TREES: A WOODLAND NOTEBOOK

JUDAS TREE (Cercis siliquastrum)
At Twyford Lodge, Winchester

TREES

A WOODLAND NOTEBOOK

CONTAINING OBSERVATIONS ON CERTAIN

BRITISH AND EXOTIC TREES

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS BY MR. HENRY IRVING AND OTHERS

BY THE

Right Hon. SIR HERBERT MAXWELL

BT., F.R.S., LL.D. (Glasgow), D.C.L. (Durham)

GLASGOW

JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS

PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITY

1915

To the Reader

The following chapters, which have their origin in papers originally contributed to the Scotsman, are designed to meet, and possibly to stimulate, that interest in British woodland resources which has so greatly increased within recent years. The author's aim has not been to present either a scientific botanical treatise or a manual of technical forestry; he has attempted to describe the leading characteristics of the forest growths indigenous to the United Kingdom, and to indicate those exotic species which have proved, or are likely to prove, best adapted to the British climate, whether as economic or purely decorative subjects.

There has been in the past—there prevails to a considerable extent in the present—confusion among British planters between the two branches of wood-craft—silviculture and arboriculture. Silviculture or forestry—the science of managing woodland to produce serviceable timber—has been so grossly neglected in the United Kingdom that its cardinal principles have had to be learnt afresh. Accustomed to rely upon foreign imports for our timber supply, we came to look upon woodland as a luxury, useful in so far as it provides shelter from storm, cover for game and foxes, and ornament to the landscape, but of negligible commercial value. Of this result the titles of the associations formed for the promotion and study of wood-craft are very significant; they are not styled Forestry Societies or Silvicultural Societies, but Royal Arboricultural Societies. Ever since the days of Tradescant and John Evelyn, British planters have excelled in arboriculture—the skilful rearing and tending of choice trees and their disposal singly or in groves for the decoration of parks and pleasure-grounds. Now, however, that the world's consumption of timber has overtaken, and bids fair soon to overtax, the supply, attention is being directed to the extent of forest capabilities in the United Kingdom. The development of these resources can be accomplished only through systematic forestry, as prescribed in the science of silviculture. We are the only considerable nation in Europe whose Government neglects forestry as a source of revenue; we have, consequently, immense leeway to make up. Timber of every description is a crop of long rotation, exceeding, in some cases far exceeding, the average duration of human life. One generation has to plant trees for the advantage of its successors; but it is just that kind of long-range altruism which chiefly distinguishes civilised from barbarous nations.

Let me not be interpreted as underrating the value of the work done by arboriculturists. By the enterprise of our leading nurserymen, the intrepidity and zeal of their collectors, and the eagerness of landowners to embellish their estates, a vast experimental stage has been accomplished, enabling one to form a fair estimate of the adaptability of different exotic trees to the climate of the British Isles. The results of this experimental period have been summed up recently in the great work of Mr. Elwes and Dr. Henry, who have devoted many years of strenuous labour to examining the conditions of tree growth in all four Continents, and recording the behaviour of different species when planted in this country. The extent and thoroughness of their survey, and the critical experience they have brought to bear upon the subject, give a special value to their testimony to the work of British arboriculturists. "After having seen the trees of every country in Europe, of nearly all the States of North America, of Canada, Japan, China, West Siberia and Chile, we confidently assert that these islands contain a greater number of fine trees from the temperate regions of the world than any other country."[1]

It was high time that, in the material interest of the community, endeavour should be made to establish an organised forest industry in the United Kingdom. The Government, after many years of reiterated enquiry and hesitation, have at last taken the first steps in the establishment of State forest. At present, these steps have not carried the matter very far; but great bodies get slowly under way; as one may not judge the speed of an Atlantic liner by the rate at which she leaves the harbour, so we should exercise patience during the initial stages of what we hope may prove a great enterprise.

The newly formed Forestry Departments of the English, Scottish, and Irish Boards of Agriculture have the results of experimental planting by arboriculturists to guide them in their choice of species. The opinion is sometimes expressed that British forests should be composed of indigenous species, on the principle that Nature has indicated which species are best adapted to our soil and climate. This is to overlook the part played by chance in determining what trees and herbs should form the vegetation of these islands. When the ice-mantle was slowly being withdrawn, after grinding down the mountains to mere stumps of their pristine stature and strewing the plains with glacial débris, seeds wafted by winds and waves or borne by birds found a footing, and those for which the conditions of soil and climate then prevailing were suitable, established themselves most readily and formed the staple vegetation. But those conditions have greatly altered since that far-off time; vegetation itself is a main agent in changing the character of the surface soil, adapting it to support growths of a different character to those which first took possession thereof. It is, therefore, no derogation to the admirable qualities of our native oak, ash, and pine that it has been found to our advantage to cultivate such exotic species as larch, spruce, sweet chestnut, and sycamore. Among the vast variety of foreign forest trees introduced to this country during the nineteenth century, it is almost certain that some will prove of great economic value when submitted to scientific treatment.

I have endeavoured in these pages to recapitulate in a convenient form what has been ascertained by experiment of the behaviour of foreign trees under British conditions, relying, not blindly, upon the conclusions arrived at by masters of the craft, as corroborated or checked by personal observation of a practical and somewhat sedulous nature, extending over youth, manhood, and old age.

Among those to whom I owe cordial thanks for providing negatives and other material for illustration are the Duke of Northumberland, the Earl of Radnor, the Hon. Hew H. Dalrymple, Professor William Somerville and Mr. Gerald Loder.

HERBERT MAXWELL.

Monreith, 1914.

Contents

List of Illustrations

The Oak

The literature of the oak far exceeds in volume that of any other tree, and there is abundant evidence to prove that from earliest times it was regarded not only with esteem for its timber, but with religious reverence. Popular names of trees are uncertain guides; the revisers of the Old Testament express a doubt whether the tree under which Jacob buried the strange gods which he took from his household (Genesis xxxv. 4) was really an oak, as it is rendered in the authorised version, or a terebinth; but there seems to be no question about the tree Homer had in his mind when he describes Zeus as giving his oracles from the oaks of Dodona (Odyssey, xiv. 328), for the Greeks held the oak sacred to their premier deity.

Pliny (A.D. 23-79), writing about a thousand years later than Homer, describes in detail the religious honour paid to the oak in Britain, and asserts that the Druids, as children of the oak, were so called from the Greek name for that tree, i.e. δρυς. We are able to check his statements in one particular from our own experience. He says that the Druids held the mistletoe as the most sacred of plants, provided it grew upon an oak, which it did very rarely. It is still so seldom to be seen on that tree that, although I have been on the lookout for an instance for many years, both in England and in Continental oak forests, I have never yet found one. Mr. Elwes, indeed, gives a list of twenty-three oaks in England reputed as bearing mistletoe; but he has only succeeded in verifying two of these by personal inspection.[2]

That the early Celtic inhabitants of the British Isles set as high a value upon the timber of the oak as they did upon its mystic attributes, must be patent to any one who has explored their ancient lake dwellings. The framework of these artificial islands was made of massive oak beams morticed together; these remain as hard and sound as the day they were laid down in the water; while every other kind of wood used in the interior of the structure—ash, alder, pine, etc.—has been reduced to the consistency of soft cheese. Moreover, these people anticipated the Admiralty in using oak for shipbuilding. All the many canoes which have been discovered in connection with these islands (five were found in Dowalton Loch alone) have been "dug-outs" fashioned from trunks of oak thirty or forty feet long. If other and more easily worked timber was ever employed for this purpose, it has failed to withstand the tooth of time.

PEDUNCULATE OAK

The application of iron to shipbuilding and architecture has done much to dethrone the oak from its former pre-eminence, nor does its timber command the high prices of a hundred years ago. But it has no rival for dignity and durability, and very few equals in beauty, for domestic architecture and public buildings. Moreover, signs are not wanting that the supply of pitch pine and other cheap foreign substitutes for British oak is not inexhaustible; consumption is increasing hand over hand, and natural forests are being stripped far faster than they can be regenerated. British oak, therefore, though it is under temporary commercial eclipse, can never fail of producing timber of the very highest quality, and, owing to its long span of vigorous life, the tree may be left standing in the forest for centuries without deteriorating.

Those who desire a quick return from their woodland will hardly be encouraged to plant oak from such a far-sighted consideration; but forestry must always be a business of deferred profits. If ash be esteemed commercially mature at seventy years, larch and Scots pine at eighty or ninety, oak cannot be reckoned ready for the axe at less age than one hundred and twenty, and it continues to improve up to two hundred years.

Even allowing for the fall in value of oak timber and bark in recent years, high prices may still be obtained for fine trees, whereof there would have been far more in Britain at this day but for the excessive drain upon our woodland resources for the Navy during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In 1877 Messrs. Groom, of Hereford, paid £200 for a huge oak felled at Tyberton Park in Herefordshire. This grand tree stood 130 feet high, with a girth of 22 feet 8 inches at 5 feet from the ground. It was felled after being struck by lightning and badly damaged; but for which mishap the purchasers estimated its value would have been £300.

In Kyre Park, Worcestershire, there still stood in 1907 an oak 113 feet high, with a straight trunk of 90 feet, for which the owner had declined an offer of £100 a few years previously.

In certain parts of England, chiefly in the eastern counties, the timber of some oaks is found to have assumed a rich brown hue, instead of the normal pale fawn. The cause of this is obscure; some botanists consider it to be produced by a fungoid growth; others, that it is the combined effect of age and soil; but, whatever be the agent, the result is to enhance enormously the market value of such trees. American cabinetmakers first created a demand for it, as much as 10s. a cubic foot being readily obtained for the best quality. Unfortunately, brown oak has not yet been recognised as occurring north of the Trent.

Botanists are not agreed whether the oaks of Great Britain consist of a single species or of two. There are certainly two distinct races, as was recognised by Linnæus 150 years ago, when he classified them, probably correctly, as sub-species-the durmast or sessile-flowered oak (Quercus robur sessiliflora) and the pedunculate oak (Q. robur pedunculata). Roughly speaking, the native oaks of the eastern and southern parts of Great Britain are of the pedunculate race; those of the western parts and of Ireland are of the sessile-flowered type; but I have examined the old oaks in the Forest of Arden, Warwickshire, and found them to be durmast, while young trees, planted to replace blown ones, were all of the pedunculate kind. In the beautiful park of Knole, near Sevenoaks, there are hundreds of fine indigenous oaks, all pedunculate; but a splendid avenue, planted apparently 180 or 200 years ago, has been laid through them, and these trees are all durmast. I do not know of any place where the contrast between the two species may be so easily studied.

When grown in moderate shelter, the two kinds may be readily distinguished from each other by their habit of growth. Owing to the terminal bud on every shoot of the durmast oak being the strongest, the stem and branches are much straighter than those of the pedunculate oak, which puts its strength into lateral buds, giving the boughs that twisted, gnarled appearance so characteristic of much English woodland. In exposed situations, however, this distinction cannot be relied on, and one must examine the leaves and fruit as tests.

The durmast oak bears sessile flowers—that is, without foot stalks; the acorns, therefore, sit close to the shoot on which they are borne. On the other hand, the leaves are carried on footstalks clear of the twig. In the pedunculate oak these features are reversed, the flowers and acorns being stalked and the leaves stalkless. The leaves, also, which are more irregular in shape than those of the durmast, clasp the twig more or less closely with auricles or lobes. The durmast never has these auricles, but the other features mentioned are liable to be modified, when recourse must be had to a less uncertain detail, easily distinguished through an ordinary lens. The back of a mature leaf of the pedunculate oak is perfectly smooth, without a trace of down or pubescence; that of the durmast invariably carries some fine down, at least in the angles of the leaf-nerves.

It may seem that these differences are of no more than botanical interest; but they carry an important significance to the forester. The timber of the two species being of equal quality, it is of course desirable to plant that kind which produces the straightest timber. Undoubtedly in this respect the durmast far surpasses the other. Unfortunately, owing to the durmast oak bearing acorns far less frequently than the pedunculate oak, British nurserymen have stocked the latter almost to the exclusion of the durmast, seed of which can only be obtained in favourable seasons, often at an interval of several years. Nevertheless, the superiority of the durmast, especially for Scotland and the north of England, is so great, that it is worth taking pains to secure it.

SESSILE OAK

The native oaks of the English lake district and of the shores of Loch Lomond are all of the durmast variety; when opportunity occurs of obtaining seed from these it should not be allowed to slip. Even in the south, durmast oak has proved its superiority to the other. Besides being far the handsomer tree, with richer foliage, it is generally immune from the attacks of that curse of English woodland, the caterpillar of the little moth, Tortrix viridana. "I have seen," says the Hon. Gerald Lascelles, Deputy Surveyor of the New Forest, "I have seen a sessile oak standing out in brilliant foliage when every other oak in the wood around was as bare of leaf as in winter."

Most writers on forestry follow one another in describing durmast oak as suiting dry soils and pedunculate oak as preferring rich and moist soil. That is quite at variance with my observation. If the soil of Surrey, where the native oak is pedunculate, be compared with that of the English lake district and the west generally, where the durmast is indigenous, there can be little question which is the moister. The fact is the durmast, being the more vigorous tree, is able to thrive in a soil too dry and poor to support the pedunculate oak.

One word of counsel to planters on soil tending to dryness—never plant oak forest pure, but let beech be mixed with the oaks. The importance of this is well known to German foresters, who call beech the doctor of the forest. Its dense foliage prevents undue evaporation under parching winds and scorching sun, and its heavy leaf-fall in autumn creates the best kind of forest soil.

No clearer example can be given of the failure of ancient oaks, not from extreme age, but from the parching of the soil, than is presented in Sherwood Forest. The giant trunks that stand there singly or in scattered groups once supported a far loftier dome of foliage than they do now. The branches have died back through the vigour of the tree being sapped by excessive evaporation from the ground, consequent on the loss of forest canopy and undergrowth. Within Lord Manvers's park of Thoresby, formed long ago by enclosing part of the Forest, oaks of the same age as those outside stand in close company with the fostering beech, and clothed with dense foliage to the very end of the branches. How often has one heard a forester, when a great oak goes "stag-headed," explain this as the result of the roots getting down to unsuitable subsoil; whereas the true reason is that an oak cannot fulfil his allotted span of years except when grown in close company of other trees.

As might be expected, the oak, as monarch of the primæval British forest, has contributed names to countless places, both in Celtic and Saxon speech; besides a few in Norman French, whereof Chenies, a parish in Bucks, may serve as an example. The Saxon ac, still current in the north, but supplanted in the south by the broader "oak," is easily detected in such names as Acton, Aikton, Ackworth, Akenham, in England; Aikrig, Aikenhead (sometimes disguised by an intrusive t as Aitkenhead) and Aiket, which is a contraction of the Saxon ac widu, oak-wood. Oakham, Oakford, Oakenshaw, Oakley, etc., speak for themselves. In old Gaelic the oak was daur, in modern Gaelic the genitive dara or darach is used, but in Manx and Welsh it remains dar. Deer, Darroch and Darra are Scottish place-names retaining respectively the old and new form of the word, the latter often appearing in composition, as in Kildarroch, i.e. coill darach, oak-wood. Still commoner is the derivative doire, originally daire (pronounced "derry"), signifying primarily an oak-wood, but later applied to woods in general. Hence the large class of names like Derry, Dirriemore, Derrynabrock, Derrynahinch, etc. St. Columba founded his monastery at a place called Daire-Calgaich in the year 546. Adamnan, writing a hundred years or so later, glossed this name Roboretum Calgachi, Calgach's oak-wood. After this it became Derry-Columkille, the oak-wood of Colum of the Churches, until finally James VI. and I. granted a charter thereof to a London company of traders, and the place became, and remains, known as Londonderry.

The mightiest oak I have seen of late years, at all events the oak which impressed me most forcibly with its mightiness, is one of the pedunculate kind near the mansion-house of Panshanger, Lord Desborough's place in Herts. It is figured in Strutt's Sylva Britannica; when he measured it in 1822 the girth was 19 feet at 3 feet from the ground, and its cubic contents were estimated at 1,000 feet. Elwes measured it in 1905 and found the girth to be 21 feet 4 inches at 5 feet. Following him in 1913, but without being aware of his measurement, I made the girth to be 21 feet 6 inches. This tree, however, is not likely to increase much in girth, unless it grows burrs, for it is stag-headed and past its prime. In this fine park of Panshanger I found two or three other oaks with a circumference of 21 feet, but none so impressive and majestic as the one aforesaid.

"The oak," writes Mr. Elwes, "rarely attains in Scotland the size and vigour so commonly met with in England."[3] To that I make reply—"Give us time!" Scotland, her resources drained by three hundred years of all but incessant war which she had to wage in order to win and maintain her independence, became and remained a byword for poverty among the nations. Almost every shred of her woodland, once so vast, had been consumed before the end of the seventeenth century, so that Dr. Johnson was but drawing his bow a trifle too far when he vowed that in all his Scottish travel he had only seen two trees big enough to hang a man on. Practically no oaks were planted in Scotland until many years after the Union of Parliaments in 1707 had inaugurated an era of peace and security for north country lairds. "Give us time!" I repeat, and we shall produce oaks in Scotland that no English magnate would be ashamed to have in his park. Probably the tallest, if not the bulkiest oak that I have seen north of the Tweed, stands close to the mansion house of Blairdrummond in Perthshire. Elwes made it 118 feet high in 1906, with a girth of 17 feet at 5 feet from the ground and a clean bole of 24 feet.

Irish woodland suffered as disastrously as Scottish from reckless felling, but there can be no doubt about the size and quality of the oaks that grew in Ireland in the past. The roof timbers of Westminster Hall were grown in Shillelagh Forest, Co. Wicklow. These trees, no doubt, were of the sessile-flowered race, but the forest has entirely disappeared; and the great oak-wood at Abbeyleix, in Queen's County, is composed of pedunculate oaks.

Besides our British oak, there are between two and three hundred distinct species of Quercus in the Old and New Worlds, many of which are very beautiful trees, but not one whereof the timber approaches that of Quercus robur in quality. The foreign oak most commonly seen in these islands is the Turkey Oak (Q. cerris, Linn.), a native of southern Europe and Asia Minor, which grows to an immense size; it is invaluable as a shelter for more valuable growths, especially in maritime exposure, but for little else, as its timber, though very heavy, is said to be perishable, and certainly produces an excess of sap wood. "We shall say little," wrote John Evelyn, "of the Cerris or Ægilops, goodly to look on, but for little else."[4]

The ilex, or holm oak (Quercus ilex) is another tree which nobody need think of planting for profit, seeing that it produces timber of little value except for firing; nevertheless, it is one of the most ornamental trees that can be grown. Planted in the open, and given some attention in its youth to keep it to a single leader, it develops into a stately-domed mass of evergreen foliage, quite distinct in character from any other tree that flourishes in the British Isles. It would be sombre, did the leaves not glitter delightfully in sunlight; and in cloudy weather the wind sweeps up their white undersides and sets them all a-twinkle.

Although a native of the Mediterranean region, it adapts itself thoroughly to our climate, being perfectly hardy in all but the coldest parts of our country, and ripening its acorns plentifully in districts near the coast. Indeed, it is doubtful whether in its native region many loftier specimens can be found than one at Rossanagh, in County Wicklow, which, when I saw it in 1905, was 80 feet high. The tallest recorded by Mr. Elwes stands in the garden of the Hotel Hassler at Naples, measuring, in 1910, 90 feet high and 12½ feet in girth.

We commonly follow Roman usage in calling this tree "ilex," nor is it easy to understand why Linnæus appropriated this name for the holly, because Pliny plainly distinguishes between them, writing of the holly as "aquifolium." In English vernacular this oak was known as the holm oak, which is a corruption of hollen oak—i.e. the holly-like oak, because it is evergreen and the leaves of young plants are spined, though not so strongly as those of the holly.

Pliny has a great deal to say about this tree. He tells us that in the Vatican of Rome there was in his day an ilex older than the city, bearing a brazen plate inscribed with Etruscan characters, showing that it had been sacred of old. He also states that at Tivoli there were three holm oaks flourishing which were growing when Tivoli (Tibur) was founded centuries before Rome. Now, considering that Rome was founded about B.C. 750, and Pliny died about A.D. 115, it appears that the traditional age attributed to certain trees in his day was as liberal as it remains in ours. It would not be rash, however, to venerate the splendid ilexes in the grounds of the Villa Pamfili and the Villa Borghese at Rome as lineal descendants of the trees that Pliny loved.

In suitable districts near the sea the ilex is invaluable as shelter. Once established, it stands the roughest buffeting of storms without disfigurement. I am writing these notes within a hundred yards of an ilex at Ardgowan, on the Clyde. It is about 50 feet high, and stands isolated on a bare lawn, exposed to all the fury of tempests that come roaring up the firth, twisting its boughs in the most violent manner. Yet these are so tough as never to be broken, and the tree remains a model of symmetry and grace.

At Holkham, in Norfolk, there is a large grove of ilex, called the Obelisk Wood, the like of which for extent is not to be seen, I think, elsewhere. At Tregothnan, in Cornwall, also an immense number of ilexes have been planted in a long avenue beside the sea. It is remarkable—unique, probably—but it is not an arrangement to be recommended for displaying the peculiar beauty of the trees, which consists in their massive foliage. The branches meet overhead, and as you drive along under them the effect is gloomy.

Very near of kin to the ilex is the cork oak (Q. suber), which grows all through the Spanish Peninsula and the Mediterranean region, except in those parts where limestone or chalk forms the soil. Of all the oak family, this comparatively humble member is of most importance to civilised life, for no efficient substitute has been devised for cork in some of the uses to which it is put. The annual consumption must be enormous; it is wonderful how the supply is maintained. Having no qualities to recommend it to the landscape gardener, the cork oak is only fit for growth in this country as a curiosity, and there only in the eastern and southern English counties. In the midland and northern districts it may exist, but cannot rightly thrive.

Many hybrids have been reared from the ilex. One of the choicest is Turner's oak (Q. Turneri), said to have originated in the Holloway Down Nursery, Essex, in 1795, as a cross between the ilex and the common English oak. It is of moderate stature, not greatly exceeding 50 feet, and is semi-evergreen, retaining its leaves, which are of a bright, rather light green, till February. The Lucombe oak (Q. Lucombeana) is also sub-evergreen, a hybrid between the ilex and the Turkey oak (Q. cerris), but is a much loftier tree than Turner's oak; the foliage inclines in colour to the ilex, but the leaves approach those of the Turkey oak in form, the under surfaces being clothed with white down. This variety was raised about 1765 by William Lucombe, of Exeter.

Another remarkable hybrid, apparently between Q. ilex and Q. cerris, is the Fulham oak, of which the finest example I have seen in Scotland grows on the banks of the Ayr, in the grounds of Auchencruive.

Although these hybrid oaks ripen acorns, they cannot be relied on to produce exact counterparts of their parents, the offspring of cross-bred seeds always tending to revert to one or other type in the cross.

Of the forty-seven North American species of oak enumerated by Sargent, none is to be desired by reason of the quality of its timber, which in every instance is inferior to that of our native species; but three, at least, have proved their value in this country as highly decorative trees, owing to the rich tints of the foliage in autumn. These are the red oak (Q. rubra), the scarlet oak (Q. coccinea) and the pin oak (Q. palustris). These are all trees of great stature, the pin oak having already exceeded 100 feet in height in England, presenting a gorgeous display when its leaves turn scarlet in the fall. In Scotland, however, the summer is not always warm enough to produce these fine colours; in wet, cold seasons the foliage remains green till the early frost blights it into brown.

Among oaks of the Old World, the Hungarian oak (Q. conferta syn. pannonica) and the Algerian oak (Q. mirbeckii) are the most ornamental, and have proved amenable to British conditions. As a curiosity, a sheltered corner may be found for the Japanese Quercus acuta, a small evergreen tree with large laurel-like leaves, quite hardy, but apt to be broken by snow. In the absence of flowers or acorns, it would puzzle anyone to identify this tree as a member of the great clan of oaks.

The Beech

Among all the trees of British woodland none excels the beech in grace, vigour, and hardihood. It is not indigenous to Scotland; indeed, it is only in recent years that it has been recognised as a true native of southern Britain, its remains having been identified in post-tertiary beds at Southampton, Cromer, and some other places in East Anglia. Previous to that discovery, botanists had accepted Julius Caesar's assurance that the tree he called "fagus" did not grow in Britain (Bellum Gallicum, v. 12). But popular names for plants are never to be relied on, and although it is certain that Pliny (Nat. Hist. xvi. 6) described the beech under the name "fagus," it seems equally clear that Virgil (Georgics, ii. 71) applied it to the sweet chestnut. The confusion arose, no doubt, from the application of a Greek word signifying food to two species of tree very different from each other, but each producing edible fruit.

Although the beech (Fagus sylvatica, Linn.) cannot be reckoned as an aboriginal native of Scotland, it is long since it received letters of naturalisation in that country, and has taken so kindly to the northern soil and climate that it may no longer be considered an alien. Indeed, it is in Scotland that the mightiest beech in the United Kingdom, perhaps in the world, is to be seen; not the loftiest, but one containing the largest amount of timber. This is the famous tree at Newbattle Abbey, near Dalkeith. Eighty years ago the indefatigable John Loudon measured it, and found it to be 88 feet high. In 1906 the equally indefatigable Mr. H. J. Elwes took its dimensions, and ascertained them to be as follows:

Truly an amazing edifice of sound timber; how long has it taken in the building? Normally, the beech is not long-lived compared with the oak, the yew, the Corsican pine, and some other trees grown in British woodland. Its "expectation of life" does not exceed 200 years. When it gets near that age it sometimes dies in a night, so to speak, expiring suddenly while apparently in full vigour. At other times it gets stag-headed, a sure sign of flagging vitality, and becomes infested with parasites, especially the felted beech-scale (Cryptococcus fagi), which administer the coup de grâce.

But the Newbattle beech is probably much more than 200 years old. Mr. Elwes estimates its age at 300 years. It has adopted a plan for prolonging its existence by allowing its great branches to droop to the ground, where seven of them have taken root, whence they have sprung up afresh and form a perfect grove still maintaining connection with the parent tree. Some of these subsidiary trees are already forty feet high and five feet in girth; and if, as is possible, they continue to contribute to the nourishment of their parent, the life of the original stem may be prolonged indefinitely.

There are at least three other beeches in Scotland taller than the Newbattle monster—namely, at Hopetoun House, at Blairdrummond, and at Methven Castle; but all of these must yield the palm to the Queen Beech at Ashridge Park, Hertfordshire. Mr. Elwes measured this tree in 1903, and "made it as nearly as possible to be 135 feet high (certainly over 130), and this is the greatest height I know any deciduous tree, except the elm, to have attained in Great Britain. Its girth was 12 feet 3 inches, and its bole straight and branchless for about 80 feet, so that its contents must be about 400 cubic feet to the first limb."[5] It may be noted in passing that elsewhere in his book Mr. Elwes has recorded certain deciduous trees even taller than the Queen Beech. For instance, on page 365 he mentions larches at Croft Castle, Herefordshire, 150 feet high; on page 873 he records having measured an ash at Cobham Hall, Kent, 143 feet high, and on page 1820 the height of the black Italian poplar at Albury Park, Surrey, is estimated at 150 feet.

QUEEN BEECH AT ASHRIDGE
Reproduced by permission from The Gardeners' Chronicle

Beech timber is not held in high repute in the United Kingdom generally, being hard, brittle and perishable under weather exposure, although it is extremely durable under water. I have examined some of the beechen logs which were laid to strengthen the foundations of Winchester Cathedral in the extremely wet peat and shifty gravel which seam the site. For seven hundred years these logs have lain in the ground, faithfully fulfilling the function assigned to them of supporting the Lady Chapel erected by Bishop Godfrey de Lucy in the last few years of his life (he died in 1204), yet they are still perfectly hard and sound, having acquired with age a peculiar wan pearly hue.

In the north we reckon beechen slabs to be the best material for drain-tile soles in wet land. The timber is put to higher purpose in Buckinghamshire, where the extensive beech forests about High Wycombe and Newport Pagnell afford one of the few examples of systematic wood-craft in England. The trees are regularly grown and felled in rotation to supply the chairmaking industry, clean timber commanding, as it stands, a price of 1s. to 1s. 6d. a cubic foot. It has been asserted that the very name Buckingham is derived from the Anglo-Saxon boc, a beech; but it appears in the Winchester Chronicle as Buccingaham, which indicates its origin in a family named Buccing, descended from an ancestor or chief called Bucca, the Buck. Howbeit, we are incessantly, though unconsciously, using the Anglo-Saxon boc, for it was smooth tablets or panels of beech that formed the primitive "book." In like manner crept in the term "leaves" of a book, because the foliage of papyrus preceded paper, which is the same word.

The beech is distinguished for three qualities beyond every other native of British woodland. First, by its abundant leaf-fall it promotes the formation of forest humus—the rich vegetable soil so essential to vigorous tree growth—more speedily and effectively than any other tree. Secondly, it bears shade better than any other broad-leaved tree; indeed, the only trees of any kind that approach it in this respect are the hornbeam and the silver fir. These two qualities make the beech best of all trees for under-planting; for, while the young beeches nourish the older trees by their leaf-fall and by checking evaporation from the soil, they are themselves preparing as a successional crop for the time when the old trees are ripe for felling. The third distinguishing quality of the beech is its unrivalled merit as firewood. None other throws out so much heat or burns so steadily; though it is a curious fact that the hornbeam, belonging to a different genus from the beech, mimics it in its foliage, is nearly as patient of overhead shade, produces timber closely resembling that of beech in appearance and quality, and, as fuel, yields very nearly as much heat.

Besides the felted beech louse, Cryptococcus fagi, referred to above, the beech is liable to be attacked when young by the deadly fungus Nectria ditissima. The trees affected should be felled and burnt so soon as the canker characteristic of that plague manifests itself, for they never can recover. The singular disease called "beech-snap," which causes the stem to break off abruptly at 15 or 20 feet from the ground, is attributable to the fungus Polyporus adustus, though Nectria is generally present also on the trees affected.

The common beech has sported into many varieties. Those most commonly planted are the purple and copper beeches, which are far from being the same, as many people seem to think they are. A well-grown purple beech, such as that near the south-west corner of Osterley House, Isleworth (to name one out of very many fine specimens which exist in the United Kingdom), is a truly magnificent object, the rich, but subdued, depth of colour showing in charming contrast with other foliage, yet so soft as never to jar with it. This variety is said to have originated in a forest in the canton of Zurich, where, according to the legend, five brothers fought, three of whom fell, and from the soil where each lay grew a purple-leaved beech.

As for the copper beech, had I the chance of stopping the supply, I should not hesitate to do so, for the foliage, as I think, has a disagreeable metallic hue that consorts well with nothing else. Before purchasing young purple beeches, it is prudent to visit the nursery when they are in leaf, or you may be served with copper beeches, and not discover the mistake till it is too late. The mast or seed of both purple and copper beeches yield a large proportion of seedlings in the parental livery; but no beech, green or purple, bears mast till it is at least forty years old.

The fern-leafed beech is no improvement on the type, and grows with the ungraceful pose of a grafted plant; but the weeping beech, which also has to be propagated by grafts, sometimes develops into an object of great beauty.

Of three or four exotic species of beech in the Northern Hemisphere there is but one, the American beech (F. ferruginea), which would be a gain to ornamental planting in the British Isles. Our own beech has a pretty bark, but that of the American species outshines it as silver does pewter. Unluckily, like many other growths of the Eastern States, it fails utterly to accommodate itself to the British climate. Visitors to Boston, Massachusetts, should not fail to see the group of beeches in the Arnold Arboretum at Brookline.

THE CHAIRMAKER, BUCKINGHAM BEECH WOODS

There are seventeen species of beech native of South America and Australasia. These have now been classified as a distinct genus, Nothofagus, that is, southern beech. Two of them appear to agree with British soil and climate, namely, the evergreen N. betuloides, whereof I have no experience, and the deciduous N. obliqua, of which two seedlings, raised from seed brought from Chile by Mr. Elwes in 1902, were sent me from Kew in 1906 to experiment on their hardiness. These have grown vigorously, having endured 20° of frost without wincing, and are now [1914] about 20 feet high; but, owing to their leafing fully a fortnight earlier than our native beech, they are more apt to be seared by late frost. In its native country this species equals our own beech in stature and bulk, its timber being largely used for railway sleepers, building, etc. Moreover, judging from the very few young plants in this country, it is an exceedingly ornamental tree. Of the other southern species, six are large evergreen trees, natives of Australia, New Zealand and Tasmania, not capable of enduring the British climate, except, perhaps, in the mildest districts of the south and west.

There are still, I believe, among the loyal subjects of King George V. persons who profess to be Jacobites, as there are undoubtedly thousands who cherish the memory of Prince Charles Edward as a precious national heritage. For these, the beeches that droop over the swift-running Arkaig at Lochiel's place of Achnacarry must have a mournful significance. In the spring of 1745, Donald Cameron of Lochiel, already advanced in years, was busy, in common with many other Scottish lairds, in developing the resources of his estates by draining, reclaiming, and planting trees. The union of the English and Scottish Legislatures had brought peace and security to the northern kingdom such as it had not known since the death of Alexander III. in 1286, and landowners felt encouraged for the first time to apply themselves to useful enterprise.

Suddenly Prince Charlie landed at Borrodale on 28th July, and summoned Lochiel and the other Highland chiefs to his standard. Lochiel, well knowing the hopelessness of the enterprise, started to obey the summons, thoroughly determined to dissuade the Prince from going forward with it. His brother, John Cameron of Fassifern, begged him not to meet the Prince. "For," said he, "I know you far better than you know yourself, and if the Prince once sets eyes upon you, he will make you do what he pleases." Fassifern was but too just in his forecast. It happened exactly as he had said. Lochiel at first flatly refused to bring out his clan; but in the end yielded to the Prince's persuasion, returned home, marshalled fourteen hundred men, and took part in all the phases of that hare-brained campaign, till he was carried off the field of Culloden severely wounded.

During Lochiel's absence a quantity of young beech trees had arrived at Achnacarry from the south to his order. They were heeled in a long row beside the river, awaiting his instructions. But the chief "came back to Lochaber no more." He lingered a couple of years in exile, his estates forfeited, his person proclaimed, and he died in 1748. The beeches were never removed from the trench where they had been set to await his return. They have grown up in a rank of silvery stems, so closely serried that between some of them a man's body may not pass. Winds of winter wail a coronach among the bare boughs; in summer the leafy branches stoop low upon the hurrying water; at the sunniest noontide there reigns deep gloom under that crowded grove. No more pathetic memorial could be designed for a lost cause and for him whom men spoke of as "the gentle Lochiel."

The Spanish Chestnut

The sweet or Spanish chestnut (Castanea sativa, Miller) cannot be reckoned indigenous to the British Isles, nor is there any evidence in support of the common belief that it was introduced during the Roman occupation. It is, however, far from improbable that the Roman colonists sowed some of the fruit which they imported as food, and, finding that the young trees took kindly to our soil and climate, continued to cultivate them.

SPANISH CHESTNUT In Winter

SPANISH CHESTNUT In Summer

Chestnuts, now as then, form an important part of the winter diet of country folk in Italy and Spain, being ground into flour, whence excellent cakes and pottage are made. British housewives regard them only as a luxury, and large quantities are imported into this country annually; but chestnuts are as nutritive and wholesome as they are palatable, and there are few more appetising odours than that wafted from the charcoal stove of the itinerant vendor of chestnuts, a familiar figure in London streets so soon as chill October draws to a close. I may confess to having partaken, under cloud of night, of this wayside delicacy; nor do I care how soon the opportunity presents itself of repeating the treat.

Chestnuts ripen well and regularly in the southern English counties, though they are considerably smaller than those imported from the Continent. In Scotland we seldom have enough summer heat to bring them to maturity. The summers of 1911 and 1914, indeed, were long enough and hot enough to ripen them; but even so the nuts were so small that there was more patience than profit in collecting them.

Even though we cannot actually trace the introduction of this noble tree to our Roman conquerors, there is proof in Anglo-Saxon literature that it was known in England before the Norman conquest, for it receives mention by an early writer as the "cisten" or "cyst-beam," "cisten" being but a form of the Latin castanea. Chaucer (1340-1400) is the earliest English poet to mention it, the list of trees wherein he includes it being a very interesting one as showing the nature of English woodland in the fourteenth century.

As oke, firre, birche, aspe, elder, elme, poplere,
Willow, holm,[6] plane,[7] boxe, chesten, laure,
Maple, thorne, beche, awe, hasel, whipultre,[8]
How they were felde shall not be tolde by me.

The right English name is, therefore, "chesten"; modern usage has added "nut," which is as irrational as it would be to speak of a "hazel-nut" to indicate a hazel or a "fircone" to indicate a fir.

Shakespeare, of course, was quite familiar both with the tree and its fruit. Thus one of the witches in Macbeth:

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,
And mounched and mounched and mounched.
"Give me," quoth I.
"Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries.

Moreover, the chestnut had been long enough established in England to have its name borrowed to denote a rich shade of russet. So in As You Like It:

Rosalind. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Celia. An excellent colour; your chestnut was ever the only colour.

The Spanish chestnut is essentially a southern growth, being found wild only in Southern Europe, Algeria, Asia Minor, and Northern Persia. It is remarkable, therefore, that it should thrive so well in the British Isles, even in the northern part thereof; for although, as aforesaid, it is shy of fruiting in Scotland, it grows to enormous proportions in that country.

Probably the tallest chestnut north of the Tweed is one at Yester, in East Lothian, which in 1908 measured 112 feet high by 18 feet 8 inches in girth. Next to it comes a fine tree at Marchmont, in Berwickshire, 102 feet high by 14½ in girth, with a clear bole of 32 feet. Still further north, there is a huge fellow at Castle Leod, in Ross-shire, which, though only 76 feet high, girths no less than 21 feet 4 inches at 5 feet from the ground.

The finest chestnut I have seen anywhere is in the woodland of Thoresby Park, near Nottingham, being within the bounds of the ancient Sherwood Forest. In 1904 it was 110 feet high, with a straight bole quite clear of branches for 70 feet. Its cubic contents in timber were estimated at 300 feet. Loudon measured this tree in 1837 and found it to be 70 feet high, with a girth of only 11 feet at 1 foot from the ground. Its girth at that height is now over 17 feet. It is impossible to imagine a more perfect specimen of the species than this beautiful tree. It was planted about the year 1730, and is, therefore, now, say, 180 years old. Planters may accept a lesson from this tree, which has been drawn up to its fine stature by being grown in close forest among beeches, some of which, of the same height as itself, have been cleared away to show its fine proportions. Without such discipline, it might have expended its vigour in building up an enormously swollen trunk, instead of towering to its present height.

This tendency towards breadth instead of height may be seen in countless places, both in England and Scotland. The Trysting Tree at Bemersyde, the massive pair in Mr. Wallace's garden at Lochryan, and the great chestnut at Myres Castle, in Fife (19 feet 9 inches in girth), are examples in point. At Deepdene, in Surrey, there stands a tree of this character, the clear bole being only 8 feet high, but girthing 26½ feet at the narrowest part. Near to it is one of nobler proportions—90 feet high, with a girth of 21 feet 5 inches.

There is one characteristic of the chestnut which, while it adds much to the beauty of the grove, certainly detracts from the value of the timber. Just as one may see in a Gothic cloister how the architect, wearying of straight columns, introduces here and there a twisted one, so the trunk of the chestnut often grows in a regularly spiral manner.

Economically and commercially, the timber of Spanish chestnut, up to a certain age, is no whit inferior to that of the oak—superior, indeed, in its young stages, owing to its producing less sap wood. Chestnut palings, gates, etc., are the most durable that can be made of any British-grown wood. In 1907 Lord Ducie exhibited at the Gloucestershire Agricultural Show some fencing posts made from chestnuts which he planted in 1855 and felled in 1885. These posts remained perfectly sound after exposure to wind and weather for two and twenty years.

Not only in durability, but in other qualities, the timber of chestnut is fully equal to that of oak, which it closely resembles; and, as it grows much faster and to a larger size than the oak, it would soon drive its rival out of the market, but for its greater liability to one grave defect, namely, "ring-shake." This is the name given to a splitting of the wood along one of the concentric annual rings, thereby ruining the log for the sawing of planks. The cause of this internal rupture is obscure, but the injury takes place in chestnuts over seventy years of age more commonly than in any other tree, and, as it cannot be detected until the tree is felled, merchants are very shy of offering for a standing lot.

As a coppice tree, the Spanish chestnut has no equal in this country; the rotation of the crop is far shorter than that of oak, the poles are more durable, and a steady demand has been created for an admirable form of paling made up of split chestnut staves, set closely together upright and bound with wire. This kind of fence, however, ought not to be used in any fox-hunting country, for high-couraged hounds, attempting to climb it, get impaled on the sharp tops and frightfully injured.

"Chestnut," it is well known, is uncomplimentary slang for a worn-out anecdote. They told me in Philadelphia that the phrase had its source in a theatre in Walnut Street, one of the principal thoroughfares of that city. This theatre was built in rivalry of an older one in Chestnut Street: its répertoire lacked originality, and patrons of the other house, when they recognised jokes they had heard and situations they had seen there, used to hail the players with the cry—"A chestnut! a chestnut!" And this explanation may serve as well as another. In this connection I may be permitted to put on record a bon mot by a well-known member of the present Radical Government. We had been dining, a small party, in the House of Commons, shortly after the late Sir M. Grant Duff had published the third volume of his reminiscences, which, it may be remembered, contained many anecdotes not told for the first time. One of the ladies of our party expressed a wish to see Westminster Hall, and, having been conducted thither, asked me what the fine roof was made of. "It is of oak," I replied; "some people used to think it was of chestnuts, but I don't suppose there were enough chestnuts in England to furnish a roof like that in the reign of Richard." "No," observed Mr. ——, "Grant Duff had not published his third volume!"

The Ash

The bard who was responsible for this ancient jingle assigned that precedence to the oak which common sentiment has always accorded to it as the monarch of British woodland. Economically, also, the oak held the first place so long as Britannia ruled the waves from wooden walls, but in this ironclad era our Admiralty has little use for oak timber, and there is now no broad-leaved or "hardwood" tree that can be cultivated so profitably as the ash. Indeed it is hardly doubtful that this is the only species of tree, willows, poplars and certain conifers excepted, which a young man may plant with reasonable expectation of receiving any pecuniary profit during his lifetime. The properties which ensure to the ash (Fraxinus excelsior) this superiority to all rivals are its hardihood, the matchless quality of its timber for many purposes, and its market value from a very early age.

First, as to its hardihood. No British tree, not even the oak, is so wary of starting into growth before all risk of late spring frost is past. Tennyson, the very Virgil among British bards for keen observation of nature, has embalmed this characteristic in a beautiful passage in The Princess:

Why lingereth she to clothe herself in love?
Delaying, as the tender ash delays
To clothe herself when all the woods are green.

Once, and once only, do I remember the prudent ash to have been caught, namely, in 1897, when after a month of deceptive warmth, the mercury fell to 10° Fahrenheit on the 22nd May. Twenty-two degrees of frost within a month of the summer solstice! No wonder the young ash foliage, which had been lured into precocious growth, was shrivelled and blackened as by fire. And that, not only in the north, but in Herts and Hants, as I had occasion to note when trout-fishing in these southern counties. Even the beech and hawthorn fared no better, but their leaves were seared brown instead of black.

Then as to wind exposure, what tree can compare with the ash for length and strength of anchorage against the gale? It is astonishing to what distance it sends its tough roots, whether they run through free soil or wind themselves into the crevices of limestone rock. This far-ranging habit renders it the worst of all neighbours to a garden, and no ash tree should be suffered to grow within fifty yards of ground where herbs or fruit are cultivated.

MANNA ASH (Fraxinus ornus)
At Wakehurst Place

For toughness and strength the timber of ash has no equal, even among foreign woods; and it is always in request at a good price for waggon-building, implement-making, and other purposes. Moreover, British ash, properly grown, is more highly esteemed than ash imported from other countries. Unfortunately, owing to our neglect of systematic and economic forestry, as distinct from arboriculture and the management of game covert, ash is very seldom to be seen grown under proper conditions in the United Kingdom. It should be grown in woods sufficiently close to draw the stems up to such a height as will ensure a good length of clean bole. Standing in the open or in hedgerows, it sends out huge side branches which destroy the quality of the timber.

In consequence of our misuse of this tree, which ought to be the most valuable of all assets to British forestry, good ash timber has become exceedingly scarce; although undoubtedly there are an immense number of excellent stems in most parts of the country, which, if landowners generally understood their own interest and the true welfare of their woodland, would be felled and sold before they reached an unmanageable size.

In one respect the ash possesses a merit superior to any other hardwood tree, except, as aforesaid, willow and poplar, in that it reaches commercial maturity soonest. Grown under forest conditions in good, well-drained soil, it is most fit for the market at from fifty to seventy years of age. But, as it is readily saleable from twenty years old upwards, an ash plantation may be reckoned on bringing in some revenue from thinnings long before the main crop is ripe for the axe. For instance, I was lately offered a very good price for ash poles averaging nine inches in diameter for the manufacture of billiard cues. The regular supply is drawn from Switzerland; but could most easily be furnished from British woodland if the necessary care were bestowed upon the saplings. The trees should not be allowed to stand after attaining eighty years of growth; for the timber, even if it continued sound, hardens after that age, and, losing much of its characteristic elasticity, does not command such a good price.

Homer says that the spear of Achilles had an ashen shaft, and all true Scots should hold the ash in special honour, forasmuch as of yore it furnished staves for their national weapon, the pike. It was from the long ashen pike-shafts of Randolph Moray's handful of Scots that de Clifford's cavalry recoiled on the Eve of St. John, 1314, after thrice attempting to break that bristling fence of steel; it was through the staunchness of his pikemen that next day, on the slopes of Bannockburn, Edward Bruce was able to bear the brunt of attack by the English columns, hurl them into unutterable ruin among the Milton bogs, and so set seal, once for all, to Scottish independence and freedom.

It was probably owing to the high value that the Scots had learnt to set upon ash timber, both for military and domestic use, that this tree was more commonly planted than any other in compliance with the statute of James II. (fourteenth Parliament, cap. 80), requiring every landowner to cause his tenants to plant and maintain trees in number proportioned to the extent of their holdings. This was in 1424; in 1573 it was re-enacted, along with "sindrie louabil and gud Acts," by 6 James vi. c. 84; whereof the effect may still be traced in the landscape of many parts of Scotland in the shape of old ash trees standing round farmhouses and other homesteads. Often, where two or more farms have been thrown into one, the trees remain long after the disused buildings have been removed.

Belief in the medicinal virtues of the ash was very general in early times, probably derived from the Orient, where the manna ash (F. ornus) abounds. Yet Pliny, who recognised the difference between the two species, not only recommended extract of the common ash as a draught to cure snake-bites and as superior to any other remedy when applied to ulcers, but solemnly affirms that he has himself proved that if ash leaves are laid in a circle round a snake and a fire, the snake will crawl into the fire rather than touch the leaves. Even sage John Evelyn recommended ash extract to cure deafness, toothache and other ailments, and, later still, Gilbert White of Selborne describes the superstitious practice of passing sickly children through the stems of ash-trees, split for that purpose, in the belief that, if the clefts grew together again after the wedges were removed, the patients would recover. For household purposes, ash provides excellent firewood, which burns as well green as dry.

The tallest ash measured by Mr. H. J. Elwes in 1907, stood 146 feet high, and was 12 feet 7 inches in girth 5 feet from the ground. This fine tree is growing with many others of about equal height in Lord Darnley's park at Cobham, in Kent. The tallest ash recorded in Scotland was one at Mount Stuart, in the Island of Bute, stated to have been 134 feet high in 1879; but this has now disappeared. The loftiest certified by Messrs. Elwes and Henry as still standing is a great tree at Dalswinton, in Dumfriesshire, which, in 1904, stood 110 feet high, with a girth of only 8 feet 3 inches. Sir Archibald Buchan-Hepburn, however, claims to have one at Smeaton Hepburn measuring 124 feet in height and 11 feet in girth in 1908.

Weeping ashes have rather gone out of vogue, but they are very pretty things if the sport is grafted on a sufficiently high stem and the stock be not suffered to outgrow the graft, as it will do if not attended to. By far the most successful example of this kind of freak tree is the one at Elvaston Castle, near Derby, 98 feet high with branches hanging to a length of 60 or 70 feet, a truly remarkable object, and beautiful withal, as may be seen from the fine plate in Messrs. Elwes and Henry's book. Although its requirement of a deep, cool and generous soil render the ash unsuitable for London conditions, yet there are a few handsome weeping ashes in that city, notably one at the south-west corner of Bedford Square.

Like all our indigenous trees, the ash has impressed itself upon our place-names. Ashby, Ashton, Ashridge, Ascot—the map of England is peppered freely with such names; that of Scotland more sparsely, owing to the preponderance of Gaelic in the topography. The Gael employed several forms of his name for the ash, namely, fuinnse, fuinnsean, and fuinnseog (pronounced funsha, funshan, and funshog), whence many names in southern and western Ireland such as Funcheon, a river in Cork, Funshin, and Funshinagh several times in Connaught. But the initial consonant soon dropped off, and in northern Ireland and among the Scottish Gaels the word became uinnse (inshy) preserved in the name Inshaw Hill (Wigtownshire), Killyminshaw (Dumfriesshire), etc.; or uinnseog (inshog), recognisable in Inshock (Forfar), Inshaig (Argyll), Inshog (Nairn), Drumnaminshoch and Knockninshock (Kirkcudbright). The plural uinnsean (inshan) has assumed a very grotesque form in Wigtownshire, where there are two farms twenty miles apart named Inshanks.

Liability to disease is an important consideration in regard to forest trees, and the ash has the merit of being remarkably free from ailments. The worst malady from which it is liable to suffer seriously is known as ash canker, whereby the timber is rendered worthless except for firing. Happily it does not seem very contagious; for I have known badly cankered trees standing for twenty years and more without imparting the disease to their healthy neighbours. The late Dr. Masters attributed the mischief to the work of the larva of a small moth (Tinea curtisella). That creature may start the injury, but it is certainly taken up and aggravated by the fungoid organism Nectria ditissima. Although, as aforesaid, the disease does not appear to be readily communicable to healthy trees, it is not advisable to leave the unsightly invalids standing. The sooner they are cut down and burnt the better.

There are between fifty and sixty exotic species of ash, but among them there is only one known to me as specially desirable for ornamental planting, namely, the Manna Ash (Fraxinus ornus), producing a profusion of creamy-white plumes of blossom in June. This pretty tree is the source of the manna of commerce, a sweet and mildly laxative substance obtained by tapping the stem in late summer and allowing the sap which flows from the wound to coagulate.

Manna of various sorts is collected from many different kinds of plant; that which supported the Israelites in the desert is supposed to have been an exudation from the tamarisk; but Sicilian manna is the only kind that is recognised as an article of European trade. In Sicily the manna ash is planted in frassinetti or ash-yards, grown for eight years and regularly tapped, till the main stem is exhausted, when it is cut down, and a fresh growth is allowed to spring from the root. The active principle in manna is mannite, a hexatomic alcohol, chemically expressed as C₆H₈(OH)₆. The manna ash is not often seen in this country; those specimens which are of any size are invariably grafted plants; but a stock is easily raised from seed, which Continental nurserymen readily supply. In Dalmatia and Montenegro, where this tree abounds, drivers stick the flowers thereof in the harness of their horses to keep off flies, which dislike the peculiar odour. A Chinese species (F. mariesii) is near of kin to F. ornus, and is said to bear flowers of superior beauty to that tree; but of this I can only write from hearsay.

The Linden Tree or Lime

When we speak of a lime tree we conform to a corrupt usage, for the right English name is "line" or "linden tree," linden being the adjectival form of the Anglo-Saxon "lind," just as "asp" and "oak" give the adjectives "aspen" and "oaken." The late Professor Skeat, foremost authority in English etymology, observed that "the change from 'line' to 'lime' does not seem to be older than about A.D. 1700"; but he overlooked the use of the modern form by John Evelyn, who, in his Sylva (1664), writes always of "the lime tree or linden," showing that the change had taken place between his day and Shakespeare's.

Prospero. ... Say, my spirit,
How fares the King and his?
Ariel. Confin'd together
In the same fashion as you gave in charge;
Just as you left them, sir; all prisoners
In the line grove which weather-fends your cell.
(Tempest, Act v. sc. 1.)

The root meaning of the word is "smooth," referring to the texture of the timber, which caused it of old to be in great request for making shields, so that in Anglo-Saxon lind meant a shield, as well as being the name of the tree.

COMMON LIME (Tilia vulgaris)

It is strange that Tennyson, so sensitive to delicacy of sound, should have used the modern form in his frequent mention of the tree. Only one instance comes to mind of his preferring the more musical dissyllable. When Amphion set the forest dancing—

The Linden broke her ranks and rent
The woodbine wreaths that bind her,
And down the middle—buzz! she went,
With all her bees behind her.

The limes form a somewhat perplexing family, inasmuch as, of the score or so of species recognised by botanists, several cannot be reputed as more than hybrids or sports. The only species claimed as indigenous to Britain is the small-leaved lime (Tilia cordata), and even about this botanists are not of a certain mind. For instance, the joint authors of The Trees of Great Britain and Ireland have formed different opinions, Dr. Henry considering it to be "a native of England, ranging from Cumberland southward," while Mr. Elwes fails to reconcile this with the facts that no fossil remains of this tree have been identified in the British Isles, and that he has never been able to find, or to find anybody else who has found, a self-sown seedling.

There are many fine specimens of the small-leaved lime in England, ranging from 80 to 110 feet high; but it has never been known to attain the dimensions of the common lime (T. europæa), which, although it is an exotic species, has made itself thoroughly at home between the Straits of Dover and the Moray Firth, and is the tree which those who do not scrupulously discriminate regard as the lime tree par excellence.

It would require much space to mention all the notable limes in our country, for they were very extensively planted 200 or 300 years ago, and, being long-lived, many of them have grown to great size. Mr. Elwes gives the palm to the lime grove at Ashridge, Lord Brownlow's fine park in Hertfordshire. These trees were planted in 1660, and average 120 feet in height and 10 feet in girth. They have been grown in a close row, only 12 to 15 feet apart, and have thereby escaped the defects to which limes are so prone as ornamental trees—namely, spreading to ungainly breadth instead of rising to height, and covering their trunks with an unsightly mass of brush.

FLOWER OF THE LINDEN TREE (Tilia europæa)

At Knole Park, in Kent, advantage has been taken of this spreading habit to allow the formation of a very remarkable grove. The parent tree was described by Loudon as covering a quarter of an acre in 1820; the boughs have drooped so as to root themselves, and have risen again, forming trees 80 and 90 feet high, which in their turn have repeated the process, forming a second circle of trees 20 to 40 feet high, and these again are engaged in forming a third concentric circle, the total diameter of the grove, all connected with the central stem, being 36 yards. The great lime at Gordon Castle, known as the Duchess's Tree, has behaved in a similar way; but, as the supplementary growths have not been trained into trees as at Knole, the whole forms a dense thicket, impenetrable save where a passage has been kept clear to the interior. A tree of this description covers almost enough ground, if not for a small holding, at least for an allotment, for the total circumference of this mass of branches is 480 feet or 160 yards.

It is as an avenue tree that the lime is seen at its best, disputing pre-eminence for that purpose with the beech. Moreover, although the beech must be accounted the more beautiful tree, its rival has advantage over it in the delicious fragrance of its blossom, which is produced in great profusion, powerfully attractive to bees. Strange to say, although the fragrant flowers are of a pale yellowish, greenish white, the honey extracted from them is deep brown, darker than heather honey, and of inferior flavour.

Fine avenues of limes are innumerable in Britain, many of them being over 200 years old. At Newhouse Park, Devon, Mr. Elwes describes a remarkable one, which was planted about 200 years ago as an approach to a house which never was built. The rows are only 20 feet apart, and the trees, which are only 10 feet apart in the rows, have risen to an immense height, averaging over 120 feet.

Among other notable lime avenues may be noted those at Stratton Park, Hants (Lord Northbrook's); Cassiobury, Herts (Lord Essex's), said to have been planted by Le Notre, the designer of the gardens at Versailles; at Braxted Park, Essex (Mr. Du Cane's), composed of three rows on each side; at Wollaton Hall, Notts, and Birdsall, Yorks (both places belonging to Lord Middleton). In all these avenues the trees range from 120 to 130 feet high; but none can compete in length with an avenue planted at Clumber by the Duke of Newcastle in 1840, which is only 200 yards short of two miles long. Unfortunately, these trees were planted far too wide apart in the rows, 31 feet from tree to tree, and, having been afterwards neglected in the matter of training, have squandered their luxuriance in bushy growth. To form a fine avenue timely pruning is indispensable.

The lime, being more tolerant than the beech of drought, parching heat and a smoky atmosphere, thrives vigorously in towns of moderate size, and also in large cities where the chief fuel is not coal. The well-known thoroughfare, Unter-den-Linden, in Berlin, corresponds to the Mall in London. I have not identified the species with which it is planted; certainly of late years they have been planting in Berlin a natural hybrid known as the smooth-leaved lime (T. euchlora), which has the merit of keeping its glossy foliage later in autumn than the common lime. The trees in Unter-den-Linden are remarkable neither for size nor vigour, but they provide grateful shade and verdure in summer.

WEEPING WHITE LIME (Tilia petiolaris)
At Wakehurst Place

The atmosphere of Berlin is certainly not so hurtful to tree growth as that of London, where poplars, planes, ailanthus, and acacia (Robinia) are practically the only forest trees that can do battle successfully with the parching heat and stifling fogs of that city; conditions which the limes that used to stand in the Mall resented by casting their foliage in disgust before August was sped. The limes in the Cathedral close of Winchester afford an example of felicitous association of foliage with noble architecture. Perhaps there is a remembrance of them in Tennyson's Gardeners' Daughter:—

Over many a range
Of waning lime the gray cathedral towers,
Across a hazy glimmer of the west,
Reveal'd their shining windows.

The smooth white timber of lime was once in much more request than it is now. Pliny praises it as worm-proof and useful, describing how the inner bark was woven into ropes, as it now is into bast for the mats with which gardeners protect their frames from frost. These mats are chiefly made in and exported from Russia. Lime timber, being less liable to split than other woods, was the favourite material for wood-carving; indeed, Evelyn writes of it as being used exclusively in their work:—

"Because of its colour and easy working, and that it is not subject to split, architects make with it models for their designed buildings; and the carvers in wood use it, not only for small figures, but for large statues and entire histories in bass and high relieve; witness, beside several more, the festoons, fruitages, and other sculptures of admirable invention and performance to be seen about the choir of St. Paul's and other churches, Royal Palaces, and noble houses in city and country; all of them the works and invention of our Lysippus, Mr. [Grinling] Gibbons, comparable, and for aught appears equal, to anything of the antients. Having had the honour (for so I account it) to be the first who recommended this great artist to His Majesty Charles II., I mention it on this occasion with much satisfaction."

It is owing to the neglect of British planters and the consequent irregularity of the home timber trade that this fine timber has been ousted from its former pre-eminence by imports of other kinds.

In writing of the common lime, I have used the scientific name, Tilia europæa as conferred on it by Linnæus, rather than the more recent title of T. vulgaris. There seems a special reason for retaining the old name, inasmuch as Linnæus considered his own family name was derived from the linden tree.

ENGLISH ELM (Ulmus campestris)

The Elms

It is a matter of doubtful argument how many species go to compose the genus Elm—Ulmus—owing to the uncertainty of distinguishing true permanent species from varieties and natural hybrids. Foremost botanists have differed widely on the question; for whereas Bentham and Hooker recognised in 1887 only two true species growing naturally in the United Kingdom, Elwes and Henry describe five native species, besides nine varieties of the wych elm, as many of the English elm, and no fewer than thirteen varieties of Ulmus nitens, a species hitherto classed as a form of the English elm.

The distribution of the elm family is somewhat peculiar, extending all the way from Japan, through Northern China and Europe to North America, but not crossing to the Western States; nor is any species to be found south of the temperate zone, except in the mountain ranges of Southern Mexico. Of all the cities of the New World, Boston reminds the British traveller more vividly of home scenes than any other, by reason of the massive English elms which enrich the landscape. Pity it is that we cannot return the compliment by planting the beautiful white elm (Ulmus Americana), the glory of Washington city, for it does not take kindly to our island climate.

The elm with which we are most familiar in the North is the wych elm (U. montana), easily to be distinguished from the English elm by the fact that it throws up no suckers from the root, whereas the English elm hardly ever ripens seed, and propagates itself entirely by suckers which it sends out as colonists to an astonishing distance—50 yards and more. There are exceedingly few authentic records of the English elm ripening seed in Great Britain; on the other hand, the wych elm sometimes produces a prodigious crop. In the spring of 1909 this tree presented a curious appearance. The foregoing summer had been a very warm one, stimulating the wych elm to such extraordinary efforts at reproduction that, before the leaves appeared, the trees seemed to be covered with fresh young foliage, which was really the crowded leaf-like seed vessels. In June these leaf-like membranes had become dry scales, each acting as parachute to a single seed, so that, under a hot sun and a high wind, the air was full of them—so full that they actually choked the eave-gutters of my house. Each of these little monoplanes carried the potentiality of a majestic forest tree; given a suitable resting-place, any one of these minute seeds might develop into an elm like those at Darnaway, in Morayshire, which in 1882 were 95 feet high, with clean boles up to 24 feet. So great was the exhaustion following upon the abnormal seed crop of 1909 that some of my elms were crippled by it, and two or three died outright.[9]

WYCH ELM (Ulmus montana)

To produce well-shaped wych elms, timely pruning is essential, followed by close forest treatment, for no other tree spreads more wildly and wantonly, and unless means are taken to keep a single leader on each, the result will be very different from those lordly examples which stood, not many years ago, on the banks of the White Cart at Pollok, four of which were figured by Strutt in his Sylva Britannica in 1824. The largest of these measured in that year 85 feet in height and 11 feet 10 inches in girth, and contained 669 cubic feet of timber. Two of this group were blown down in the great gale of 22nd December, 1894, and the remaining pair were felled in 1905, being respectively 90 and 96 feet high. The age of these giants was shown by the annual rings to be about 300 years.

The weeping elms which one sometimes sees in gardens is a variety which originated in a Perthshire nursery about one hundred years ago. It is very ornamental, though it never attains much height, being perfectly flat-topped. As it can only be propagated by grafts, a sharp lookout must be kept to prevent the stock outgrowing the scion.

The wych elm is indigenous over the whole of the northern part of Great Britain, the largest recorded being at Studley Royal, in Yorkshire—105 feet high and 23 feet in girth at 5 feet up in 1905. As an element of the primæval Scottish forest, the wych elm must have been held in high esteem, judging from the number of Gaelic place-names commemorating it. The old Gaelic name for it was leam, plural leaman (pronounced "lam" and "lamman"). Ptolemy's Leamanonius lacus is now Loch Lomond, the lake of elms, out of which flows the Leven, which is the more modern aspirated form leamhan (pronounced "lavan"); and we find the same association of names in eastern Scotland, where the Lomond Hills overlook the town of Leven. The Lennox district was formerly written Levenax, which is the adjectival form leamhnach (lavnah), an elm wood. The rivers Lune and Leven in Lancashire (Ptolemy's Alauna), the Leven in Cumberland, and the Laune at Killarney all seem to indicate the former existence of elm woods on their banks. In the name Carlaverock is probably preserved another derivative—caer leamhraich, the fort among the elms.

It was long supposed that the English elm (U. campestris) was not indigenous to England, seeing that it never propagates itself in these islands by seed. Its presence was explained by the convenient device of attributing its introduction to the Romans; but there is not a shred of evidence in support of this conjecture. The elm of Italy is quite a distinct species, according to Elwes and Henry, a fact with which Shakespeare, though familiar with "Warwickshire weeds" (as elms are called near Stratford-on-Avon), may not have been acquainted when he made Adriana plead with him she believed to be her husband:

Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine;
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine;
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate.

The English elm, however, grows luxuriantly in Spain, and ripens seed abundantly there, the tradition being current that it was introduced from England to the Royal Park at Aranjuez when Philip II. was laying out that demesne. Dr. Henry, however, considers it not improbable that this tree is truly indigenous in Spain, and that it is certainly so in the southern counties of England, where, as aforesaid, it reproduces itself only by suckers. Other examples are not wanting of certain plants yielding to climatic conditions, by resorting to reproduction by suckers and ceasing to produce seed.

Perhaps the most striking display of the true English elm to be found anywhere is the magnificent quadruple avenue known as the Long Walk, at Windsor. Many of these are 120 feet high and 15 feet in girth. The avenue leads from the Castle gates to the statue in the park, a distance of two miles and three-quarters. Taller individual elms may be seen elsewhere, as in the grounds of King's College, Cambridge (130 feet), Boreham House, in Essex (132 feet), and Northampton Court, Gloucestershire (150 feet by 20 feet in girth). The last-named tree, by the way, may no longer be seen, for it was blown down in 1895, but there can be no doubt about its dimensions, which were accurately ascertained as it lay on the ground. It was probably the champion of that particular species in England; but it was inferior in bulk to the great elm which stood in the grounds of Magdalen College, Oxford, until it was blown down in April, 1911, pronounced by Mr. Elwes to be "the largest elm I have ever seen and the largest tree of any kind in Great Britain."[10] Mr. Elwes carefully measured the fallen giant, finding it to be 142 feet high, 27 feet in girth, and containing 2787 cubic feet of timber. He and Dr. Henry pronounce it to have belonged to the variety or sub-species classed as the smooth-leaved Huntingdon or Chichester elm (U. vegeta, Lindley), although in this case no suckers had been produced, which the Huntingdon elm usually sends up in profusion.

It is usually stated in forestry manuals that the English elm is not suited for Scottish conditions. My own experience is directly opposed to that view, for, having some score or so of these trees now about 110 years old to compare with wych elms planted at the same time, the English species exceeds the other in height and equals it in bulk. Two English elms at Loudon Castle, in Ayrshire, were measured in 1908, and were found respectively to be 107 feet by 15 feet 4 inches and 105 feet by 16 feet 4 inches.

THE GREAT ELM AT MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD

I have found, however, that by far the shapeliest and best elm for Scottish planting is the smooth-leaved elm, formerly, and probably correctly, considered to be merely a permanent variety of the English elm (U. campestris), but now distinguished as a species under the title of Ulmus nitens. It certainly resists violent winds better than the English elm, being therefore preferable for sea exposure. Moreover, its timber is esteemed more highly than that of other elms, being remarkably tough. Dr. Henry has distinguished a variety of this elm as Italica—the Mediterranean elm—which is the kind used by Tuscan vine-dressers to train their vines on.

The smooth-leaved elm is of less sprawling habit than the wych elm, but occasionally it takes advantage of space to spread out of all measure. Of this there is an example at Sharpham, near Totnes, where a tree of this species has covered the space of a quarter of an acre, some of its side branches being 104 feet long. The total height was between 80 and 90 feet in 1906, in which year it was figured in the Gardeners' Chronicle as a wych elm. Mr. Elwes, however, pronounces it to be of the smooth-leaved kind. On the other hand, the Cornish elm, which is a variety of U. nitens, is usually of columnar habit.

The Sycamore and other Maples

A north countryman, reading Clough's beautiful lines, is pretty sure to apply them to the wrong tree, because, when a Scots forester speaks of a plane tree, he is understood to mean what in the south is called a sycamore. But even that is a misnomer, the true sycamore, mentioned in Holy Writ, being a fig-tree (Ficus sycamorus).

SYCAMORE (Acer pseudo-platanus)
In Summer

The sycamore and the plane are quite distinct, belonging to separate natural orders, the sycamore being a maple (Aceraceæ), the largest of all the maples, and the plane constituting a single group in the order Platanaceæ. The confusion of names has arisen from the success with which the sycamore masquerades as a plane, imitating its foliage and aping it in its habit of shedding the bark in thin flakes. Botanists have given recognition to this peculiarity by the scientific title they have conferred on the sycamore, viz. Acer pseudo-platanus, or the false plane. But in its flower and fruit the sycamore cannot disguise its true affinity. Its flowers are arranged in triplets on long hanging scapes, of a yellowish green, only requiring a dash of brighter hue to render the sycamore one of the loveliest objects in the spring woodland. The flowers are followed by fruits which stamp the tree unmistakably as a maple. The seed-vessels are composed of what in botany are termed samaræ or keys, each containing a large seed or two. These samaræ are attached to each other in pairs, and, as each carries a beautifully-formed membranous wing, the result is a pair of wings to each pair of seed-vessels, securing wide distribution of the seeds by autumnal winds. On the other hand, the flowers of the true plane (Platanus) are very minute, and the fruit consists of a mass of thin seeds set among closely-pressed hairs and bristles, forming a hard, perfectly round ball nearly an inch in diameter. These balls, from two to six on each fruiting stalk, hang conspicuously on the branches all winter, until the dry March winds burst them and allow the seeds to float away.

Neither sycamore nor plane are natives of the United Kingdom. The plane, though it excels all other trees for planting in smoky towns like London, does not take kindly to the cooler atmosphere of Scotland and northern England. Not so the sycamore, which, although naturally a product of the mountain ranges of Central and Southern Europe, nowhere flourishes more freely and sows itself more abundantly than in North Britain. Indeed, it is a conspicuous instance of the careless prodigality of Nature how thickly every bare spot in a wood becomes covered with seedling sycamores, not one in a million of which have the faintest chance of surviving two or three seasons.

The life period of the sycamore is a long one, probably three times that of the beech and equal to that of the oak. At Truns, in the Swiss Oberland, a great sycamore, already in ruin, was destroyed by a storm in 1870. As it was under this tree that the Grey League, originators of the canton of Grisons, took the oath in 1424, it can scarcely have been less than 600 years old when it ceased to exist. Mr. Elwes gives the dimensions of another mighty sycamore in Switzerland, growing at an elevation of more than 4000 feet in the canton of Unterwalden, which must be coeval with the tree of the Grey League. It measures 29 feet in circumference at 5 feet from the ground. We cannot quite equal that in Scotland, although in that country and northern England there are some enormous sycamores. Behind the Birnam Hotel stand two very large trees, an oak and a sycamore. The oak, lesser of the two, is shown to visitors as the last survivor of that forest whereof it was said

Macbeth shall never vanquished be
Until great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him.

SYCAMORE
In Winter

The other is a giant sycamore, reported in Hunter's Woods and Forests of Perthshire (1883) to be one thousand years old, which, of course, is impossible. I measured the girth of this great tree in 1903, and made it 19 feet 8 inches at 5 feet from the ground. It was not until long after that I found that Hunter had given exactly the same measurement twenty years earlier. This girth is exceeded by one at Castle Menzies, which, in 1904, gave 20 feet 4 inches. The loftiest sycamore reported in Scotland is also in Perthshire, at Blair Drummond. This tree Dr. Henry ascertained to be 108 feet high, with a girth of 10 feet.

At Kippenross, also in Perthshire, there remain fragments of a sycamore destroyed by lightning in 1860. It was known in the seventeenth century as "the Muckle Tree o' Kippenross," and was estimated in 1821 to contain 875 cubic feet of timber.

It would be vain to attempt within reasonable limits of space to give a catalogue of the notable sycamores in Great Britain. Most of the finest specimens are in Scotland; for no tree can be planted in our northern land with greater security of success; it fears neither severe frost nor reasonable wind exposure; but it insists upon well-drained soil. In damp, low-lying ground it may appear to flourish; but in such a situation it is sure to prove "boss" (to use a term in Scottish forestry) or hollow at the heart when ready for the axe. In England there are many sycamores of 100 feet and upwards; but this tree has become much more closely identified with the landscape of the northern counties than with that of the south.

As a forest tree, the sycamore has been treated with unmerited neglect by British planters; though it is not singular in that respect, so improvidently have we accustomed ourselves to rely upon foreign supplies. We ought to bestow more care upon our sycamores, because not only is it a tree that rapidly re-establishes itself by seed and is practically immune from disease, but it produces timber which, when of sufficient size, commands a higher price than any other British-grown wood. That size is not less than 18 inches quarter girth, representing sixty to eighty years' growth, and from that size up to any dimensions, provided that the bole is straight, clean-grown and free of knots. The main purpose for which such stems are in demand is for making large rollers used in calico and wallpaper printing, in washing machines and cotton dyeing. A few years ago I was shown a single sycamore growing at Makerstoun on Tweedside for which the owner had been offered, and refused, £50. The wood is also in good request for railway carriage panelling, furniture, dairy utensils, etc.

FRUIT OF SYCAMORE (Acer pseudo-platanus)

As an ornamental tree it must be owned that the sycamore does not take high rank, owing to the monotonous tone assumed by its massive foliage after the flush of spring has passed. Nor does it usually compound for this by splendour of autumnal colour, as so many of the maple family do. Indeed, this is one of the qualities of its near kindred which the sycamore has discarded in order, it would almost seem, to simulate the plane more perfectly and to justify its appellation of "the false plane"; for the foliage of the plane falls like that of the sycamore without any dying brilliancy. It is true, however, that old sycamores, when sheltered from sea winds, do sometimes assume bright tones of yellow and orange in autumn. At Keir, in Perthshire, a row of aged trees of this species surprised me by their brilliancy in November, 1913.

Although, as I have said, the sycamore is remarkably free from disease and from serious fungoid or insect attacks, it is the host of a parasitic fungus which seldom fails to make its presence apparent, though without perceptibly affecting the growth or health of the tree. Readers must be very familiar with the circular black spots which appear on the leaves about midsummer and continue till they fall. It is not a few leaves or a few trees here and there that are so affected, but all the leaves on large trees and on every tree in the wood. The difficulty is to find a leaf without these black spots; so that people have come to regard them as part of the regular colour scheme of the foliage. Nevertheless, each of these blots is a colony of the parasitic fungus, Rhytisma, whereof the life-history is still subject for investigation. It is not evident how the colonies are regularly distributed, each clear of the other, all over the leaves of a lofty tree, nor how, seeing that they fall to the ground with the leaves in autumn, the fungus manages to get access in the following summer to the loftiest branches. It is lucky that, being so widely distributed and existing in such incalculable numbers, these colonies do not appreciably interfere with the natural functions of the sycamore.

The only native species of maple in Britain is the Field Maple (Acer campestre), which does not extend naturally into either Scotland or Ireland, though it grows freely in both these countries when planted in either of these countries. It is a very ancient element in the woodland of south Britain, its remains having been identified in pre-glacial beds in Suffolk. It has no qualities to recommend it for ornamental planting, and the timber, once highly prized by British cabinetmakers, has been ousted from the home-market by imported foreign woods. When the Rev. William Gilpin, author of a well-known work on Forest Scenery, died in 1804, he was buried, it is said, at the foot of a field maple growing in his own churchyard at Boldre, in the New Forest. Strutt gave a figure of this tree which he described as the largest of the species in England; but he gives the height as only 45 feet, whereas Elwes records several from 60 to 70 feet high.

A far more desirable tree than the field maple is the Norway maple (A. platanoides, Linn.). The title "Norway" no more indicates its natural range than the term "Scots" does that of Pinus sylvestris, for this maple is found in most European countries and as far east as Persia and the Caucasus. It is a beautiful tree, especially in autumn, when its foliage takes on brilliant red and yellow hues; but it requires attention during the first twenty or thirty years of growth, in order to check its disposition to a straggling branchy habit. If that be stopped by timely pruning, the Norway maple grows straight and free, attaining, under favourable conditions, a height of 80 to 90 feet. Its timber has not the ornamental character of that of field maple, but is said to be of similar quality to that of sycamore. The petioles or leaf-stalks of this species contain a milky juice, whereby the tree may be distinguished from all other members of the genus.

Now, whereas botanists enumerate no fewer than one hundred and ten species of maple, natives of Europe, Asia and America, it would be impossible within the limits of this modest volume to discuss even the most desirable of the genus. Among the North American species there are several that grow to splendid dimensions in their native forest. One of the most distinct is the red maple (A. rubrum), a beautiful object in spring when it bears flowers profusely, which, in some varieties, are of a charming red colour. There are a few specimens in England of the well-known sugar maple (A. saccharum), but it seldom thrives in this country, though it has been frequently tried since its introduction, according to Loudon, in 1735.

The Plane

Among Scottish foresters the name "plane-tree" has come to signify the sycamore; but the sycamore is a kind of maple, whereas the term "plane" is rightly appropriated to Platanus, whereof there are four species, constituting the natural order of Platanaceæ. Of these four species, three are natives of North America; and forasmuch as none of them has proved amenable to cultivation in Europe, they may be dismissed with the remark that one of them, the button-wood (P. occidentalis), attains enormous proportions in its native forests, rising to a height of 170 feet, and with a girth (recorded by Michaux) of 47 feet.

The fourth species (P. orientalis) ranks among the noblest hardwoods of temperate Europe and Asia. Clear among memories of many sylvan scenes stand a pair of giant planes on the flank of Mount Olympus, in the leafless branches of which on a bright January morning a pair of white-tailed eagles monopolised the attention which I was intended by my Turkish host to devote to woodcocks in the copse below. Those who have sailed along the Dalmatian coast will doubtless remember the harbour of Gravosa, and the solitary plane that casts such a grateful shade across the quay. But one need not go to the Continent for giant planes. In our day it is one of the trees most commonly planted in the southern counties for shade and ornament, and has no equal for the smoke-laden atmosphere of London. It may be that it was one of Evelyn's seedlings that Bishop Gunning planted in his Garden at Ely between 1674 and 1684. This tree in 1903 was 104 feet high, with a girth of 20½ feet. Messrs. Elwes and Henry give a photograph of it in their Trees of Great Britain and Ireland, and consider it to be the largest specimen in our islands of the cut-leaved variety.

Turner, writing in 1562, mentions "two very young trees" growing in England, which indicates the middle of the sixteenth century as the period of its introduction. A hundred years later, Evelyn says he has raised from seed—

"Platanus, that so beautiful and precious tree so doated on by Xerxes that Ælian and other authors tell us he made halt and stop'd his prodigious army of seventeen hundred thousand soldiers to admire the pulchritude and procerity of one of these goodly trees, and became so fond of it that he cover'd it with gold gemms, necklaces, scarfs and bracelets, and infinite riches."

The maple-leaved variety, usually known as the London plane, is the sort most commonly planted in England, and rightly so, for it is more vigorous than the other. Probably the tallest in England grows at Woolbeding, in Sussex; it was 110 feet high in 1903, with a girth of 10 feet, and a clean bole of 30 feet. It would be needless to enumerate the fine planes in and near London; one has only to look at the groups beside the Admiralty and in Berkeley Square to realise how it thrives in an atmosphere pernicious to nearly all other forest growths. Fifty or sixty years hence the avenue of planes planted not long since along the Mall will be one of the sights of Europe. The skilful way in which they are being trained each to a single leader gives them a stiff, ungraceful appearance at present; but this treatment is a bit of true arboriculture, carried out in the teeth of bitter criticism. "Bairns and fules shouldna see things half dune."

It is the absence of the conditions specially favourable to the growth of the plane in London and the south that makes it unsuitable for planting in the North of England and in Scotland. It is native to a region of scorching summers; in London the sun's heat is reflected from buildings and streets in a manner most acceptable to it. It will stand any amount of frost it may encounter in Scotland; but it pines for want of summer heat, witness the unhappy condition of those which have been planted experimentally along the west end of Princes Street, Edinburgh. I do not know of a single plane of more than mediocre stature north of the Tweed.

The plane is nearly as late in leafing as the ash and the walnut, thereby escaping the cruel frosts so characteristic of British spring; but unlike the ash, it retains its foliage into very late autumn. Pliny described an evergreen plane growing in Crete; but after the botanist Tournefort (1656-1708) had searched the island in vain for it, this was relegated to the category of myths. Howbeit, tardy justice was done to Pliny as the prince of field naturalists, when in 1865 Captain Spratt, R.N., was shown two young plane trees, retaining their leaves throughout the winter, which had sprung from the root of a very large tree that had been felled. He also heard of two others.

The Oriental plane has not been long enough established with us to give an estimate of its longevity in Britain. In the Mediterranean region it attains a vast age. Only a hollow stump remains of one at Vostiza, in the Gulf of Lepanto, which in 1842 was about 130 feet high and 37 feet 4 inches in girth, and was believed to be the tree described by Pausanias when writing his description of Greece in the second century after Christ. Neither have we learnt to make much use of the timber so plentifully produced by the plane, though it is said to be second to none for the bodies of carriages.

In antiquity of descent the plane tree has few, if any, superiors among broad-leaved trees, its remains having been recovered from the Cretaceous beds of North America, besides numerous species recovered from Miocene and Tertiary strata, in Northern Europe, whence they were expelled when that region became icebound.

The London planes have been accused of being chief agents in inflicting influenza, bronchitis and catarrh upon the inhabitants of the metropolis. It has been seriously affirmed that when the seed-vessels of the plane break up in dry spring weather, the air is filled with minute spicules which act as an irritant upon human throats and noses. It may be so; but before condemning the trees, without which London would indeed be desolate, it would be well to ascertain first whether the ailments referred to are more prevalent in London during the months when the plane tree is shedding its dry fruit than they are at other times of the year; and second, whether they are more prevalent in London, where there is wealth of planes, than they are in cities where there are no planes, as Edinburgh, Glasgow, Liverpool, Newcastle, etc. Unless this can be shown to be the case, it is difficult to reconcile the fact that London has the lowest death-rate among the cities of the United Kingdom with any mischief arising from the luxuriance of these beautiful trees.

HORSE CHESTNUT (Æsculus hippocastanum) IN BLOOM

HORSE CHESTNUT FLOWER SPIKE

The Horse Chestnut

In one respect the horse chestnut (Æsculus hippocastanum) may be reckoned among the most remarkable trees of British woodland, inasmuch as, although it has been found in a wild state only here and there among the mountains of Greece and Albania, where it enjoys a climate widely dissimilar from that of Western Europe, it has a constitution so cosmopolitan as to become thoroughly at home in all parts of our country. It thrives as vigorously on the dry chalk soil of Hertfordshire as on the soaked hillsides of Perthshire, and, given reasonable shelter from violent winds, produces its magnificent foliage and flowers as freely near sea level as it does at Invercauld in Aberdeenshire, where there is, or was not long ago, a fair specimen growing at an elevation of 1,110 feet, not far short of the practical limit of tree growth in Scotland. In 1864 this horse chestnut was 8 feet 7 inches in girth, and was believed to have been planted in the year 1687; therefore, if it still stands, it is now 226 years old.

Another sign of the adaptability of the horse chestnut to British environment is the freedom with which it ripens its large fruit and reproduces itself from self-sown seed wherever it gets a chance. The facility with which it does so has caused this tree to be deemed indigenous in many parts of Europe and Asia where it certainly is not a native, but where it has been planted originally on account of its beauty. Further confusion has arisen from the botanists Linnæus and De Candolle having failed to distinguish the Indian horse chestnut (Æ. indica) from the Greek species, and having assigned Northern Asia as the native region of the latter.

It would not be difficult to mention many individual horse chestnuts in the British Isles exceeding 100 feet in height; probably this tree, if subjected to forest conditions, would grow far loftier than that; but, as it is usually planted exclusively for ornament, it is most often found standing isolated, thereby receiving encouragement to develop enormous side branches and to grow in breadth and bulk rather than in height. Such is the character of a great horse chestnut standing in a group near Moncrieff House, Perthshire. In 1883 this tree measured no less than 19 feet in girth at 5 feet from the ground; but at 10 feet it divides into three huge limbs, each girthing 10 feet, and covers a space nearly 100 yards in circumference. The soil in this district is cool and the climate humid, very different from the conditions at Ashridge in Hertfordshire, where the soil is chalky and hot; yet there is in that fine park a horse chestnut even more massive than the Moncrieff House specimen, being about 80 feet high, and measuring 20 feet in girth. Probably the loftiest horse chestnut in Britain, perhaps in the world, is one at Petworth, in Sussex, which, having been drawn up in close forest, now measures between 115 and 120 feet in height.

It is a pity that this noble tree does not more often receive encouragement to upward growth, seeing that if the surrounding trees are cleared away judiciously, that is not too suddenly, after the horse chestnut has reached a good height, it then feathers down in the most charming manner. It is very seldom that, without discipline of this kind, it will put its energy into height, and attain the fine proportions of a specimen at Biel, in East Lothian. In 1884 this grand tree, probably the loftiest in Scotland, measured 102 feet in height, with a clean bole of 40 feet. It is worth any amount of trouble to secure this character in the horse chestnut, which is an inveterate spreader if allowed licence; and the tendency may be checked by knocking side buds off the stem in the sapling stage, and timely pruning as the tree goes on to maturity.

As an avenue tree, the horse chestnut has few, if any, superiors. Perhaps the finest examples in Scotland of this manner of planting it are to be seen at Gilmerton, in East Lothian, and Drummond Castle, in Perthshire; while in England the splendid double avenue at Bushey Park, Middlesex, has long been famous, "Chestnut Sunday" being a noted festival for Londoners when the trees are in full bloom. The horse chestnut, however, is not a long-lived tree, and cannot be reckoned upon to survive beyond 250 years. The Bushey Park chestnuts are failing fast, many having died already and been replaced by saplings.

Talking of avenues, it is worth while to note a calamity described by Mr. Hutchison of Carlowrie in the Transactions of the Highland and Agricultural Society for 1884. He states there that in 1867 an avenue of horse chestnuts was planted as an approach to the cemetery of Wimborne, Dorsetshire, the trees being set 25 feet apart in the rows. In 1875 it was thought to improve the avenue by planting yews in the intervals between the chestnuts, which had this unfortunate result, that the chestnuts, which had previously thriven finely, all pined away and died.

It is on record that the horse chestnut was first brought to France in 1615, and probably found its way into England about the same time. It seems that it was expected to rank with walnuts and Spanish chestnuts as a fruit tree, a notion which was speedily dispelled. John Evelyn, however, with a right taste for sylvan beauty, early discerned its decorative merit, writing about it in 1663 as follows:

"In the meantime I wish we did more universally propagate the horse chestnut, which being increased from layers, grows into a goodly standard, and bears a glorious flower, even in our cold country. This tree is now all the mode for the avenues to their country places in France."

Travellers in that fair land will remember with pleasure the fine use still made of this tree beside some of the high roads. Between Tours and Blois the wayside has been planted with a chestnut unknown to Evelyn, for it did not exist anywhere in his day. This is the red horse chestnut (Æsculus carnea), which seems to have originated in Germany about the beginning of the nineteenth century, and is believed to be a hybrid between Æ. hippocastanum and the North American shrub Æ. pavia. It is a most beautiful tree, the flowers being of a delightful shade of bright carmine. We are told not to expect it to attain the stature of the common horse chestnut, so it would be well, in designing an avenue, not to mix the red and the white with a view to matching them in height; but the red hybrid has already risen to 50 feet high at Barton in Sussex, and I entertain an idea that this tree may develop into larger proportions than is expected of it, when planted in good soil and favouring shelter. At all events, some which I planted about thirty years ago are now quite as large as common horse chestnuts of the same age.

Mr. Elwes recommends the horse chestnut for planting in towns, remarking that "next to the plane it is one of the best trees we have for this purpose, and does not seem to suffer much from smoke." I regret that I am unable to endorse this view. It is true that in towns of moderate size, and in country villages, horse chestnuts may be planted with excellent effect. I know of few more charming sights than is presented by the group of these trees in the high street of Esher when they are in flower; but in London horse chestnuts prove a lamentable failure. Living as I used to do in the neighbourhood of Sloane Street, it was a distress to me each year to watch the stunted, round-headed chestnuts in the gardens at the lower part of that thoroughfare, and in Eaton Square, unfolding their delicate fingers only to have them parched and blackened by the ruthless drought and dirt of the Metropolis.

As a timber producer, the horse chestnut cannot be assigned high rank. There is no lack of quantity, for the tree increases very rapidly in bulk, but in quality the wood is soft, weak, and very perishable. Moreover, it is almost useless as fuel, and probably the only economic purpose to which it could be applied profitably is the production of wood-pulp and celluloid.

The true meaning of the prefix "horse," by which this tree is distinguished from the true or Spanish chestnut, has been the subject of much discussion. Apparently it was not applied in the sense of "coarse, large," as in the terms horse-radish, horse-mushroom, etc., for the Turkish name for it is at kastan, signifying horse-chestnut; and this was explained in a letter written by the Flemish Dr. Quackleben to Matthiolus in 1557 (many years before the tree was known in Britain), explaining the use of the fruit as a specific against broken wind in horses.

ASPEN TREE (Populus tremula)

The Poplars

There is much confusion among the different species of poplar, but it is clear that in these verses Tennyson had in view our native abele or grey poplar (Populus canescens), a native of Great Britain, often mistaken for the white poplar (P. alba), which nearly resembles the grey, and has been planted in this country, but is probably an exotic. The poet's epithet "silver green" admirably describes the foliage of the grey poplar, for some of the shoots bear green leaves, others white ones, others again green leaves on the lower part and white on the upper.

Of all known species of poplar, thirty or so in number, the abele produces the choicest timber, much in request by carriage-builders, who sometimes pay as much as 2s. 6d. a cubic foot for well-grown logs. It is excellent timber for flooring bedrooms, being less inflammable than any other British-grown wood except larch. It is, therefore, characteristic of British neglect of woodland resources that this tree is hardly ever planted, though it is most easily propagated from suckers or cuttings, and attains an immense size long before an oak could reach maturity.

The abele is more common in Scotland than in England, and many large trees might be mentioned in the North. It would be difficult, however, to find any to surpass two growing at Mauldslie Castle, in Clydesdale, one of which in 1911 measured 100 feet high and 21 feet 3 inches in girth, the other 117 feet by 16 feet 5 inches. It should be noted that the girth of both was taken at between 2 and 3 feet from the ground, instead of 5 feet, which is the proper height for measurement.

Next in economic importance to the grey poplar stands what is popularly known in this country as the black Italian poplar (P. serotina), which is not Italian in any sense, but a hybrid originating in France (where it is called peuplier suisse) between an American species and the true black poplar (P. nigra). This confusion of names is all the more perplexing because the upright variety of the true black poplar goes by the name of Lombardy poplar. However, one must use the names most generally recognised among woodmen, and the black Italian poplar is well worthy of more attention than it has hitherto received in this country, for it produces valuable timber in greater bulk in a short term of years than any other British-grown tree. Mr. Elwes has recorded how thirty poplars of this variety, planted on cold clay in Gloucestershire, not worth 5s. an acre, were sold for £3 apiece at forty-eight years of age. He lays stress on the importance of giving this tree plenty of room at all stages of growth, planting them at 15 to 20 feet apart, for the timber is little worth unless the tree gets enough light to enable it to produce wood rapidly. This precept applies to every species of poplar.

The tallest black Italian poplar in Great Britain is probably one growing on the banks of the Tillingbourne, in Albury Park, Surrey, which in 1912 measured 150 feet high, with a girth of 15 feet 3 inches. There are many fine specimens in Scotland, notably one at Scone Palace, which in 1904 was 132 feet high, with a girth of 15 feet 4 inches. Another at Monzie, in Perthshire, measured at the same time, stood 125 feet high.

Turning now to the true black poplar (Populus nigra), we find that this species, a native of Midland England, but probably not of Scotland, has become established in the eastern United States, having been introduced there by British colonists. It has often been confused with the black Italian variety, but may easily be distinguished in this country by the large burrs on the trunk, by its earlier leafing, and by the young foliage being green, instead of reddish, as in the black Italian. The true black poplar also sheds its leaves much earlier in autumn than does the other. It is not a tree commonly planted in Scotland, but there are specimens ranging from 90 to 100 feet high at Dalzell, Ross, and Cambusnethan, in Lanarkshire; at Auchentorlie, on the Clyde; and at Smeaton-Hepburn, in East Lothian.

The variety of this tree so well known as the Lombardy poplar forms a notable feature in the landscapes of Southern England, Central and Southern Europe, and a great part of Asia. As it can only be propagated by cuttings, it is believed that all the millions of Lombardy poplars spread over the continents of Europe and Asia originated with a single "sport" growing on the bank of the river Po early in the eighteenth century. Probably the first of its race was brought to England about 1750 by the third Duke of Argyll, and planted by him at Whitton, near Hounslow. This tree, which has now disappeared, was measured by Loudon before 1838 as 115 feet high.

WHITE POPLAR (Populus alba) In July

WHITE POPLAR (Populus alba) In December

One peculiarity of the Lombardy poplar I do not remember to have seen noticed by any writer on forestry. Other poplars of all sorts, including the black poplar whereof this is only a variety, mingle branches freely with their neighbours; but the Lombardy poplar is a regular Sainte-Nitouche, and will not suffer contact with any other tree, even one of its own race. A curious example of this may be seen in London. When the Buckingham Palace Hotel was built, somewhere about 1860, Queen Victoria desired that a screen of trees should be planted within the Palace enclosure to shut the hotel out of view. The Office of Works chose the Lombardy poplar, calculating that it would form a lofty, thick hedge. Not a bit of it! The trees died rather than touch each other; they have been replaced times without number; but the Office of Works has never discerned the secret of their temperament, and continue their task of Sisyphus year after year, filling the gaps caused by death with trees of the same kind. Had a row of true planes been set there at first, the privacy of the Palace would have been secured long before this.