He has beheld many a noble avenue formed of Elms, when standing in rows
in the village, or by the rustic road-side. He has seen them extending
their broad and benevolent arms as a protection over many a spacious old
farm-house and many an 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, 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.
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