shade and flowing spray, inviting him to linger under their pleasant
umbrage in summer; and in winter he has beheld them among the rude hills
and mountains, like spectral figures keeping sentry among their passes,
and, on the waking of the year, suddenly transformed into towers of
luxuriant verdure and beauty. Every year of his life has he seen the
beautiful Hang-Bird weave his pensile habitation upon the long and
flexible branches of the Elm, secure from the reach of every living
creature. From its vast dome of interwoven branches and foliage he has
listened to the songs of the earliest and the latest birds; and under
its shelter he has witnessed many a merry-making assemblage of children,
employed in the sportive games of summer.

To a native of New England, therefore, the Elm has a value more nearly
approaching that of sacredness than any other tree. Setting aside the
pleasure derived from it as an object of visual beauty, it is intimately
associated with the familiar scenes of home and the events of his
early life. In my own mind it is pleasingly allied with those old
dwelling-houses which were built in the early part of the last century,
and form one of the marked features of New England home architecture
during that period. They are known by their broad and ample, but
low-studded rooms, their numerous windows with small panes, their single
chimney in the centre of the roof that sloped down to the lower story in
the back part, and in their general unpretending appearance, reminding
one vividly of that simplicity of life which characterized our people
before the Revolution. Their very homeliness is delightful, by leaving
the imagination free to dwell upon their pleasing suggestions. Not many
of these charming old houses are now extant: but whenever we see one,
we are almost sure to find it accompanied by its Elm, standing upon the
green open space that slopes up to it in front, and waving its long
branches in melancholy grandeur over the venerable habitation which it