Part 12

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.

The Beech is a common tree in all our woods, where it is distinguished by the length and size of its smooth clean shaft, which is often perceptibly ribbed or fluted. In dense assemblages these columns, rising to the height of sixty or seventy feet, are very striking, and the more so when the land is covered entirely with Beech timber. The suckering habit of this tree and its vigorous constitution are the important cause of its predominance in any tract that is occupied by it, and the close matting of leaves that covers the ground under a beechen wood prevents any abundance of undergrowth. The same inconvenient habit is the cause of its rareness in dressed grounds. George Barnard says of the English Beech: “In no tree are the decaying hues of autumn more beautiful than in the Golden Beech, its foliage changing from green to the brightest orange, then to glowing red, and eventually to a russet brown, in which state the leaves remain on the tree through the winter.” The leaf of the American Beech, on the contrary, is remarkably dull in its autumnal tints. It turns to a rusty yellow in the autumn, gradually fades to a leather-color, and drops from the tree near midwinter.

The style and spray of the Beech, as observed in its denuded state, are worthy of particular study. The lower branches of the tree are generally very long and rather slender. They take an almost horizontal direction when they start from the tree, but soon make a curvature by turning regularly upwards, and causing a peculiar primness in their general appearance. Every small twig also turns upwards, pointed with elongated leaf-buds, resembling so many little spears. The terminal branches, forming the spray, are very numerous and slender, and remarkably beautiful. The Beech, when in full leaf, is seen to the best advantage where it skirts the edge of a wood, if it has grown up there since the original clearing. In that situation we perceive the elegant sweep of its branches, and the upright character of its leaves, each leaf pointing obliquely upwards in the direction of the spray, instead of hanging loosely in all ways, like the foliage of the large-leaved poplars. Deciduous trees have generally a drooping foliage, and the want of this habit in the Beech gives it a very lively appearance. The heaviness attributed by Gilpin to the English tree is not observed in the American Beech; on the contrary, it is remarkable for a certain airiness, seldom putting forth its branches in masses, but in such a manner that every spray may be traced by the long upright rows of leaves.

I should hesitate in saying that on cultivated ground, and as a standard, the Beech would display those qualities which are most admired. It is chiefly interesting by the woodside, or skirting the banks of a stream. The stiffness of its foliage renders it ungraceful as a solitary standard. It may be remarked, in its favor, that it differs so widely in its ramification from other deciduous trees as to add a pleasing variety to any miscellaneous assemblage of species. I can easily believe that it is not a favorite resort for birds; for its branches are too long and slender for their convenience, and its foliage too thin to give them a feeling of seclusion. If I were to plant a grove of beeches, I would select the crumbling banks of watercourses, where the trees would bind the fragile soil with their roots and cover the banks and the hillside with a beautiful wood and an agreeable shade.

The tendency of the Beech to produce mosses and lichens upon its trunk and branches has been observed by the earliest writers. It is also a matter of common observation among woodmen. No such growth, however, is seen upon beeches that stand alone or in an open grove. These parasites are generated by the dampness of a thick forest; and they attach themselves equally to the bark of other trees in the same damp situations, but cannot adhere to it if it be rough or scaly. The smooth bark of the Beech, and of the red maple while it is young, permits such plants to foster themselves upon it, and adhere to it without disturbance.

THE RUSTIC LANE AND WOODSIDE.

Nature is greatly indebted to Art for many of her attractions, if it has not been exercised for the purpose which is effected by it. We see this not only in wood-paths, which all will agree are the most delightful parts of a wood, but in many other operations of a rude agriculture, more especially in the rustic lane. It is no matter whether the lane be bordered by trees and shrubbery, or only by a plain wooden fence or loose stone-wall, provided for several seasons it has been entirely neglected. It must have been long enough under nature’s spontaneous action to restore that condition of the turf that precedes cultivation, to green the borders with ferns and mosses, and to gem their velvety heaps with anemones and violets. The nice trimming and weeding which are generally apparent in all the paths and avenues of a country-seat or a model farm deprive them of the attractions of the rustic lane. No matter how many flowers are cultivated in the borders of one of these trim avenues, it is, after all, only an exhibition of splendor and luxury. It delights the eye, but it cannot win the heart. It is only a conservatory of elegance; it is not a paradise.