Part 7

The PLUM-TREE, in connection with the orchard, hardly deserves mention; but there are two indigenous species which in some places are conspicuous objects in our fields. The beach-plum requires no description. It is a low shrub, very common on many parts of the New England coast and on the islands around it. There is nothing remarkable in its appearance or in the beauty of its fruit, which is of a dark-blue color and about the size of damsons. The other species is a tree of considerable size, which is very beautiful when covered with its ripe scarlet berries. In the State of Maine they are called “plumgranates,” and are very generally used for culinary purposes.

The PEACH-TREE, of all the tenants of the garden and orchard, is the most beautiful when in flower, varying in the color of its bloom from a delicate blush to a light crimson. As it puts forth its flowers before the leaves, the tree presents to view the likeness of a magnificent bouquet. When covering many acres of ground, nothing in nature can surpass it in splendor, flowering, as it does, sooner than almost any other tree. Even in New England, where these trees are now seen only in occasional groups, they constitute an important object in the landscape, when in flower. Few persons are aware how much interest the peach-tree adds to the landscape in early spring, by its suggestions as well as its beauty. Since the changeableness of our winter and the harshness of our spring weather have been aggravated by the destruction of our Northern forests, the peach-tree is so liable to perish that its cultivation has been neglected, and trees of this species are now very scarce in New England, except in the gardens of wealthy men. We no longer meet them as formerly in our journeyings through rustic farms, when they were interspersed among apple-trees, adorning every byway in the country.

THE AMERICAN ELM.

I will confess that I join in the admiration so generally bestowed upon the American Elm. To me no other tree seems so beautiful or so majestic. It does not exhibit the sturdy ruggedness of the oak; it is not so evidently defiant of wind and tempest. It seems, indeed, to make no outward pretensions of strength. It bends to the breeze which the oak defies, and is more seldom, therefore, broken by the wind. The Elm is especially the wayside tree of New England, and it forms the most remarkable feature of our domestic landscape. If there be in any other section of our land as many, they are individuals mingled with the forest, and are not so frequent by the roadsides. In this part of the country the Elm has been planted and cherished from the earliest period of our history, and the inhabitants have always looked upon it with admiration, and valued it as a landscape ornament above every other species. It is the most drooping of the drooping trees, except the willow, which it surpasses in grandeur and in the variety of its forms.

Though the Elm has never been consecrated by the muse of classic song, or dignified by making a figure in the paintings of the old masters, the native inhabitant of New England associates the varied forms of this tree with all that is delightful in the scenery or memorable in the history of our land. All spacious avenues are bordered with elms, and their magnificent rows are everywhere familiar to his sight. He has seen them extending their broad and benevolent arms over many a hospitable mansion and many a humble cottage, and equally harmonizing with all. They meet his sight in the public grounds of the city with their ample shade and flowing spray; and he beholds them in the clearing, where they were left by the woodman to stand as solitary landmarks of the devastated space. Every year of his life he has seen the beautiful hangbird weave his pensile nest upon the long and flexible branches, secure from the reach of every foe. From its vast dome of branches and foliage he has listened to the songs of the late and early birds, and under its canopy he has witnessed many a scene of rustic amusement.

To a native of New England, therefore, the Elm has a character more nearly approaching that of sacredness than any other tree. Setting aside the pleasure derived from it as an object of material beauty, it reminds him of the familiar scenes of home and the events of his early life. How many a happy assemblage of children and young persons has been gathered under its shade in the sultry noons of summer! How many a young May queen has been crowned under its tasselled roof, when the greensward was just daisied with the early flowers of spring! And how often has the weary traveller rested from his journey under its wide-spreading boughs, and from a state of weariness and vexation, when o’erspent by heat and length of way, subsided into quiet thankfulness and content!

In my own mind the Elm is intimately allied with those old dwelling-houses which were built in the early part of the last century, and form one of the principal remaining features of New England home architecture during that period. They are known by their broad and ample but low-studded rooms, their two stories in front, their numerous windows with small panes, their single chimney in the centre of the roof, that sloped down to one story in the rear, and their general homely appearance, reminding us of the simplicity of life that characterized our people before the Revolution. Their very homeliness is attractive, by leaving the imagination free to dwell upon their interesting suggestions. Not many of these venerable houses are now extant; but whenever we see one, it is almost invariably accompanied by its Elm, standing upon the green open space that slopes down from it in front, waving its long branches in melancholy grandeur above the old homestead, and drooping, as with sorrow, over the infirmities of its old companion of a century.

Early in April the Elm puts forth its flowers, of a dark maroon color, in numerous clusters, fringing the long terminal spray, and filling up the whole space so effectually that the branches can hardly be seen; they appear at the same time with the crimson flowers of the red maple, and give the tree a very sombre appearance. The seeds ripen early, and being small and chaffy are wafted in all directions and carried to great distances by the wind. In the early part of June, soon after the leaves are expanded, the Elm displays the most beauty. At this time only can its verdure be considered brilliant: for the leaf soon fades to a dull green, and displays no tints, except that of a rusty yellow in the autumn. In perfectly healthy elms, standing on a deep soil, the brightness of the foliage is retained to a later period; but the trees near Boston have suffered so much from the ravages of the cankerworm that their health is injured, and their want of vitality is shown by the premature fading and dropping of their foliage.

Nothing can exceed the American Elm in a certain harmonious combination of sturdiness and grace,—two qualities which are seldom united. Along with its superior magnitude, we observe a great length and slenderness of its branches, without anything in the combination that indicates weakness. It is very agreeable to witness the union, under any circumstances, of two interesting or admirable traits of character which are supposed to be incompatible. Hence the complacency we feel when we meet a brave man who is amiable and polite, or a learned man who is neither reserved nor pedantic. A slender vine, supported by a sturdy tree, forms a very agreeable image; not less delightful is that consonance we perceive in a majestic Elm, formed by the union of grandeur with the gracefulness of its own flowing drapery.

The Elm is generally subdivided into several equal branches, diverging from a common centre at a small distance above the ground. The height of this divergence depends on the condition of the tree when it was a seedling, whether it grew in a forest or in an open field; and the angle made by these branches is much wider when it obtained its growth in an isolated situation. The shape of different elms varies more than that of any other known species. It is indeed almost the only tree which may be said to exhibit more than one normal figure, setting aside those variations of form which are the natural effects of youth and age. The American Elm never displays one central shaft to which the branches are subordinate, like the English Elm; or rather, I should say, that when it has only a single shaft it is without any limbs, and is surrounded only with short and slender twigs. This leads me to speak of its normal diversities of shape, which were originally described by Mr. Emerson under several types.

THE DOME.

This is the form which the Elm seems most prone to assume when it stands from the time it was a seedling until it attains its full stature in an open space. It then shows a broad hemispherical head, formed by branches of nearly equal size, issuing chiefly from a common centre, diverging first at a small angle, and gradually spreading outward with a curve that may be traced throughout their length. A considerable number of our roadside elms are specimens more or less imperfect of this normal type.

THE VASE FORM.

One of the most admirable of these different forms is that of the vase. The base is represented by the roots of the tree as they project above the ground, making a sort of pedestal for the trunk. The neck of the vase is the trunk before it is subdivided. The middle of the vase consists of the lower part of the branches as they swell outwards with a graceful curve, then gradually diverge, until they bend over at their extremities and form the lip of the vase by a circle of terminal spray. Perfect specimens of this beautiful form are rare, but in a row or a grove of elms there are always a few individuals that approximate to this type.

THE PARASOL.

The neatest and most beautiful of these forms is the parasol. This variety is seen in those elms which have grown to their full height in the forest, and were left by the woodman in the clearing; for such is the general admiration of this tree, that great numbers of them are left in clearings in all parts of the country. The State of Maine abounds in trees of this form, sending forth almost perpendicularly a number of branches, that spread out rather suddenly at a considerable height, in the shape of an umbrella. Trees of this type have much of that grandeur which is caused by great height and small dimensions, as observed in a palm-tree. A remarkable trait in the character of the Elm is, that, unlike other trees, it seldom loses its beauty, and is often improved in shape, by growing while young in a dense assemblage. It is simply modified into a more slender shape, usually subdivided very near the ground into several branches that diverge but little until they reach the summit of the wood. Other trees, when they have grown in a dense wood, form but a single shaft, without lateral branches.

THE PLUME.

The most singular of the forms assumed by the Elm, and which cannot be regarded as of a normal character, is the plume, caused by some peculiar conditions attending its early growth. The shaft is sometimes double, but usually not divided at all, except into two or three small branches at its very summit. It is perpendicular to near three fourths of its height, and then bends over, like one of the outer branches of a normal-shaped Elm. This whole tree, whether double or single, is covered from the ground to its summit with a dense embroidery of vine-like twigs that cluster round it in all ways, often inverted, as if it were covered with a woody vine. The cause of this form seems to be the removal of the tree into an uncongenial soil, that is too scanty and innutritious to sustain a healthy growth. Yet I have seen some trees of this shape in clearings. They do not seem to be diseased, yet they are evidently in a stunted condition. One of the most remarkable of the plume elms which I have seen stands in the northern part of Danvers, near the point where the Essex Railroad crosses the Ipswich River. I have observed a similar habit of growth in some English elms, but their shaft is always perpendicular.

THE ENGLISH ELM.

The English Elm may be seen on Boston Common, and in front of old mansions in Medford and other ancient towns in Massachusetts. Very few trees of this species, however, have been planted since the Revolution. This royal Elm seems to have lost favor when republicanism took the place of monarchy. Yet in many points the English Elm is superior to the American species. It is not a drooping tree; it resembles the oak in its general form, but surpasses it in height. The trunk is not subdivided; throughout its entire length, the branches are attached to it by wide angles, sometimes spread out in an almost horizontal direction. Selby remarks, that, “in point of magnitude, grandeur of form, and majestic growth, the English Elm has few competitors in the British sylva.” In the form of the leaf and spray it closely resembles the American tree; but the leaf is of a brighter green, it comes out several days earlier in the spring, and continues green in the fall a week or ten days after the American elm has become entirely denuded. The same difference, in a less degree, has been observed in the leafing and falling of the leaf of all European trees, compared with their kindred species in the American forest.

THE CHERRY-TREE.

Among our fruit-trees the Cherry occupies the most conspicuous place, considered with reference either to shade or ornament, surpassing all the others in size and in comeliness of growth. All the species are handsome trees, and some of them are of great stature. They are natives of all countries in the northern temperate zone, but not of any region south of the equator. The three most remarkable species of the family are the common garden Cherry, or Mazard, which is believed to be a native of Asia; the Great Northern Cherry, or Gean, of Europe; and the Black Cherry of the United States.

THE BLACK CHERRY.

The Black Cherry, which is a tree of the first magnitude in favorable regions, is only a middle-sized tree in the New England States. In the South and West, especially on the banks of the Ohio River, it attains a very great size, rising sometimes to one hundred feet, according to Michaux, with a corresponding diameter. It is sensitive to the extremes both of cold and heat, and to an excess either of dryness or moisture. In Maine it is only a small tree, being checked in its growth by the severe Northern winters. Very far south it suffers from the hot and dry summers, but prospers well in the mountainous parts. It forms immense forests in many districts of North America, in company with the honey locust, the black walnut, the red elm, and the oak. It is sufficiently common in New England to constitute an important ingredient of our wood scenery, and though indigenous, it is most abundant in lands which have been modified by cultivation.

This tree differs very obviously in its ramification from the garden cherry, in which the branches are always subordinate to the trunk, and arranged in irregular whorls and stages, one above another, so that, if they were horizontal, they would resemble those of a fir-tree. The Black Cherry tree, on the contrary, is subdivided in such a manner that the main stem cannot easily be traced above the lower junction of the branches, except in those which have grown in a forest. The branches are spread out more loosely, without the least of any arrangement in whorls, and their terminations are longer and smaller. The leaves of the two trees are also widely different: those of the garden cherry are broad, ovate, rough, and serrate; those of the American tree are lanceolate and smooth, and almost as slender as the leaves of the willow. The one bears its flowers and fruit in racemes, the other in round clusters or umbels. The trunk and bark of the two species are similar, both resembling the black birch in the properties of their wood and the outside appearance of their bark. The branches of the Wild Cherry are too straggling and sparse to make a beautiful tree, and the leaves being small and narrow, the whole mass is wanting in depth of shade.

THE CHOKE CHERRY.

When we are rambling in rustic lanes, that lead through rudely cultivated grounds, we frequently meet with groups of tall handsome shrubs, covered in May with a profusion of white flowers, and in August heavily laden with bright scarlet fruit. Such is the Choke Cherry, a small tree with which all are familiar from their frequent disappointment on attempting to eat its fruit. Its promises to the sight are not fulfilled to the taste. Though of an agreeable flavor, it is exceedingly harsh and astringent. This is a more beautiful tree when in flower than the black cherry, though it is generally a mere shrub, never rising above fifteen or twenty feet in height. The racemes, when in flower, are not drooping, as they are when laden with fruit, but stand out at right angles with the branch, completely surrounding it, and giving to every slender twig the appearance of a long white plume. In the eastern part of Massachusetts I have found this species, as well as the black cherry, in old graveyards,—so frequently, indeed, that in my early days these trees were associated with graves, as the Lombardy poplar is with ancient avenues. I suppose their frequency in these places to be caused by the birds dropping the seeds at the foot of the gravestones, where they quickly germinate, and are protected, when growing, by the stone beside them.

The cultivation of the Gean, or Great Northern Cherry of Europe, which was named by Linnæus the bird cherry, is encouraged in Great Britain and on the Continent of Europe for the benefit of the birds, which are regarded as the most important checks to the over-multiplication of insects. The fact, not yet understood in America, that the birds which are the most mischievous as consumers of fruit are the most useful as destroyers of insects, is well known by all the farmers in Europe; and while we destroy the birds to save the fruit, and sometimes cut down the fruit-trees to starve the birds, the Europeans more wisely plant them for their sustenance and accommodation.