Chapter III: Part 3

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.

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.

The Poplars

"Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver green with gnarled bark;
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray."

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.

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.

Despite this constant characteristic of the Lombardy poplar, which anybody may verify for himself by examining the fine groups of them near Maidenhead and Windsor, Selby committed himself to the extraordinary statement that this tree, "planted so as to form a hedge, and being cut even at a certain height and regularly trimmed, becomes a thick and verdant hedge."[11]

The asp (_Populus tremula_) is now generally spoken of by the adjectival form "aspen." Its ceaseless movement earned it the name of "quick-beam" in Anglo-Saxon, and the Lowland Scots name, "quakin' asp" (corrupted into "quakin' ash") has, so far, survived the operations of School Boards. Long may it do so! The same characteristic in this tree gave it the Gaelic name of _crithean_ (creean) or _criothach_ (creeagh), "the trembler," which may be recognised in such place-names as Creechan in Dumfriesshire and, perhaps, Crieff, in Perthshire. Although in bulk and stature one of the humbler members of the poplar family, the asp exhibits in an extreme form a peculiarity common to all the genus--namely, that of hanging the leaves vertically, instead of holding them horizontally. The leaves are glandular on both surfaces, which may be either the effect of or the reason for their assuming a position protecting both surfaces from the direct rays of the sun. To secure this position, the petiole, or foot stalk, of each leaf, being cylindrical in most of its length, is suddenly flattened midway between the leaf and the twig, as if it had been pinched while soft. This causes the leaf to hang as described, and to quiver with the slightest breath of air.

The asp is a hardy mountaineer; its graceful foliage and _eau-de-Nile_ bark saves many a Highland hillside from dreariness, but it has long ceased to have the economic importance it once had. By an Act of the English Parliament (4 Henry V. c. 3), a penalty of 100 shillings was imposed upon anyone who put aspen wood to any other purpose than the making of arrows. Mrs. Hemans has woven into verse the mediæval myth which taught men to reckon this pretty tree accursed:

Oh! a cause more deep,
More solemn far, the rustic doth assign
To the strange restlessness of those wan leaves.
The cross, he deems, the blessed cross whereon
The meek Redeemer bowed His head to death,
Was formed of aspen wood; and since that hour
Through all its race the pale tree hath sent down
A thrilling consciousness, a secret awe,
Making them tremulous, when not a breeze
Disturbs the airy thistle-down, or shakes
The light lines of the shining gossamer.

Gerard, writing in the sixteenth century, says, with scant gallantry, that the asp "may also be called _tremble_ after the French name, considering it is the matter whereof women's toongs were made, which seldom cease wagging."

Professor Sargent enumerates eleven species of poplar as indigenous to North America, some of which, such as the Balsam poplar (_P. balsamifera_), the Ontario poplar (_P. candicans_), and the Carolina poplar (_P. angulata_), have risen to large dimensions in British woodland; but to follow out these, and their constantly recurring hybrids, would far exceed the limits of this paper.

There are many Asiatic species also, one of which (_P. euphratica_) we are now taught to recognise as the "arabim" whereon the captive Jews hung their harps (Psalm cxxxvii. 2). The weeping willow, named by Linnæus _babylonica_, is not found in the valley of the Euphrates.

It is time that British planters should recognise the importance of the more vigorous species of poplar as rapid timber-producers, thriving in cold, wet ground where no other crop could be raised so successfully. A useful example is set in this matter by French cultivators, who plant more poplars than any other tree. Moreover, all the species are most easily propagated and handled in planting. They should be grown from cuttings; it is futile to attempt raising them from seed--a most uncertain process, and unsatisfactory when it succeeds, cutting-grown plants being far more vigorous than seedlings.

The Birch

Bentham and Hooker recognised only two species of birch as indigenous to the British Isles--namely, _Betula alba_, the common birch, and _B. nana_, an insignificant shrub which grows in the Scottish Highlands. Messrs. Elwes and Henry, however, in their great work give specific rank to each of the two forms of the common birch prevailing in this country. It is certainly strange that the difference between them has not received more attention from foresters, seeing that one is a far more valuable tree than the other. Whether they be permanent species or merely racial varieties matters not for practical purposes; but it matters much that the better kind be planted where conditions are favourable for it.

The commoner and less desirable of the two forms has been named _B. pubescens_, owing to the young shoots being clothed with down, sometimes so minute as to require a lens to show it. This and the habit of the tree are the only constant marks of distinction from the other form, which is named _B. verrucosa_, because the shoots, though shining and perfectly free from down, are studded with minute _verrucæ_, or warts, easily discernible by the naked eye. I have found in southern Norway, where the two reputed species grow together, intermediate forms which are no doubt natural hybrids.

The two species are usually quite different in habit, the common birch (_B. pubescens_) never carrying the long pendulous branchlets which distinguish the silver birch (_B. verrucosa_). Moreover, the common birch does not usually attain the stature of the other, although Mr. Elwes mentions having measured one at Malborough 90 feet high, with a girth of 8 feet. This is the species which grows naturally over the greater part of Scotland, especially in the west and north. The distinctive downiness of the young twigs may have had its origin in the humid atmosphere and abundant rainfall of the regions where it most abounds. Geographically it enjoys a very wide range, extending farther north than any other tree--as far as latitude 71° near the North Cape--and reappearing in Iceland and southern Greenland, far within the limit of floating ice. Eastward it extends as far as Kamschatka, but it does not reach southward beyond the Alps, not being found in the Pyrenees or the Apennines, whereas the silver birch reaches down to Sicily.

Coming to the north-east of Scotland, to Strathspey, Deeside, and part of the basin of the Moray Firth, one finds a change in the aspect of the birch forest; for here, although the common birch still prevails on the wetter parts, the silver birch is dominant on the drained land and hill sides. It is there that the lady of the woods displays her true grace and it is hard to say whether she is more lovely in summer, when she waves her long green tresses in the breeze, or in winter, when the slanting sunbeams glint on the snowy stem, and the drooping branchlets appear like fine tracery against the sky. This is the true weeping birch so highly prized by landscape gardeners, and this is the species that should always be chosen for planting, provided the land is well drained, for it cannot stand damp feet with the same impunity as its cousin. The general rule is not difficult to remember that, whereas the common or downy birch will grow on almost any soil that is not actual swamp, the silver or weeping birch is very impatient of stagnant moisture.

Beautiful as are the birch woods of Strathspey (travellers to the North must have been charmed with those on both sides of the railway near Lochinsch Station), it must be confessed that the silver birch does not attain its greatest perfection in Great Britain. Individual trees may be found to compare pretty well with those in Continental woods; but the general average is not so good. I have not seen the birch forests of the Baltic provinces and Central Russia; those who have done so speak enthusiastically of them; but it is from no want of loyalty to the Birks of Aberfeldy that I have to admit that their bark has not the sheen nor their growth the free grace of their kindred in French, German, and Scandinavian forests.

Inseparably associated as the birch is with Scottish landscape, poets and painters have never wearied of honouring it. The late David MacWhirter got its beauty rather on the brain, and one turned rather tired of what became a mannerism in his work. Hamilton of Bangour never rang his quaintly iterative changes so tenderly as in his ballad, _The Braes of Yarrow_, the tragedy of a maiden with two lovers. The lovers fight, and one falls--

The comliest swain
That e'er pu'd birks on the braes o' Yarrow.

The survivor presses his court, trying in vain to persuade the girl to leave Tweedside and come to his home beside Yarrow.

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass--
Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan;
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowin'.

"Flows Yarrow sweet?" she argues with him--

Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed;
As green its grass, its gowan as yellow;
As sweet smells on its braes the birk,
The apple frae its rock as mellow.

The late Professor Veitch laid finger on the only blot in this fair picture. Apples do not hang from rocks either in Tweedside or by Yarrow, but rowan berries do. It is a pity that Hamilton yielded so far to eighteenth century classicism as to introduce the conventional apple. The line would surely have run more smoothly--

"Fair hangs the rowan frae the rock."

But I have wandered away from the birch. Economically, this tree has hitherto been reckoned of indifferent value, though there is an inexhaustible demand for bobbins. Clogmakers, also, will make picturesque encampment among birches of suitable size, and pay a fair price for working up the stems.

Of the well-nigh imperishable bark no use is made in this country, except that chemists extract from it an antiseptic called pyrobetulin, used also in the preparation of glass for engraving. But Scandinavian farmers sheath their wooden houses with birch bark, which makes a durable, waterproof covering, with a beautiful silvery appearance very gratifying to eyes offended by the evil aspect of corrugated iron. In Russia, also, a fragrant oil is distilled from birch-wood, whence Russia leather derives its peculiar odour. Careful housewives should note that there is no kindling equal to birch bark, which blazes up almost as fiercely as celluloid.

Of late years, a new use has been found for birch, deserving attention from owners of land whereon this tree grows naturally. The small branches and spray are found serviceable in the preparation of steel plates, the price given at present being about 46s. a ton. The trees should be cut before the sap rises, else the bundles will lose weight in drying. In dealing with a birch wood for this purpose, the crop may be considered recurrent at short rotation; for numerous suckers arise from the roots after the tree is felled and grow very rapidly. It is to be noted with satisfaction that the well-nigh omnivorous rabbit cannot digest the young growths of birch; at least, it does not devour them wholesale.

The birch is very impatient of the shade of other trees. In its turn, although its delicate foliage might not be supposed to stop much light, its shade is very injurious to all other deciduous trees except the beech; a quality which causes one to wonder that such an experienced observer as P. J. Selby should have recommended it as a nurse for oak.[12] It is liable to be disfigured by the morbid growths popularly known as "witch's brooms." Authorities differ as to the cause of these fascinated bundles of twigs, some attributing them to the action of a fungus, _Exoascus betulinus_, others to the irritation brought about by a gall-mite (_Eriophes rudis_) attacking the buds. Probably both are contributory agents.

The Gaelic for birch is _beith_ (pronounced "bey"), and may be recognised in numberless Scottish place-names, such as Drumbae, Auchenvey, Largvey, etc. The derivative _beitheach_ (pronounced "beyoch"), signifying a birch wood, appears as Beoch in Ayrshire, Galloway, and Dumfriesshire.

Of exotic birches suitable for cultivation in the United Kingdom, there is a very complete collection in Kew Gardens. Among the North American species the black or cherry birch (_Betula lenta_) probably produces the best timber, but the most ornamental is the paper birch (_B. papyrifera_). The Japanese (_B._ _maximowicsii_) seems to promise better bulk than any other as a forest tree in this country.

The Willows

"I offered him my company to a willow-tree, either to make him a
garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being
worthy to be whipped."--_Much Ado About Nothing_, Act ii. sc. i.

"Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot."
_The Lady of Shallot._

A certain botanist of distinction being consulted by an amateur about some variety of willow exclaimed: "Pray, don't tempt me among the willows; that way lies madness!" They are, indeed, a most complex family, consisting of no fewer than one hundred and sixty recognised species, besides those chance hybrids which, being not only wind-fertilised, but dioecious (that is, the male and female inflorescence is borne on separate trees), they are so prone to produce. Bentham and Hooker admitted fifteen species as indigenous to the United Kingdom, ranging from _Salix herbacea_, dwarfest of British shrubs, humbly crouching on bleak mountain crests and seldom rearing its fairy branchlets to a greater height than a couple of inches, to the massive white willow (_S. alba_), which may tower to the height of nearly 100 feet.

British foresters have not hitherto turned the capabilities of the better kinds of willow to such account as might be done, for, except in the osier industry and for the manufacture of cricket bats, willows are scarcely ever cultivated for profit. When they are planted at all they are generally shoved into some piece of sour, swampy ground, fit for nothing else; and the fact that they will actually flourish in such places is taken as evidence that they prefer them. But the better willows appreciate a kindly soil as much as any other tree, and it is only on wholesome, but moist, land that they develop their proper qualities.

By far the most valuable willow in the present condition of the timber market is the blue willow, which some botanists distinguish as a species under the name of _Salix coerulea_, but which is more generally deemed to be a hybrid between the white willow (_S. alba_) and the crack willow (_S. fragilis_). It is easily distinguished from both its reputed ancestors; first, by its habit, which is far more erect than that of the others, all the branches ascending without any tendency to spread or droop; second, by its leaves, which are not nearly so downy as those of the white willow, and of thinner texture, so that, when one is held up against the light the tertiary venation may be seen through a lens to be translucent; and, third, by the bark, which is quite different from the rugged covering of the crack willow, and much smoother than that of the white willow. The fissures or seams in the bark are straight and set close together, enabling one to distinguish the blue willow from all other kinds at all seasons. The general tone of the foliage is silvery blue, instead of the silvery grey of the white willow.

The peculiar value of this willow consists in its producing the only wood suitable for first-class cricket bats. Golf has threatened, but has not yet undermined, the supremacy of cricket; and so long as the English national game holds its own, so long will good samples of the blue willow command a high price. It was in the eastern counties of England that this tree originated, and it is thence that dealers continue exclusively to draw their supplies, being willing to pay what might be thought extravagant prices for the right article. Thus, Elwes records how, in January, 1912, eleven willows were sold in Hertfordshire at fourteen years of age for £81, or about 13s. per cubic foot. These trees had made amazingly rapid growth, ranging from 50 to 60 feet high; but the quality of the wood does not seem to deteriorate with age and bulk, for in 1888 a blue willow, fifty-three years old, was sold at Boreham, in Essex, and manufactured into 1179 cricket bats. This tree measured 101 feet high, with a girth of 16 feet 3 inches. From the same estate another blue willow was sold in 1911 for £70. The dimensions have not been recorded, but the purchaser estimated the price of the serviceable wood at about £1 per cubic foot. Even more remarkable seems the experience communicated by Mr. J. Barker of Pishiobury, Sawbridgeworth, to the _Gardeners' Chronicle_ in 1906. He states that a parcel of land was bought for £50 in 1889 and planted with willows, which were sold in 1905 for £2,000.

Such results as these have no parallel in British forestry; and it may be deemed strange that more attention has not been given to the cultivation of the blue willow. Even in Herts and Essex few of those who grow it for the market are at pains to clear the stems of branches to a greater height than 12 or 15 feet. There appears to be nothing exclusively in the dry climate of East Anglia essential to the development of good "bat" qualities; for Mr. J. A. Campbell of Ardluaine (to whom I owe thanks for some sets of this willow) has received a most favourable report on the wood of trees grown by him in the humid atmosphere of Lochgilphead. In short, the blue willow is as tolerant of conditions of soil and climate as any other native willow, and could probably be grown at a profit in any county of the United Kingdom where shelter from violent winds can be had; but, of course, extended sources of supply would naturally cause a fall in the present exorbitant prices.

The approved method of propagating the blue willow is by large "sets" from 10 to 20 feet long, cut from the branches of trees that have been felled. These have to be sharpened at the butt and firmly set in holes 3 feet deep, formed by driving in and removing a stake. Like the poplar, the willow imperatively demands light, and to obtain a fine quality of timber, the growth must be rapid. Being so impatient of shade, these trees must not be subjected to planting in close canopy, as recommended for coniferous and other trees. The "sets," therefore, should be planted fully 30 feet apart; and to secure a clean hole, side buds must be rubbed off the saplings, and careful pruning applied in later years.

It must not be supposed that the supply of cricket bats exhausts the purposes to which the wood of the blue willow may be applied. This variety should be planted in preference to any other, because it exceeds all others in rapidity of growth, and produces timber of fine quality faster than any other tree that can be grown in the British Isles. But the white willow (_S. alba_), more commonly known as the Huntingdon willow, also yields a rapid return of light, tough wood, very durable, and suitable for flooring, couples, cart and waggon bodies. Dr. Henry measured two Huntingdon willows near Palnure, Kirkcudbright, in 1904, and found them respectively 86 feet high by 10 feet 8 inches in girth, and 82 feet by 12 feet 9 inches. But the largest willow of this species now growing in Scotland is probably one at Coodham, near Kilmarnock, which girthed 17 feet 1 inch in 1904.

Leaving aside the kinds of willow cultivated for osiers (a most profitable industry), the only other native species worthy of consideration as a timber tree is the crack willow (_S. fragilis_); so called because of the fragility of the branchlets in spring. A remarkably vigorous variety of the species, popularly known as the Bedford willow, and scientifically as _S. Russelliana_, appears to have originated about the year 1800, probably as a hybrid. A large specimen growing in Messrs. Samson's nursery at Kilmarnock was blown down in 1911. It was 80 feet high and 16 feet in girth.

Both the crack willow and the Bedford willow may be easily distinguished from the white or Huntingdon willow by their rugged bark, seamed with broad and deep grooves, and by their foliage, which is green and shining, each leaf ending in a long point bent to one side. The timber is inferior in quality to that of the white and blue willows; nevertheless, it is recorded in Lowe's _Agricultural Survey of Notts_ (p. 118) that a plantation of Bedford willows "yielded at eight years' growth poles which realised a net profit of £214 per acre." It is not unlikely, considering the confusion which prevails among species and varieties, that these were blue, not Bedford, willows.

The lugubrious associations with which poets have invested the willow probably may be traced to the English translation of Psalm cxxxvii. 2; but, as noted on page 81, no willow grows on the banks of the Euphrates, and it was a species of poplar whereon the captive Jews hung their harps. Linnæus may be excused, in consideration of the difficulties of travel in the eighteenth century, for having named the weeping willow _Salix babylonica_, though that species is only to be found wild in China; but it is an instance of the mischievous practice of one writer copying the statements of another that in Kirkby's _Trees_ we read that the weeping willow "grows abundantly on the banks of the Euphrates and other parts of Asia, as in Palestine, and also in North Africa."

The name "willow" speaks to us of a time when our Anglo-Saxon forbears dwelt in wattled houses. They spoke of the tree as _welig_ and also as _widig_ (whence our "withy"), the root-meaning being pliancy. Another old English name for the tree was "sallow," which in the north has been shortened into "saugh," a term associated with one of the darkest episodes in the somewhat murky annals of the Stuart dynasty; for it was at Sauchieburn near Stirling that James, Duke of Rothesay, aged fifteen years, was brought by the rebel lords to do battle with his father James III. on 11th June, 1488. King James, flying from the field, was done to death; and, in contrition, his son wore an iron chain round his waist till he, too, fell as James IV. at Flodden, twenty-five years later.

The Gaelic for willow is _saileach_, whence innumerable place-names in Scotland and Ireland, such as Barnsallie, Barsalloch, Sallachy, Lisnasillagh, etc.

The Hornbeam

The hornbeam (_Carpinus betulus_) belongs to the birch family and the beech belongs to the oak family, so they are far from being nearly akin; nevertheless, the hornbeam and the beech have certain qualities singularly similar in the two species.

First, the hornbeam imitates the foliage of the beech so closely that when either of them is dressed as a hedge plant (a purpose for which both are peculiarly suitable) it requires close inspection to determine which tree it is. Second, except the elder, the beech and the hornbeam are the only shade-bearers among our indigenous deciduous hardwoods--that is, the only broad-leaved trees--that will flourish under the shade and drip of other forest growths, thereby proving most useful for under-planting. Third, as firewood there is none equal to either beech or hornbeam, both of them excelling all other woods in the amount of heat they discharge in combustion.

With these three particulars the resemblance between these two trees ceases, for whereas the beech, under favourable conditions, soars aloft to a stature of 130 or 140 feet, the hornbeam seldom exceeds half that height. Moreover, while the beech is distinguished among all our forest growths by its smoothly cylindrical trunk, the stem of the hornbeam is always fluted and ridged, often very deeply.

Of the eighteen species of _Carpinus_ known to botanists, only one, the common hornbeam, is indigenous in the British Isles, and there only in the southern parts of England, Oxford and Norfolk being about its northern limit, corresponding roughly with that of the nightingale. But whereas the nightingale cannot be seduced into sojourn beyond its hereditary bounds, the hornbeam flourishes freely when planted in any part of the United Kingdom suitable for tree growth. On the Continent it has a very wide range, extending through Central and Northern Europe into Asia Minor, but it has not been found wild in Spain, Portugal, or Sicily.

As a timber producer its chief value in this country has almost gone since the substitution of coal for wood as fuel became general. In former times the trees were grown as pollards, and regularly cut for firewood, evidence of that industry being still to be seen in the condition of the hornbeams in Epping Forest and other places in Kent, Herts, and Essex. The timber, says Elwes, "is the hardest, heaviest, and toughest of our native woods"; but it is useless for outdoor work, being as perishable as beech when exposed to weather. It still competes with foreign woods in the piano maker's trade, its firm texture, resembling that of ivory or horn, rendering it excellent for fine action work. But as the slow growth of the tree and the imports of foreign woods are prohibitive of any prospect of profit to the British planter, the only service to which the hornbeam can be usefully put in this country is the production of firewood and the formation of hedges.

Nor can the hornbeam claim high rank as an ornamental tree, though fine specimens may be seen in many English and a few Scottish parks. Elwes mentions Cobham Park, Kent, as containing hundreds of hornbeams from 70 to 80 feet high, and quotes Sir Hugh Beevor as authority for one 100 feet high and 9 feet 8 inches in girth at High Wycombe, Bucks. I have never seen a hornbeam of that size; the largest with which I have made personal acquaintance being one at Gordon Castle, which Loudon described as being 54 feet high in 1837. Sixty-seven years later it had added only 14 feet to its stature, Elwes having found it to be 68 feet high in 1904, with a girth of 8 feet.

The Alder

Of the three species of alder indigenous to Europe, namely _Alnus incana_, _A. cordata_ and _A. glutinosa_, only the last named succeeded in establishing itself in the British Isles after the retreat of the ice-field; though the other two grow readily enough when planted in this country.

"Alnus, the alder," wrote John Evelyn, "is of all other the most faithful lover of waterie and boggie places, and those most despis'd weeping parts or water-galls of forests." It has never been a popular tree, either with foresters, poets, or landscape gardeners, yet it has the merit of clothing ground which will not satisfy the wants of any other lofty growth, thriving in swamps too sour even for the willow. "Where do you put your brown tree?" is said to have been asked by one artist of the Georgian era of another; and the rounded outline and sombre foliage of a mature alder must have served many of the old school of landscape painters in their conventional compositions.

The alder neither contributes tender verdure to the gaiety of spring nor brilliant tints to the splendour of autumn; dull rifle green is the livery donned in April, remaining unchanged till the frosts of late October. Nor does this melancholy tree gladden the waterside with any brightness of blossom; the male and female catkins, appearing before the leaves, are dull, brownish yellow; beautiful objects under a lens, but contributing little to cheer the wayfarer, save as being sure harbingers of summer days. These flowers are followed by cones, which are green at first, but, turning black when ripe, only serve to deepen the gloom. Nevertheless, an alder copse in February and early March has a quiet beauty all its own. The smooth twigs are glazed with a waxy secretion and the swelling buds are plum-coloured, which the level sun-rays light up into a charming purplish bloom. Many a time when in pursuit of spring salmon I have enjoyed the sight of a bevy of old blackcocks busy among the branches of the alders, whereof the buds and catkins provide them with provender during the hungriest months of the year.

There are about five-and-twenty known species of alder, all bearing a considerable family likeness, and none exceeding in stature our only native species, _Alnus glutinosa_. Of this, many specimens might be mentioned between 70 and 90 feet high, though it is often difficult or impossible to obtain right measurement owing to the trees growing beside rivers or lakes. The most remarkable alder wood known to me is at Kilmacurragh, in County Wicklow. In the old spacious days the ground it occupies was a deer park. The trees are ancient, but not very lofty, from 50 to 60 feet high; but many of them have clean boles up to 30 or 40 feet and girth from 8 to 10 feet. One of them had a girth of 11 feet 4 inches in 1906. In the swampier parts of the wood, some of the trees have got bowed; their trunks present a curious appearance from being densely covered with pennyroyal (_Cotyledon umbilicus_). There can be little doubt that this grove is a fragment of the primæval Irish forest.

There are some very fine alders beside the Gade in Cassiobury Park, Herts, one of which Dr. Henry made out to be 85 feet high, with a girth of 11 feet 6 inches; but these dimensions were exceeded by an alder 90 feet high with a girth of 11 feet 4 inches at Betchworth Park, Surrey, and by one at Enville Park, Stourbridge, 87 feet high, with a girth of 8 feet 2 inches.

In Scotland the tallest measured by him was at Scone--66 feet high by 6 feet 3 inches in girth; but no doubt there are bigger alders than that north of the Tweed, though it might not be possible to match a shapely tree measured in 1904 at Churchill, Co. Armagh, which stood 94 feet high, girthing 6 feet 4 inches, and having a clean bole of 60 feet.

The aforesaid tree at Scone is of the cut-leaved variety, a sport which, originating in France, and being planted in De la Berlière's garden near Saint-Germain, says Loudon, became the parent of all that are now to be found. It is certainly more ornamental than the common form, the leaves being divided half-way to the midrib into three to six segments on each side.

The alder is not rated high among us as a timber tree, though good boles are sometimes in request, for what precise purpose I cannot tell. Mr. Elwes states that he sold three hundred alders standing for £100, which he reckoned to be at the rate of 4d. or 5d. a cubic foot. This must be considered an excellent return from land that was fit for no other crop. Clogmakers take alder of suitable size as readily as birch, giving as much as £40 an acre for coppice, which will be fit for cutting again in twenty years. One of the most picturesque scenes in forestry is a summer encampment of clog-cutters.

In Scotland probably the demand for alder for making herring barrels would be steady and inexhaustible, were there any regularity in the supply; but in this, as in other British forest products, so much uncertainty is caused by the haphazard and capricious felling practised by landowners in general, that the trade derives its supplies of staves from abroad. For outdoor purposes, the timber is far too perishable under vicissitudes of wet and dry; but for piles under water it is most durable. Evelyn states, without quoting his authority, that the Rialto at Venice is founded upon alder piles. For three hundred years charcoal made from alder was more highly esteemed than that from any other wood for making gunpowder; but modern explosives have caused it to be in less request nowadays.

There may be some trout-fishers who have not learnt that an effective way of taking the objectionable glitter from a gut cast is to draw it two or three times through an alder leaf. Evelyn says that such leaves afford great relief to footsore travellers if laid within the stocking.

In his _Sylva Florifera_ (1823), Henry Phillips admits us to a glimpse into the domestic economy of our great-grandmothers, who had to contend with certain difficulties from which modern households are happily exempt. "The good housewife," he says, "is not unacquainted with a property in the leaves [of alder], with which she strews her chambers before sweeping, for, when fresh, they are covered with a glutinous liquor that entangles fleas like birds in birdlime."

The English name "alder" has been disguised by the addition of the _d_. It was _alr_ in Anglo-Saxon, _r_ taking the place of the Latin _n_ in _alnus_, which is preserved in the French _aune_. In one form or another it exists in all Teutonic dialects; we, in Scotland, retain very closely the Anglo-Saxon sound when we speak of "eller," though we have allowed the intrusive _d_ to slip into Elderslie, the paternal home of William Wallace. This tree has given rise to countless place-names; in England--Alresford on the Itchen, Allerton (eight or nine times), Allerdale, Ellerbeck, Ellerburn, Ellerton, and so on; in Scotland--Allershaw in Lanarkshire, Allerton in Cromarty, Allers near Glasgow, Allerbeck in Dumfriesshire, Ellerrigs, Argyllshire; Ellerslie, in several counties, etc. I incline to think that the frequent and puzzling name Elrig or Eldrig may be associated with alders.

In Gaelic the alder is called _fearn_, which appears in a multitude of place-names, such as Balfern, Glenfarne, Farnoch, Fearn, Fernie, and Fernaig. The consonant _f_ being liable in Gaelic to be silenced by aspiration, the descriptive name _amhuinn-fhearn_, alder river, has been worn down into Nairn, and probably some, at least, of the numerous streams called Earn or Erne derive their titles from a similar contraction.

Among the exotic species of alder I only know of one worth attention for ornamental purposes, to wit, the heart-leaved alder (_A. cordata_); which, being found indigenous only in Corsica and Southern Italy, might scarcely be expected to take kindly to our humid climate. It does so, however, growing as vigorously as our native alder, and proving somewhat more decorative. The leaves are of a shining, dark green with lighter undersides, and the cones are at least an inch long, carried erect.

The grey alder (_A. incana_) has nothing to recommend it; except, perhaps, to Norwegian anglers, who know how the fieldfares nest among its thickets in garrulous colonies. It is not easy to understand how the British Isles have missed having this species as a native, for it is very widely distributed over Europe from the shores of the Arctic Ocean on the north to Servia and the Apennines on the south. It is also spread widely over the northern United States and Canada.

AT WADHAM COLLEGE, OXFORD]

AT ALBURY PARK, SURREY

Height 96 ft., girth 11 ft. 8 in.]

The Tulip Tree

The tulip tree (_Liriodendron tulipifera_) is descended from an extremely remote ancestry, and remains one of the stateliest denizens of the North American river valleys, ranging from 150 to 190 feet high. The form of its leaves is unique among those of forest trees, being lyrate, ending in two pointed or rounded lobes considerably longer than the midrib. Ruskin declared it to be the only leaf which did not display one form or other of a Gothic arch--round or pointed. These leaves turn a beautiful clear yellow in autumn, and in summer the flowers, in size and shape like those of a tulip, attract numbers of bees. If only they were a little more gaily painted, the tulip tree would be among the showiest of park trees; but the petals are of a dull greenish white, with a splash of orange at the base of the interior of each, where one can't see it--unless one happens to be a bee.

However, its flowers apart, a well-grown tulip tree is a beautiful object at all seasons, owing, in winter, to the tracery of its smooth, grey branches--in summer, to its rich, bright green foliage, and in autumn to the splendour of its decay.

It was probably brought to England in the reign of Henry VIII. or Elizabeth by one of those botanists--Tradescant or another--who quietly pursued their useful labours while Christians were hurrying each other to the stake, and politicians were chopping off the heads of inconvenient opponents.

In lofty towers let Pallas take her rest,
Whilst shady groves of all things please us best.