Chapter VI: Part 6

For purposes of timber probably the common (_A. pectinata_) and the Caucasian silver fir (_A. nordmanniana_) are the pick of the genus, but there are also many other species of singular beauty. Their beauty, indeed, especially in a young state, has proved somewhat of a snare, inducing people to plant them in gardens and pleasure-grounds where they soon outgrow their environment, and, being isolated from their kind, are apt to send up many leaders and so forfeit their true character. Several years ago I was staying in a country house in the south of England, where a royal personage was paying a visit. It was arranged that the said personage should plant a memorial tree; a site was selected on a close-shaven lawn, and I could not but deplore the tree chosen for the honour. It was perhaps the least majestic of all the silver tribe, namely, the Spanish fir (_A. pinsapo_), a species which seldom responds freely to the conditions provided in this country, and, when it does so, is of gloomy appearance.

The largest silver fir in the world is the North American (_A. grandis_), which in a young state might easily be mistaken for _A. pectinata_, but soon exhibits its true nationality by the extraordinary rapidity of its growth. It races upwards at the rate of three feet a year, and, distancing all surrounding growth, suffers the penalty inevitable in our stormy climate, unless it should be provided with shelter from a sufficient company of its peers. At the Avondale School of Forestry _A. grandis_ is reported to be less liable to injury from spring frost than the common silver fir. No doubt there are spaces in the wilder parts of this island where this grand tree might be grown into splendid forest, but as an isolated specimen it can never develop its true dimensions, which are out of all proportion to our native woodland. The timber is neither strong nor durable; indeed, of the nine species of North American silver firs, Professor Sargent reports favourably in this respect upon one only, _Abies nobilis_ to wit, a tree of which, personally, I have formed a very high opinion for the climate of the northern and western parts of the United Kingdom. It has suffered in reputation with many experienced planters, owing to a liability to lose its leader when it outgrows its surroundings, as it very speedily does; but, as in the case of the common silver fir, that is the consequence of bad forestry; if _A. nobilis_ were planted in masses, the trees would protect each other. No forester can look unmoved at the group at Murthly in Perthshire, several of which are well over 100 feet high. This fir is also exceedingly ornamental in a young state, some of the seedlings from every sowing having foliage with a lovely glaucous bloom. _A. magnifica_ and _A. amabilis_ are not easily distinguished from _A. nobilis_ in a young state, until cones are produced. They are beautiful, but comparatively useless trees, and there are no specimens in this country approaching the dimensions already attained here by _A. nobilis_.

Of the Asiatic silvers I will mention but two, both from the Himalayas. _Abies pindrow_, a beautiful tree of columnar growth and fine glossy foliage, has proved quite hardy in Britain. The finest specimen I have seen is at Gordon Castle, Banffshire, about 70 feet high and a picture of health. _A. webbiana_ is a tree of wider spread than _A. pindrow_, and excels all other silvers in its splendid foliage, two broad white bands on the under sides of the large needles thoroughly justifying the epithet "silver." When the boughs are set with great violet-blue cones this tree is indeed a beautiful object. Individuals of this species vary a good deal in their endurance of British climate, at least in the west. Its tendency to early growth renders it very vulnerable by spring frosts, and when it has been debilitated by the destruction of the young growth, it falls a prey to the attacks of aphis.

The Spruce Firs

When a British forester talks of a spruce fir he may be understood to refer to _Picea excelsa_, commonly known as the Norway spruce, although in fact much of the Norwegian spruce forest is composed of the Siberian spruce (_P. obovata_), a species closely resembling the other, but incapable of thriving in the moist and relatively mild climate of Great Britain.

The so-called Norway spruce is not a native of the British Isles, its natural range extending from the Pyrenees on the south to Scandinavia on the north, and eastward through the Carpathian Mountains to Western Russia; but, next to the Scots pine and larch, it is the conifer most commonly seen in British woodland, and, where undergrowth is not too rank, it may reproduce itself from self-sown seed. It has, indeed, been far too extensively planted with us, probably owing to its cheapness and easiness to handle. It is only to be found well developed in inland districts, such as the valley of the Tay and Deeside, where it forms really fine forest, and where noble specimens may be seen.

At Blair Atholl there was a grand spruce blown down in 1893, measuring 142 feet in height and containing about 420 cubic feet of timber. There are still many lofty spruces in the woodland about Dunkeld and Dupplin, containing well-grown, clean timber, and Messrs. Elwes and Henry have recorded a number of trees in various parts of the United Kingdom from 130 to 150 feet high. As a rule, however, in this country spruce, even when the requisite shelter has been secured, is not grown under sufficiently strict forest conditions to produce the best deals; it is commonly raised in mixed plantations, wherein, being patient of side shade, it retains its branches, a habit that renders the timber coarse and full of knots.

Probably the most successful result from a plantation of pure spruce in Scotland was that obtained on the estate of Durris, on Deeside, where the trees on 400 acres were sold standing at 60 years old, the average number of spruce per acre being 560. As the average contents per tree were 10 cubic feet, and the price realised was 5d. per foot, the value amounted to £116 per acre.

PLANTED AT TAYMOUNT IN 1860]

It would be vain to expect any such return from spruce planted in such situations as are frequently given to it. In a seaboard exposure it is worse than useless, for no tree becomes more unsightly than a spruce under the influence of salt-laden winds. For such situations, if spruce be grown of any kind, there are other species likely to give better results. I shall name two of these presently, but, first, it may be mentioned that the genus _Picea_ consists of two distinct groups--first, the true spruces, distinguished by having four-sided needles; second, the Omorika spruces, which have flat, two-sided needles. Inasmuch as some species of the second group have silvery undersides to the needles, they are apt to be mistaken for some kind of _Abies_, or silver fir. Here, again, the needle serves to distinguish between them, for, as aforesaid, in the spruce family the needles are set on little peg-like projections on the twig, whereas in the silver firs there is no such projection, but each needle when pulled off leaves a circular scar.

There are probably upwards of twenty species of true spruce, including the Norway spruce. Some of them well deserve attention from the arboriculturist, being exceedingly ornamental, such as the Himalayan Morinda (_P. smithiana_), first raised from seed at Hopetoun House, Linlithgowshire, in 1818, and now flourishing in various parts of the United Kingdom at a height of 70 to 80 feet, with handsome pendulous branchlets.

About Waterer's glaucous variety of the Colorado spruce (_P. pungens_), there is current an amusing account of its introduction to this country some five-and-twenty years ago. The late Mr. Anthony Waterer was an enthusiast in his calling as a nurseryman. A traveller came to him one day with a bag of seed which he said came off the bluest fir he had ever seen. "How much do you want for the bag?" asked Anthony. "Two hundred pounds," was the reply. "Oh! go along with you," exclaimed Anthony, "d'ye think I'm made of guineas?" The man departed, but left Anthony with his mouth watering (no pun intended) for the blue fir. He sent after the traveller, paid him his price, and sold thousands of the seedlings at half a guinea apiece. I cannot vouch for the truth of detail in this narrative, but the tenour thereof is quite in accord with Mr. Waterer's enterprise in his business.

Beautiful as some of these true spruces are, it is not among them that the forester need look for a substitute for the Norway spruce; but there are two at least in the other group which bid fair to oust it from its undeserved predominance in our woodlands. The first of these is the Sitka spruce, formerly known as the Menzies spruce, and still appearing in some trade catalogues as _Abies menziesii_, though now recognised by botanists only as _Picea sitchensis_. This grand tree, which in Oregon has been known to tower to the height of between 200 and 300 feet, has proved to be admirably suited for forestry purposes in the United Kingdom. It is a moisture lover, thriving in soil too wet and sour for any other conifer, and as it grows right down to the coast in Northern California and Alaska, it does not share the dislike of the Norway spruce for the breath of the ocean. This spruce, having been introduced to this country in 1831 by David Douglas, has been long enough with us to prove its quality, and there are many in the three kingdoms 100 feet high and upwards. Probably the largest in these islands is one at Castle Menzies, in Perthshire, which in 1904 measured 110 feet high and 13 feet 2 inches in girth at a height of 5 feet, having been planted in 1846. The timber is suitable for similar purposes to those served by Norway spruce; but the strong tendency of this tree to side-branching makes it essential that it should be grown close in pure forest in order to produce clean deals.

The other tree in the Omorika group which probably has a commercial future in this country is the Manchurian spruce, _Picea Ajanensis_ or _Jezoensis_. I do not know that this tree is stocked by nurserymen in this country, but seed can be obtained from Continental merchants, and I am induced to speak favourably of it from the behaviour of about one hundred plants which I put out about twelve years ago. In the nursery it bears so close a resemblance to the Sitka spruce that it is difficult to distinguish between the two species until the plants are three or four years old; but after that age they differ markedly in foliage and habit of growth, the Manchurian spruce being less inclined to branch outwards than the Sitka and has no tendency to the characteristic of dropping its needles which is apt to disfigure the American species. In the forests of Yezo (the northern island of Japan) this spruce is reported as growing to a height of 150-200 feet. Its growth with me is extremely vigorous, and it seems to enjoy a maritime climate, which the Norway spruce does not. Like all the spruces, this tree is well adapted for the manufacture of wood pulp and celluloid.

I cannot part from the spruce family without going back to the square-needled group in order to commend the Caucasian spruce (_Picea orientalis_) as an ornamental tree. The slowness of its growth compared with that of the Sitka, Manchurian, and Norwegian spruces may be thought detrimental to its value to British planters for profit; but the grace of its outline, and the fine, rich green of its shining foliage render it one of the choicest of conifers. In the Caucasus it rises to a height of 180 feet, with a girth of 12 feet; and in the British Isles, whither it was first brought in 1839, there are many specimens between 60 and 80 feet high.

The name "spruce" has an interesting origin, about which some controversy has been waged. From the fourteenth to the sixteenth century Spruce occurs in English literature as an alternative form of Pruce--that is, Prussia. The Prussians were then distinguished among the nations as great dandies. The chronicler Hall, in describing the splendid attire of some of Henry VIII.'s courtiers, observes that "they were appareyled after the fashion of Prussia or Spruce." Hence "spruce" came to be a synonym for "smart, finely dressed"; and some etymologists have argued that the spruce fir means the Prussian fir; but this has been shown to be an error. The tree takes its name from the sprouts, called _sprossen_ in German, whence is distilled the essence of spruce, used in brewing _sprossen-bier_ or spruce beer. So the tree came to be termed in German _sprossen-fichte_, translated into English spruce-fir, though we do not brew spruce beer. Therefore the name does really come to us from Prussia, though not in the manner supposed by the older etymologists.

This digression into etymology brings to mind another word connected with the spruce fir, namely "deal," which owns to one of the most remarkable etymologies in our language. Although it has not been traced to its original root, it exists in all branches of Teutonic speech, always in the sense of a share or division. It also occurs in Gaelic as _dal_, signifying a portion of land, as Dalnaspidal--the land portion of the hospital; Dalrymple (_dal chruim puil_, the farm of the crooked pool--on the Doon), and so on. The Anglo-Saxon _dæl_ meant a portion, a share; whence we use the word in phrases such as "a deal of cards," "a great deal,"[18] and have applied it to express the planks into which a tree is "divided," or sawn up. From a Scandinavian source we get another form of the word "dale," meaning a valley, as Tweeddale, Annandale, etc.; for in Norway one dale or valley is "divided" from another by mountains.

The Cedar

"The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's foot."
Shakespeare's _Lucrece_, 664.

The frequency with which Shakespeare mentions the cedar can only be explained as the action of a far-ranging intellect, beholding things through the eyes of travellers, and weaving hearsay into vivid imagery. He had, indeed, scriptural authority for assigning to the cedar royal pre-eminence among trees.

"Behold, the Assyrian was a cedar in Lebanon with fair branches....
The cedars in the garden of God could not hide him; the fir trees
were not like his boughs, and the chestnut trees were not like his
branches, nor any tree in the garden of God was like unto him in
beauty.... So that all the trees of Eden that were in the garden of
God envied him." (Ezekiel, xxxi., 3, 8, 9.)

But Shakespeare himself never set eyes upon a cedar: for Evelyn, writing fifty years after his death, could but deplore that there were no cedars in England--"I conceive," says he, "from our want of industry." He says that he had raised seedlings, perhaps from the first cones brought to this country. Howbeit, once this noble tree was established with us, it throve amain, and it is now as familiar an adjunct to English manor houses as the yew is to churchyards.

In Scotland it is not so often seen, more's the pity, for the fine specimens at Hopetoun House, Biel, Moncrieff House, Dupplin, and Mount Stuart, ranging from 64 to 88 feet high, with girths of from 13 to 23 feet, testify to its acceptance of northerly conditions. The largest cedar recorded by Elwes is a splendid specimen at Pains Hill, near Cobham, which in 1905 measured 115 feet high, with a girth of 26 feet 5 inches. Like most of its kind in Great Britain, this tree, having been planted for ornament, has been allowed room to throw out mighty side branches; but the cedar can be made to develop lofty, clean boles if grown in close canopy, such as one at Petworth, in Sussex, which in 1905 was 125 feet high, 14½ feet in girth, with a straight trunk clear of branches to a height of 80 feet, save for one small branch that has grown out at 56 feet from the ground.

Having regard to the fine quality of the timber, it is to be regretted that more attention has not been given to growing cedars under forest conditions. The nearest approach that I have seen to this treatment is in the fine cedar avenue at Dropmore, Bucks, where a large number of trees, close planted about seventy years ago, have grown straight and fair to a height of as many feet.

A few years ago, when the Duke of Northumberland was having some trees felled on Solomon's Hill in Albury Park, a lofty cedar, whereof he had never suspected the existence, was revealed. Forest discipline had cleared the magnificent bole of branches to a height of fifty feet, and fifty more must be added as the probable height of the tree, which, owing to the nature of the ground, cannot be accurately ascertained.

In regard to the timber, the value whereof for building caused the Israelitish Kings to levy such severe tribute from the forest of Lebanon, what is produced in the humid atmosphere of the British Isles is not so hard and durable as that grown in the Orient; but it is extremely suitable for panelling and other indoor work, being of a delicate pinkish hue, fine in grain, and beautifully figured. There is no regular market for it in Britain, but the opportunity not infrequently occurs of securing the trunk of blown trees, and ought not to be lost. If one goes into the market to buy cedar wood, what is likely to be supplied is not coniferous wood at all, but that of _Cedrela odorata_, a West Indian tree belonging to the natural order _Meliaceæ_. On the other hand, the scented wood used for pencils comes from the so-called pencil cedar, which is not a cedar, but a juniper--_Juniperus virginiana_--a tree of columnar habit and slow growth, perfectly hardy in this country, and very ornamental.

The late Sir Joseph Hooker visited the cedar grove on Mount Lebanon in 1864, and found about 400 old trees producing plenty of seed, by which the forest would soon regenerate itself if the ground were protected from goats, which devour every seedling. Besides this grove at the head of the Kedisha Valley there are four others in the Lebanon district, the largest of which, at Baruk, was reported in 1903 by Dr. A. E. Day as containing many young trees; but the older trees were being recklessly hacked for fuel and house timbers. Besides the Lebanon groves, which are specially interesting from their connection with biblical history and the prodigious age of some of the trees, there are extensive forests of _Cedrus libani_ in the Taurus Mountains, where the winter is very severe.

In Britain this tree responds to excess of moisture by growing far more rapidly than in its native forests; and, notwithstanding that exaggerated views are entertained about the age of certain specimens, it seems certain that it never will attain with us anything approaching the age of the patriarchs of Lebanon. Assuming that none were planted in Britain before the middle of the seventeenth century, and that very many have died, showing all the signs of senile decay, we cannot calculate on a duration of life exceeding 250 years, or rather more than the normal life span of the beech and ash.

Fifteen years ago or so I was appointed to represent the Privy Council on a Committee formed to take over the Chelsea Physic Garden from the Apothecaries Company. One of the first problems that presented itself was how to deal with an aged cedar of Lebanon that stood in the grounds. Probably it was one of the oldest in Great Britain, for it was one of those mentioned by Sir Hans Sloane in 1685 as having been planted in the Physic Garden, but the dwellers in Chelsea had conceived a fabulous estimate of its age, and, although it was stone dead, the mere whisper of the need for removing it sent a wave of indignation through the neighbourhood. Howbeit, the dead tree was an eyesore and a harbour for wood-lice and other pests, so it had to go. It was felled and taken away; but in deference to popular feeling this was done under cloud of night!

The cedar of Mount Atlas (_C. atlantica_) was pronounced by Sir Joseph Hooker to be, like the Indian deodar (_C. deodara_), really no more than a geographical and climatic variety of the cedar of Lebanon; but whereas the difference in habit and appearance is well marked and constant, modern classifiers have assigned each of the three specific rank. For the British planter the distinction between them is of considerable importance. The Mount Atlas cedar, which forms great forests in the mountain ranges of Morocco and Algeria at high altitudes, is far more erect in growth, and has less tendency to wide branching, than the cedar of Lebanon. The glaucous variety, with foliage of a charming silvery bloom, is one of the loveliest conifers that can be planted, provided it is raised from seed; but nothing except disappointment is prepared for those whom nurserymen supply with plants raised from cuttings or grafts, which are invariably lacking in the graceful carriage and erect habit which distinguish this species among all other cedars. There is the less excuse for propagation by these means, inasmuch as the Atlantic cedar ripens its cones in our country as freely as the Lebanon cedar, and seed gathered from glaucous parents will produce a considerable proportion of seedlings with the hereditary tint.

The cedar of Mount Atlas was not introduced to England until about 1845, but there are already many handsome specimens, measuring 50 to 80 feet high. The tallest I have seen in Scotland is at Smeaton-Hepburn, in East Lothian, which was 69 feet high and 6½ feet in girth in 1902.

The deodar, _C. deodara_, may be distinguished at a glance from either of the other forms of cedar by the graceful drooping of the young growth. A native of the Western Himalayas, at altitudes from 4,000 to 10,000 feet, it has not adapted itself very successfully to our mild, restless winters and cool summers, the very reverse of its native climate. It grows in its own country to an immense size, 150 to 250 feet high, and as much as 35 feet in girth, with long clean boles. Elwes records how a fallen deodar lay for at least one hundred years in one of the leased forests of the North-West before it was cut up, when it sufficed for 460 railway sleepers, narrow gauge.

Deodar seed was first sown in Britain in 1831, at Melville in Fife and Dropmore in Bucks. Ten years later large quantities were raised and planted in the New Forest, but so many of these died without apparent cause between the ages of forty and fifty years that their cultivation there has been discontinued. Similar results have been experienced elsewhere, so it does not seem that this tree, however desirable as an ornamental species, can ever be of importance for forestry in the United Kingdom. Moreover, it is not so hardy as the other two cedars, many having succumbed in all parts of the country during the severe winter of 1860-61. There are, however, many fine specimens in the southern counties of England and in Ireland, ranging from 75 to 85 feet high. In Scotland, Elwes has recorded nothing taller than a tree at Smeaton-Hepburn, which measured 55 feet high in 1902. There are several of about the same height at Galloway House in Wigtownshire.

On the whole, the best species of cedar for planting in this country, whether for timber or ornament, is the cedar of Mount Atlas.

The Larch

The European larch was known in England fully one hundred years before it arrived in Scotland, having been introduced into Southern Britain early in the seventeenth century. But it was long before this tree was grown except for ornament and by those curious in exotics; it was John Evelyn who first drew attention to the value of its timber, upon which he reported very favourably after seeing it in Continental forests. Writing in 1678, he refers to one growing near Chelmsford, "arriv'd to a flourishing and ample tree, [which] does sufficiently reproach our negligence and want of industry"--for not planting more larches.

The introduction into Scotland of the larch, the most valuable of all European conifers, was delayed a full century after the tree had become known to English planters. When it did come, it opened a new era in the forestry of that country; and, if credit may be given to local traditions, its coming was not devoid of romance.

Among the other resources of the northern realm, which had been sorely exhausted during three centuries of war with England, Scottish woodland, once so rich and extensive, had well-nigh disappeared, and so bare was the country that when Dr. Johnson made his tour in 1773 he declared that in the whole of it he only saw three trees big enough to hang a man upon.[19] Nevertheless, after the Legislative Union in 1707, landowners very generally set about planting on their estates, none of them more diligently than James, second Duke of Atholl, who received from a neighbour returning from the Continent the present of a few seedling trees which he had brought in his portmanteau from the Tyrol. It is said that these were given to the gardener, who tried to grow them in a greenhouse. Having languished under such unsuitable conditions, the plants were thrown out upon the rubbish heap, where two of them, reviving in the free Highland air, took root and grew vigorously.

The date of this incident is variously given between the years 1727 and 1738; anyhow, there the pair of "Mother Larches" stood, close to the west end of Dunkeld Cathedral, until 1909, when the larger of them was destroyed by lightning, after attaining the age of 170 years or thereby. It measured 102 feet high, with a girth of 15 feet 1 inch at 5 feet from the ground, and contained about 530 cubic feet of splendid timber.

The Duke of Atholl was so well pleased with the growth and appearance of these two trees, and of three others of the same age, which, I believe, are still standing at Blair, that before his death in 1764 he had wholly altered the appearance of the landscape by planting many square miles of hillside with larch. His example was followed by other landowners, so that during the nineteenth century larch was planted in greater quantity than any other tree, except perhaps Scots pine, for it was found that, owing to the durable character of the wood even in trees from ten to twenty years old, the thinnings of a larch plantation were serviceable and readily saleable.

Unfortunately, it became the practice to plant larch and Norway spruce in mixture. No more mischievous combination could have been devised, owing to a peculiarity in the life history of the spruce-gall aphis (_Chermes abietis_), a plant louse which bores into the buds of young spruce and lays eggs therein, causing the tree to throw out a cone-like gall from the site of the puncture. This gall is the nursery whence issues a swarm of sexual and sexless aphides. The sexless form has wings, and, alighting on a larch, speedily lays numerous eggs, which in turn are hatched into minute sexless lice, each with a coat of white down, easily detected as snowy dots on the foliage. In a few weeks these creatures acquire wings, and, despite their sexlessness, lay fertile eggs, successive swarms being produced till the fall of the leaf. Feeding by suction of the juices in the leaves, these creatures seriously, often fatally, reduce the vitality of the tree, the foliage appearing as if blighted by frost.

It must be admitted that this diagnosis of the life-history of the spruce and larch louse is to some extent tentative. It is true that no instance is recorded of the male _Chermes_ being found on the larch, and it is also true that, as stated by Elwes, larches are often infested with _Chermes_ where there are no spruces near.[20] But it is well known that many, if not all, of the _Aphidæ_ multiply by parthenogenesis (that is, without the intervention of the male), and although it has not yet been ascertained that this can be continued for more than four years,[21] that is a period quite long enough to allow of the swarms inflicting deadly injury to any tree not in the most robust health.

Now, whereas larch and spruce may often be found growing together in natural woods on the continent of Europe, it may be asked why the result of planting them together in British woods should be attended with such evil consequences. The explanation is to be found in the climatic conditions to which the larch is exposed in these islands. Naturally a mountain tree, in regions where a high summer temperature, long and strong sunshine, with little rainfall, but with much subterranean moisture from melting snow, promote vigorous growth, to be followed by total rest during severe winter weather, the larch meets in Britain with the reverse of these conditions--namely, a cool, cloudy, generally wet, summer, and an open and still wetter winter. The wonder is that the tree can adapt itself to the change as well as it does; there can be no doubt that its constitution does not remain so well able to resist attack by insect or fungoid parasite. Nature, which is ever as solicitous to provide for the perpetuation of what we consider ignoble vermin as she is for that of more admirable forms of life, has adapted the spruce-gall for a dual existence upon two species of tree growing in company; but she has also endowed these trees with a constitution vigorous enough not to suffer materially from the presence of the parasite. When that constitution becomes impaired by unnatural conditions of climate and environment, the parasite gets the upper hand, just as lice multiply upon a diseased bird or mammal. In the case of the larch, the mischief does not end with the aphides.

Another enemy lies in wait for the tree that has been weakened by loss of its sap. A minute fungus (_Dasicypha calycina_), gaining access by its spores through any lesion of the bark, causes that incurable ill known as larch canker, which has now become so generally spread through British woodlands as to cause many landowners to give up planting larch at all. In this case, also, we have a parasite which may be found on larches in their native forests, but which the inherent vigour of the trees keeps in check. That this is the true and only reason for the excessive prevalence of larch canker in this country, causing incalculable pecuniary loss to many owners of woodland, is shown by the behaviour of the Japanese larch (_Larix leptolepis_). The fungus may easily be found upon this species; but so great is the vigour of the young trees that the fungus exists, and no more. The tree repels the inroads of mycelium into its tissues affording the invader foothold merely as a harmless guest.

Serious doubts are entertained as to whether the Japanese larch will prove as valuable a tree commercially as the European species; it has not been grown long enough in Britain to prove its quality as a timber producer. But the extraordinary rapidity and vigour of its growth in early years, its beauty and the readiness with which it takes hold when planted out, have induced many people to discard European larch in favour of this Asiatic species. Travellers in Japan report that the larches of that country never attain the bulk and stature of European larches; but it does not follow from this that they may not do so in this country. The holm oak, more commonly known as ilex, is a native of the hot and dry Mediterranean region, yet what is probably the tallest specimen in the world is growing in the moist atmosphere of County Wicklow. So with the horse chestnut, only to be found wild in a few spots in Macedonia and Asia Minor, lands which can show none to equal the noble trees of this species at Bushey and elsewhere throughout the British Isles.

Meanwhile, the lesson of our experience is that we must still treat the European larch as a foreigner of great distinction. Let it never be exposed to contact with the Norway spruce, a useful tree in its way, but, commercially, not half the value of larch. Let it not be planted as a pure crop, but let it be mixed with other trees, as it is usually found in a wild state. There is no better companion for it than the beech, none, indeed, equal to that beneficent tree, owing to the manner in which it screens the soil from evaporation and radiation, and refreshes it with an abundant annual leaf fall. Finally, let the utmost care be bestowed upon the critical operation of planting; see that in removal from the nursery the roots are not suffered to get dry, as they often become when sent to a distance by rail; and let these roots be fairly spread in the pit dug for them, instead of being rammed in a bunch into a mere notch in the ground, as is too often done. It is worth much effort to retain such a desirable denizen of our woodlands in health and vigour.

Attention has been drawn within the last few years to the Western Larch (_L. occidentalis_) of North America, a tree which Douglas found in British Columbia in 1826, and mistook for _Larix europæa_. It has now, however, been recognised as a distinct species, the mightiest of the genus, reaching a height of 180, perhaps 200 feet.[22] In habit and outline it is very different from the European larch, still more so from the Japanese species, for the side branches, though horizontal, are short, which gives the tree a fine columnar habit. Owing to the great height of the trees in Montana and British Columbia, and to the cones opening and scattering the seed as soon as ripe, it is difficult to collect a supply of seed, which can only be done from trees in September. Dr. Henry visited Montana in the autumn of 1906 on purpose to obtain a supply. Unluckily, very few cones were formed that year; but a good supply was obtained in 1907, whereof I was given some. It germinated freely; the seedlings grew as rampantly as those of Japanese larch, forming beautifully rooted plants; I cleared the hardwood off three acres of good land, and planted it with 12,000 western larch, fine rooted plants, in the spring of 1910. The result has been discouraging; about 50 per cent. died outright, and by the end of 1914 the remainder have made poor growth. On the other hand, a dozen seedlings which Mr. Elwes sent me, raised from seed in 1904, and planted on moist but well-drained bottom land, have grown fast and well, being now 14 to 18 feet high. Evidently this tree, like the Sitka spruce, requires moist deep land; the other place, though far from being poor, was not wet enough for it.

There are three specimens of the western larch at Kew, one being 34 years planted and about 35 feet high; but the soil of Kew is too dry to nourish without much coddling a tree whereof all reports go to show that it demands so much moisture at its roots as would be fatal to the European and Japanese species. Sheltered valleys on the western side of Great Britain seem to be the likeliest environment for the development of this most valuable timber tree, and probably nearly all parts of Ireland.

The Yew

What the ash was to the Scots of old, the yew (_Taxus baccata_) was to the English; for while the ash furnished staves for the national weapon, the pike, which the Scots learnt to handle from their Flemish allies, the most powerful longbows were fashioned of yew, and it was as archers that the English excelled all other infantry until gunpowder came into general use. Even long after the smoke and stench of "villainous saltpetre" had altered the conditions of battle, much attention was given to archery in the English army. Despite the many Acts of Parliament enjoining the planting of yews, the supply had run short before Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, so that in 1571 it was enacted that bow-staves should be imported from the Continent (13 Eliz., c. xiv.).

Apart from military association, the yew is a tree of gloom, taking the place in British churchyards which the cypress, "like Death's lean lifted forefinger," occupies in Eastern cemeteries. Tennyson was least likely of poets to miss the significance of this tree's melancholy; at first he could recognise in it nothing else but that and its changelessness:

Old yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the underlying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.

Oh not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale!
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom.

Shakespeare received a similar impression:

But straight they told me they would bind me here
Unto the body of a dismal yew.

Sir Walter Scott applied the self-same epithet:

But here 'twixt rock and river grew
A dismal grove of sable yew.

* * * * *

Seem'd that the trees their shadows cast
The earth that nourished them to blast;
For never knew that swarthy grove
The verdant hue that fairies love;
Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower,
Arose within its baleful bower.
The dark and sable earth receives
Its only carpet from the leaves.

Anyone who has stood on a summer noon within one or other of the two remarkable yew woods on Lord Radnor's property near Salisbury cannot fail to recognise the truth of this picture in every detail. The sense of gloom and envious shade in those "swarthy groves" must oppress him who enters it. They are known respectively as "the Great Yews" and "the Little Yews," the former being of the greater extent--about 80 acres--but the largest trees are growing in the Little Yews. Although these two woods are almost certainly of natural origin, traces of replanting may be recognised here and there by the regular lines in which some of the great trees are disposed, telling of a time when the timber was in request for bow-making.

Tennyson came to realise that the yew really responds in its own fashion to the summons of spring as briskly as any rose or lily, and that a sparrow cannot alight upon it in April without disturbing a puff of pollen:

Old warder of these buried bones,
And answering now my random stroke
With fruitful cloud and living smoke,
Dark yew, that graspest at the stones
And dippest toward the dreamless head,
To thee, too, comes the golden hour
When flower is feeling after flower.

Surely there is nothing more delightful in English verse than the delicate phrase in which Tennyson touches upon some of the less obvious workings of nature.

Evelyn observes regretfully in the seventeenth century: "Since the use of bows is laid aside amongst us, the propagation of the eugh is likewise quite forborn; but the neglect of it is to be deplored." Howbeit, on the whole, one cannot regret that this sombre tree is less often planted than it was when the Kings of England were striving desperately to retain their rich lands in France. The yew requires two or three centuries to acquire dignity. Such venerable ruins as the great yew in the churchyard of Leeds, in Kent, measuring 32 feet in girth at 3½ feet from the ground, command admiration akin to awe from creatures whose span is but three-score years and ten. So do the yews on Merrow Down, near Guildford, reputed to have marked the Pilgrims' Way to Canterbury; and the yews of Borrodale and Inch Lonaig, on Loch Lomond, we cherish as traces of the primæval forest. But for decorative work, for sheltering hedges in garden and pleasure ground, let us take some more lightsome evergreen from the wealth of choice that the enterprise of collectors has furnished us withal. The Lawson cypress, the giant thuja, the so-called Albert spruce, and many others, are of far nobler growth than the yew and equally patient of the shears, if clipped they have to be. True, they are foreigners, but so are the Spanish and horse-chestnuts, the silver fir, the sycamore, the English elm, and many other growths which have become integral parts of our home landscape; assuredly our forbears would not have hesitated to plant better things than yews if they had been given the chance. That they did plant what they had may be seen from the note made by Giraldus Cambrensis when he visited Ireland in the year 1184:

"Here the yew with its bitter sap is far more abundant than in all
the other countries where we have been, but chiefly in old
graveyards; and of these trees you may see plenty planted of old in
these sacred places by the hands of holy men who did what they
could to honour and adorn them."

Given elbow room, the yew takes liberal advantage of it, and is apt to spread to a breadth equal to or greater than its height. A singular departure from this habit was made by a seedling found in 1767 on the hills near Florence Court, in County Fermanagh, which grew in a strictly fastigiate or columnar form, and became the progenitor (by cuttings) of what is now known in all temperate parts of the globe as the Irish yew.

Geologically the yew is of immense antiquity in this island; indeed, it grew in what is now the island of Britain before that was severed from the Continent, as is proved by its remains in the forest bed underlying the glacial drift on the coast of Norfolk, where its fruits, identical with those of the present time, have been recognised lying among the bones of elephant, rhinoceros, and four species of bear. A closely kindred form of yew, with somewhat smaller seeds, has been found in the German coal-fields, showing that the type has existed from an incalculably distant period, before the formation of the chalk. Botanically, therefore, the yew must be regarded as contemporary with such archaic types of vegetation as the Gingko, the Umbrella pine (_Sciadopytis_), the Cycads, and the Horsetails.

Of the age of individual trees exaggerated estimates have been formed and statements devoid of evidence made. Thus a fine yew at Yew Park, Clontarf, near Dublin, is confidently shown to visitors as that under which Brian Boruimh, King of Ireland, died on Good Friday, A.D. 1014. Very likely he breathed his last under a yew tree growing on that spot; but it is incredible that this should be the identical tree, for although it has a wide spread of branches, the trunk only measures 12 feet in girth. Compare this with the recorded increase of a yew at Ankerwyke, near Staines, which in 1822 girthed 27 feet 8 inches, and in 1877 had increased to 30 feet 5 inches, and it is clear that the Clontarf tradition cannot be seriously entertained.

It would grievously wound the feelings of a townman of Chichester to express any lack of confidence in the tradition which affirms that the yews in Kinglye Bottom, near that town, were growing there when the Norsemen landed among them a thousand years ago; but listen to Dr. Lowe's chilly analysis of the grounds for that belief. "Had it been said that yews were there, the statement would have been accurate; but that 'the yews,' meaning those still existing, were then in being, is too large a demand on our credulity, as there is no tree at that place which exceeds 15.4 feet in girth, or possibly about five hundred years in age."[23] In like manner the belief that Montrose rested under the fine yew at Abercairney, in Perthshire, must be dismissed, for it only girths 10 feet 7 inches, indicating an age of about 200 years; whereas to have afforded effective shelter in the year 1640 it ought by this time to be at least 370 years old.

The usual indication of age by annual rings of growth cannot be trusted in the case of the yew, owing to a peculiarity in its habit of growth. Injury to a main branch often causes all that part of the stem with which it is connected to die under the bark right down to the ground, the injury being repaired by a rush of young shoots from the living bark; and these, if they get head room, grow vigorously and ultimately become welded together. This process vitiates the record of annual rings, and although it is a means of rejuvenescence which no doubt prolongs the life of the tree, it would not be safe to assume that there is any yew in the British Isles more than five hundred years old. Dr. John Lowe was at great pains to collect evidence on this matter, and failed to obtain _documentary_ proof of any yew exceeding 250 years of age.

The practice of planting yews in churchyards helps to account for the extravagant statements about the age of certain trees. Generation after generation has become familiar with seeing a yew beside the parish church; the date of the building of the church being accurately known, it comes to be assumed that church and tree are coeval. Dr. Lowe gives a case in point of two churches in contiguous parishes in Kent, each of which has a large yew in the churchyard reckoned to be the same age as the church. One of these yews measures 16 feet in girth, the other 17 feet; but as one of the churches dates back to the eleventh century, and the other only to the fourteenth, the tradition about the trees would have one yew to be three hundred years older than the other, although only differing in girth by one foot.[24]

The poisonous properties of the yew are pretty generally known; in fact, Pliny says that the adjective _toxicus_, poisonous, was once written _taxicus_ from _taxus_, the yew. But in the _English Encyclopædia_ is the mischievous statement--"It is now well known that the fruit of the yew may be eaten with impunity." It is quite true that the pulp surrounding the seed, with its sweet but sickly taste, does not possess the poisonous properties of the foliage and young bark; but the seed itself is deadly, numerous fatal cases having been recorded as the result of swallowing it. On the whole, therefore, it is best to give children nice chocolates on condition that they leave the pretty yew berries alone.

A yew bearing yellow berries originated at Glasnevin about 100 years ago and has been pretty extensively propagated in Ireland, but I have never happened to see it in fruit, though I have a clear recollection of the weird yew avenue at Glasnevin.

The Irish or Florence Court yew, described above, found high favour with garden designers seventy or eighty years ago, owing to its fastigiate habit; but, at best, it is a funereal object, and a more cheerful effect may be obtained by planting Incense Cedar (_Libocedrus decurrens_), Lawson Cypress or Pencil Cedar (_Juniperus virginiana_).

Dr. Prior, in his excellent work on the _Popular Names of British Plants_ (1879), argued confidently that the names "yew" and "ivy" were but different forms of the same word; but the late Professor Skeat declined to admit that there was any connection between them. It is an elusive element in English place-names; Yeovil in Somerset being assigned to a totally different origin. Yeoford, in Devon, has been variously written Uford and Yewford, and may possibly be named from a yew tree, and so may Uffculme in the same county. The Gaelic _iubhar_ (pronounced "yure") is more easily recognised in the suffix -ure or -nure to many Irish and Scottish place-names. For instance, Gortinure, near Londonderry, is written _Gort-an-iubhair_ in the _Annals of the Four Masters_; Glenure in Argyll and Palnure in Galloway are respectively the glen and stream (_pol_) of the yews. The word is more closely disguised in Newry, County Down; but that name is explained in the aforesaid _Annals_ as derived from a yew planted by St. Patrick himself, whence the monastery founded there was called _Iubhar-cinn-trachta_, the yew near high tide-mark. The name was shortened into an-Iubharach, whence the transition was easy to Newry. In Galloway, Palnure is the stream of the yews, and in Ayrshire Dunure is the fort of the yew-tree.

The Cypress and its Kin

Among all the green things that clothe this wonderful globe--that globe which man strives so desperately to unclothe that he may pile upon it leagues of bricks and mortar, defile it with the smoke of myriad furnaces, burrow in it in pursuit of pelf to pay for still more bricks, mortar and furnaces--among these green things, I say, no group bears the badge of clanship more openly than the Cypresses (_Cupressineæ_), a branch of the great order of Conifers. It contains but a single species indigenous to the British Isles, namely, the common juniper (_Juniperus communis_), which cannot aspire to rank among forest trees. Agriculture and mineral industry have extirpated it in many districts where it once abounded; but it is still a characteristic feature in the landscape on some of the English chalk downs, in East Anglia, the Scottish Highlands, western Ireland, and other places where it has been allowed to survive. Near Capenoch, in Dumfriesshire, there remains a broad hillside thickly covered with juniper, which seems to have been the chief growth there from immemorial time.

AT WAKEHURST PLACE]

Tenderly as we should regard the juniper as a legacy from a bygone age, reminiscent of a scenery now no more, it has no qualities to recommend it for planting where it does not naturally grow, but the cypress group to which it belongs contains many foreign species which are capable of being turned to great advantage by British foresters. Although this group has been classified by botanists under a number of distinct genera, whereof the nomenclature has been repeatedly changed in a manner perplexing to ordinary persons, one valuable quality distinguishes all of them, namely, the durability of the timber they produce. It is recorded that the doors of the original basilica of St. Peter at Rome, erected in the fourth century, were of Mediterranean cypress (_C. sempervirens_), and that they were perfectly sound when that building was destroyed to make way for the present church in the sixteenth century.

It is not possible to trace to its source the association of this tree with human mortality. That it was so associated in Pagan civilisation may be seen from Horace's pathetic poem:

Neque harum quas colis arborum
Te præter invisas cupressus
Ulla brevem dominum sequetur.[25]