains. But I have seen it in all locations where it can enjoy the protection of trees, in evergreen as well as deciduous woods; for though the leaves of the pine prevent the growth of any considerable underwood, the Checkerberry is always abundant in the openings of a pine forest.

THE BEECH.