266 Among the Trees. [September, inclosures. It was formerly a favorite shade-tree, and still retains its privileges in many old-fashioned places. A century ago great numbers of Poplars were plant- ed on the village way-sides, in front of dwelling-houses, on the borders of public grounds, and particularly on the sides of lanes and avenues leading to houses sit- uated at a short distance from the high- road. Hence a row of these trees be- comes suggestive at once of the approach to some old mansion or country-seat, which has now, perhaps, been converted into a farm-house, having exchanged its proud honors of wealth for the more sim- ple and delightful appurtenances of rus- tic independence. Some of these ancient rows of Poplars are occasionally seen in old fields, where almost all traces of the habitation which they were intended to grace are obliter- ated. There is a melancholy pleasure in surveying these humble ruins, whose his- tory would illustrate the domestic habits of our ancestors. The cellar of the old house is now a part of the pasture-land, and its form can be traced by the simple swelling of the turf. Sumachs and Cor- nel-bushes have usurped the place of the exotic shrubbery in the old garden ; and the only ancient companions of the Pop- lars, now remaining, are here and there a straggling Lilac or Currant-bush, a tuft of Houseleek, and perhaps, under the shelter of some dilapidated wall, the White Star of Bethlehem is seen meekly glowing in the rude society of the wild-flowers. The Lombardy Poplar, which was for- merly a favorite way-side ornament, a sort of idol of the public, and, like many another idol, exalted to honors that ex- ceeded its merits, fell suddenly into un- popularity and disgrace. After having been admired and valued as if its leaves were all emeralds and its buds apples of gold, it was spurned and ridiculed and everywhere cut down as a cumberer of the ground. The faults attributed to it did not belong to the tree, but were the effects of the climate into which it had been removed. It was brought from the sunny vales of Italy, where it had been delicately reared by the side of the Orange and the Myrtle, and transplanted into the cold climate of New England. The ten- der constitution of this tree could not en- dure our rude winters ; and every spring witnessed the decay of a large portion of its small branches. Hence it became prematurely aged, and in its decline car- ried with it the marks of its infirmities. But, with all these imperfections, the Lombardy Poplar was more worthy of the honors it received from our predeces- sors than of its present disrepute. It is one of the fairest of trees, in the vigor of its health and the greenness of its youth. But nearly all the old Poplars are extir- pated, and but few young trees are com- ing up to supply their places. While I am now writing, I see from my window the graceful spire of one solitary tree, towering above the surrounding objects in the landscape, and yielding to the view something of an indescribable charm. There it stands, the symbol of decayed reputation, in its old age still retaining the primness of its youth ; neither droop- ing in its infirmities under the weight of their burden, nor losing in its deserted- ness the fine lustre of its foliage ; and in its disgrace still bearing itself proudly, as if conscious that its former honors were deserved, and not forgetting that dignity which becomes one who has fallen with- out dishonor. There is no other tree that so pleasant- ly adorns the sides of narrow lanes and avenues, or so neatly accommodates itself to limited inclosures. Its foliage is dense and of the liveliest green, tremulous, and making delicate music to the light fingers of every breeze ; its terebinthine odors scent the soft vernal wind that enters your open windows with the morning sunshine ; its branches, always tending upward, closely gathered together, and slenderly formed, afford a harbor to the singing-birds, who revel among them as a favorite resort; and its long tapering spire, that points to heaven, gives an air of cheerfulness and religious tranquillity to village scenery. Of the drooping trees, the Weeping
