in Eastern splendor and magnificence formity. Nature speaks to us in prose, -declare that trees of a certain form art in verse. only will harmonize with certain styles of architecture; that round-headed trees, for example, are more proper for Gothic forms of architecture, and pyramidal trees for Grecian forms. I shall not enumerate the reasons given for this opinion, nor attempt to controvert it. Suffice it to say, that Accidentwho is the best artist in real landscape, and who can exhibit among her works more beautiful pictures than Art ever yet executed or imagined-pays no regard to any such rules. With the untutored rustic for her foreman, who hews and slashes without reference to any principle but convenience, - who preserves those trees that afford the best shelter to his flocks and cattle, that skirt his fences and rude cartpaths, give firmness to a slope on a river-bank, and consistence to the soil in wet places, —she has gradually created those delightful pictures which are the charm of a great part of New England scenery. Nature has provided against the unpleasing effects that would result from the dismemberment of trees, by giving to those which are the most common a great variety of outline, admitting of irregularity and disproportion without deformity. Symmetry in the forms of natural objects becomes in a great measure painful by making too great a demand upon the attention required for observing the order and relations of the different parts. All this is unfavorable to repose. If the objects in the landscape be irregular, both in their forms and their distribution, we make no effort to attend to the relations of parts to the whole, because no such harmony is intimated by their character. Hence the scene has the charm of repose. The opposite effect is observed in the works of architecture. Irregularity, by puzzling the mind to discover the mutual relations of parts, is unfavorable to repose, disturbing the thoughts and disappointing the curiosity. The charm of art is variety with uniformity; the charm of nature is variety without uni Though we commonly admire a perfectly symmetrical Oak or Elm, because such perfection is rare, it will be admitted that the irregular forms of trees are more favorable to the production of agreeable impressions on the mind than unfailing symmetry or perfection would be. It is the non-fulfilment of some expectation, or the apparently imperfect supply of some important want, that offends the sight, as when a disagreeable gap occurs in a finely proportioned tree. The fantastic shapes assumed by the Elm, the Swamp Oak, the Tupelo, and less frequently by the Beech and the Hickory, constitute one of the principal charms of a halfwooded landscape, and never affect the mind with those disagreeable sensations which are produced by a disfigured Firtree; because, in the former case, the irregularities coincide with our ideas of the character of the tree, while in the latter case, by destroying its characteristic symmetry, they suggest the disagreeable idea of deformity. Trees may be observed from still another important point of view. Some, denominated amentaceous by botanists, bear their flowers in catkins, or tassels, which are imperfect flowers, without a corolla, and comparatively wanting in beauty. Others, like the trees of our orchards, produce perfect flowers. This difference constitutes an important distinction when they are regarded as picturesque objects, since the attractions of many species depend chiefly on their flowers. Conspicuous among the latter is the Horse-Chestnut, one of the most attractive of our exotic shade-trees, distinguished by the complete subdivision of its trunk into equal branches, by its umbrageous shade, its singular palmate leaves, and, above all, by its upright racemes of beautiful flowers The Horse-Chestnut has been very aptly compared to a chandelier containing a multitude of girandoles, - the flowers representing the different clusters of compound lights. There are but few trees which have a more artificial look when in flower, — yet there is no disagreeable primness in its shape or outlines. Though Nature infinitely exceeds art in beauty and variety, she sometimes derives a fanciful charm from a similitude of her productions to those of art, as art, on the other hand, derives incomparable attractions from an apparently true representation of nature. Many of the flowering trees and shrubs have this fancied resemblance to art in their inflorescence. There are other trees that bear their flowers in pendulous racemes, hanging like jewels from their boughs. Such are the Acacias of the West Indies and the Locust-tree of North America. Few trees exceed the last in that sort of beauty which arises from the combination of two opposite qualities,—in this instance, of rudeness and elegance. Its soft pinnate leaves, harmonizing with the character of its flowers, that droop in pendent clusters from the branches, oppose their graceful beauty to the rough irregularity of the limbs and general uncouth form of the tree, diffusing throughout the atmosphere a fragrance that breathes only of health and enjoyment. I am not acquainted with any tree that surpasses the Locust in that visual quality which produces a charming sensation of nature combined with art in its simplicity. This is partly due to the plain hues of its flowers, and more still, perhaps, to the imperfect shape of the tree, which is never formal or symmetrical. Some trees, by constant association with highly dressed grounds, have lost their power to yield that peculiar delight which we derive from the fresh beauty of nature. In dressed grounds we look for precision and formality nature is always treated with irreverence, and wealth only with respect. But Pride never yet placed her footprints upon the earth without spoiling the whole landscape upon which they were visible. The trees in highly decorated grounds are commonly perfect in their shape, and the manner in which they are irregularly distributed does not save them from the : curse of formality. The prudery of taste cannot be concealed by any such artifice, and trees which are rude and inelegant in their forms offend the humor of such a landscape. The Locust, therefore, is always rejected by the gardener for those very qualities which render it a delightful object to the votary of nature. In trees with rosaceous flowers, nature exhibits some of the fairest ornaments of northern climes; and these are the only northern trees that produce a pulpy fruit. Such are all the trees of our orchards, the Cherry, the Peach, the Apple, and the Pear, also the Mountain Ash and its allied species, down to the Mespilus and the Hawthorn. These trees are suggestive rather of the farm and its pleasant appurtenances than of rude nature; but so closely allied to nature is the farm, when under the direction of its unsophisticated owner, and unbedizened by taste, that its accompaniments seem to be a rightful part of Nature's domain. The simplicity of the rustic farm coincides with the freshglowing charms of nature; and a row of Apple-trees, overshadowing the wayside, forms an arbor in which the rural deities might revel as in their own sylvan solitudes; and Nature herself wears a more charming appearance when to her own rude costume she adds a wreath twined by the rosy fingers of Pomona. The blossoms of the rosaceous trees are invariably white, or crimson, or the different shades of these two colors combined. Those of the Cherry and the Plum are constantly white; those of the Peach and the Almond, crimson; those of the Pear and the Mountain Ash are also white; and those of the Apple, when half expanded, are crimson, changing to white or blush-color as they expand. The colors of the Hawthorns vary with their species, which are numerous. As I have already intimated, Nature is not lavish of those forms and hues which are the ingredients of pure visual or objective beauty. She displays them very sparingly under ordinary circumstances, that we may not be wearied by their stimulating influence, and thereby lose our susceptibility to the impressions of homely objects. But at certain times, and during very short periods, she seems to exert all her powers to fascinate the senses. It is in these moods that she wreathes the trees with flowers for a short time in the spring, and, just before the dusky shades of autumn have settled upon the earth, illuminates the forests with colors as beautiful as they are evanescent. Another group of flowering trees found rarely in northern climes - is represented by the Magnolia and the Tulip-tree. These trees have obtained a great deal of celebrity, on account of their blossoms, which are chiefly remarkable for their extraordinary size and their powerful fragrance. The Magnolia, with its dark evergreen foliage, is a valuable gift of nature to the inhabitants of the arid plains and valleys of the South; and its flowers make a magnificent appearance at certain seasons. The Tulip-tree has many of the same characteristics; it attains in favorable situations an extraordinary size, and is an admirable ornament for dressed grounds, where its lofty stature, its symmetrical form, its smooth branches, and its polished foliage, are in "excellent keeping" with the graded lawn, the fanciful flower-beds, the serpentine walks, and other pseudo-natural affectations. The most noble trees in existence are of the amentaceous group, bearing imperfect flowers in the form of aments, or catkins. To this class belong the Oak, the Plane, the Chestnut, the Hickory, the Beech, the Pines, and, indeed, the greater part of the northern forest-trees. It includes almost all the nut-bearers, from the Walnut down to the diminutive Hazel. These trees are not remarkable for the beauty of their flowers, which are without a corolla; but in many of them the aments constitute a flowing drapery that rivals the grace and elegance of the more splendid flowering trees. The aments of the Chestnut resemble silken tassels, glis tening like golden fringe amidst the darker masses of foliage; those of the Oak exhibit a greater variety of hues, and their drooping character forms a beautiful contrast with the sturdy bearing of the tree, while their brown and purple tints harmonize with the less decided hues of the half-expanded foliage. The Willows and Poplars derive a considerable share of their vernal attractions from this silken drapery, adorned in some of the species with a great variety of colors. Besides the many different forms which we observe in trees, nature causes the most of them to change their appearance many times during the year: and in this mutability we note one of the superior advantages of the deciduous trees. The evergreens, if they were universal, would be apt to weary the sight by presenting at all seasons the same monotonous vestiture of dark, sombre green; for the changes that happen to them are hardly sufficient to be readily observed. Yet it is to the evergreens we owe some of the most important features of winter scenery. They present, in their perennial verdure, a lively opposition to the whiteness of the snow and the general brown of vegetation, and fill the mind with pleasant images of the protection they afford from the severity of the clime. Besides the cheerful feature they add to winter scenery, by relieving its expression of harshness, they serve in the autumn to publish the beauty of the tinted groups, to which their sombre groundwork of verdure gives a more prominent relief. The deciduous trees, though of less value to us in winter, possess more various attractions, fading and brightening, dying, as it were, and then reviving, and passing with every successive season through a series of transformations which are ever new and striking. The Cherry-tree of our gardens, being a familiar object, may be instanced to exemplify these changes. In the winter we perceive only the network formed by its branches; we see their whorls, one above another, in stages somewhat est. While Nature, in the forms and colors of the foliage of trees, and the arrangement of their branches, causing a great variety of outline, has provided a constant entertainment for the sight, and a pleasing exercise for the mind and imagination, she has also increased their attractions by endowing them with a different susceptibility to motion from the action of the winds. Some species, like the Balsam Fir, having stiff branches and foliage, are merely rocked backwards and forwards by the wind, without any separate motion of their leaves. This inflexibility renders the Firs and some of their allied species less expressive than many other trees of those agreeable qualities that suggest the ideas of grace and liveliness. Others have stiff branches with flexible leaves, so that, while they do not bend to a moderate breeze, they exhibit animation by the movements of their foliage. This quality is observed in the Oak, the Ash, and the Locust, and in all those deciduous trees that have a somewhat pendulous foliage, and are wanting in a flexible spray. This trembling habit of the foliage is most remarkable in the Poplar tribe, and is proverbial in the Aspen. It is also conspicuous in the common Peartree, and in the little White Birch. All tremulous leaves are somewhat heartshaped, having a long footstalk more or less flattened; and on this flatness their flexibility chiefly depends. This Other trees, like the American Elm, An exceedingly beautiful waving of the branches is noticeable in a grove of Hemlocks, when they are densely assembled without being crowded; and it is remarkable that one of the most graceful of trees should belong to a family which is distinguished by its stiffness, formality, and want of grace. The Hemlock, unlike other Firs and Spruces, has a very flexible spray; and its foliage is constantly showing its under silvery surface when moved by the wind. If we look from an opposite point upon the outside of a grove of Hemlocks, when they are exposed to a brisk but moderate current of wind, we may observe a peculiar undulating movement of their foliage and branches, made more apparent by the glitter of the leaves, that resemble a collection of minute spangles, with one dark and one glittering surface. Nature presents to us, in all the infinitely various motions of her vegetable forms, nothing so beautiful as these undulations in a grove of Hemlocks. While the Hemlocks, by their motions, represent the undulations of the sea, when it is considerably agitated without any broken lines on its surface, other species of Fir exhibit in their motions harsher angles. If we look upon a grove of Balsam Firs or Pitch Pines, we shall see that the tops of these trees, and the extremities of their branches, swaying backward and forward, form a surface like that of the ocean, when it is broken by tumultuous waves of a moderate height. The undulations of the Hemlocks present an appearance of curve-lines, flashing with the silvery lustre of their foliage; those of the Firs are more angular, with broken lines. Hence the one suggests the ideas of tumult, contention, and the dangers of the waves; the other, that of life and motion, combined with serenity and peace. In a strong current of wind, individual trees, when they are tall and slender, awaken our interest by bending over uniformly, like a plume. This habit is particularly noticeable in the small White Birch, and in the young trees of some other species. All objects that bend to the breeze, in consequence of their apparent flexibility, are interesting, inasmuch as they are typical of resignation and humility, qualities which always excite our sympathy. Hence the drooping forms of vegetation are highly poetical, as we observe of lilies, which, with less positive beauty, are more interesting than tulips. But we will pass from this consideration of the motions of trees to treat of another quality no less intimately associated with their beauty. When the branches of trees are swayed by the wind, and their leaves are glancing in the light of the sun, their motions are accompanied by various sounds which are an important part of the music of nature. Indeed, the motions of terrestrial objects seem never to be attended with silence. The poetic notion of the music of the spheres may be an erroneous conceit of the imagina tion, or but the metaphorical expression of the harmony of their movements. But whether the heavenly bodies pass through their sublime evolutions without producing sounds consequent on their march, or whether the different stages of their progress may be accompanied by sounds which are the source of ineffable delight to those immortal beings capable of perceiving them, it must be allowed that analogy is in favor of this poetical affirmation. For over all this earth motion is accompanied by sound; and the more rapid motions of the planetary bodies through the more attenuate celestial atmosphere may produce similar effects, transcending all melodies which can be perceived by mortal ears. Imagination often suggests a truth that lies beyond the ken of our understanding, which was given us for judgment, not for discovery; and the music of the spheres may be something more than a metaphor. But the sounds from terrestrial objects alone are sufficient to inspire the mind with exalted thoughts. How often have I sat delighted under the branches of a Pine grove, and listened to the fancied roaring of the distant waves of the sea, as the wind passed through the foliage! As the breeze commences, we seem to hear the first soft rippling of the waves; when it increases, succeeding waves of fuller swell flow tremulously in a delightful crescendo upon the strand, and, after the wind is lulled, sink into silence as they recede from the shore. In a grove of Birches, the sounds are suggestive of more lively images. It seems as if a host of Zephyrs, with their invisible wings, were holding a revel among the branches, — rising now, and then alighting, as in the movement of some elfin dance. and pursuing one another through all the intricate mazes of the foliage. sped by æolian melodies that convey the sweetest delight to the ears of mortals. And we need not marvel, when we listen to these sounds, that an imaginative and superstitious race should have lent ear to them as to voices from heaven,-that they should have peopled the |