It may seem unnecessary to direct the attention of the public again either to this volume or its subject, both of which have already engaged the public attention to a degree greatly beyond their value and importance; but Sir Henry, with all his foppery and parade of decorating parks, approaches, and lawns, and all that sort of chateau millinery, has now and then risen above his subject, and not only given us several hints useful in rural economy, but has also pretensions to have brought out some facts hitherto but imperfectly known, and to have traced them to general principles. {227}

It is curious to remark of how much greater importance the elder part of society—those upon whom wealth has at length devolved, are generally held. Any device, however trifling, which can in any way divert the fancy, pamper the lingering senses, or patch up the body of our second childhood, is infinitely more useful to the discoverer, and meets with higher patronage and more eclat, than what is of a thousand times more consequence to the young. Now, if this were the fruit of filial love, all would be very well—we would idolize the picture: but when we see these discoveries only patronized by the old themselves, in the merest egotism, we blush for our patriarchs, and wonder if time and suffering will be spent as unprofitably upon ourselves.

We wonder much what fascination can exist to a mind of so much ability and culture as that of Sir Henry Steuart, in decorating a few dull unprofitable acres,—causing a few bushes and bush-like trees to change place from one side of a dull green to the other!—laying digested plans of action, embracing a great number of years, to accomplish this very important feat, which most probably the next heir will make the business of his life to undo, by turning them back to their old quarters, if he does not, with more wisdom, grub them out {228} altogether as cumberers of the soil! For ourselves, we would rather baa with the silly sheep, and nibble the turf, than pass our time in acting over this most pitiful trifling, or in publishing a memorial of our shame. We know not how others are affected, but there is no other place on earth where we have felt such oppression and weariness, as in the extensive smoothed park and lawns around the country seat. We sicken under the uniformity of the heavy-looking round-headed trees,—the dulness of the flat fat pasture, undecorated by a single weed,—the quiet stupid physiognomy of the cattle,—the officiousness of the sleek orderly menial. It may be we are very destitute of taste in this; here every thing is experiencing satiety of sensual enjoyment, is full to repletion; every thing has been sedulously arranged to please, and we ought certainly to admire; but we have no sympathy with such a scene.

The solitariness, the absence of men and of human interest, is not compensated by any of the wild charms of nature. There is small room here for the discovery of the habitat and native character of plants, no chance of meeting with a rare species, every thing is modelled to art. The land-bailiff is an adept. With his dirty composts and top-dressings, he smothers the fog and the daisy; the scythe {229} sweeps down every idle weed, every wild flower which escapes his large-mouthed oxen. The live smooth bark of the lush fast-growing trees, affords no footing for the various and beautiful tribes of mosses and lichens. The fog-bee has lost its dwelling, the humble-bee its flowers, and they have flown away. Scarce an insect remains, except the swollen earth-worm, the obscene beetle, and the bloated toad, crawling among the rank grass. There is a heavy dankness in the air itself. The nervous fluid stagnates under it,—the muscles relax into lassitude,—inexpressible depression sinks upon the heart.

It is impossible to describe the relief we feel when we emerge again into varied nature beyond the ring-fence,—we have the hill and the furze, the wild-violet and the thyme, and all the sweet diversity of our subalpine flora. We have the thatched, patched hut, the fine ragged children, the blooming cottage-girl,—we have the corn-field, where weeds of every dye, the beautiful centaurea and scabiosa, the elegant fumaria, the gaudy cock-rose, and the splendid chrysanthemum, are contending for existence with the cerealeæ. Look at the broken mound, with its old picturesque trees and tangled bushes; there is the ancient root where the throstle had its nestlings, which are now at large on the leafy boughs, and are {230} tuning their yet unformed notes to melody. Now every twig has raised its new column of foliage to the sun; and branch, and root, and stone, embellished all over in the richest variety of cryptogamic beauty, swarm of insect life. This smooth path has been paved by the lightsome foot; how superior to the gravel-walk on which the labourer has grudged his useless toil! Even the cart-ruts possess an interest, which useful labour has worn. After the smooth monotony of the park; the turf-dykes, the fluting of the ridges, the different kinds of crops, are most agreeable diversity. The dunghil, and chanticleer among his dames, the toiled horse, the lean milch-cow, and the superhumanly-sagacious-looking shepherd-colley,—every thing we behold commands a sympathy, draws forth a wish of benevolence.

As Sir Walter Scott’s Critique came under our notice prior to Sir Henry’s Guide, we shall proceed in the same order.

In the first half of this article, Sir Walter gives the history, and describes the varied character, of Landscape Gardening, in a very imaginative and felicitous manner, which, as depending on genius and literature alone, was to be expected; but, in the latter part of the essay, when he comes to treat of {231} action and facts, and Sir Henry’s discoveries, the deficiency in practical knowledge and judgment, only forms a contrast to the fancy, elegance, and erudition of what goes before.

Sir Walter, apparently not quite unconscious of the ridicule attaching to the subject,—to this mighty scientific and historic parade in teaching country gentlemen to amuse themselves by transferring grown trees as they list, from one place to another, without entirely destroying the life of the transported subject,—makes a curious effort to sustain its consequence, by pointing out the immense advantages to a district by the squire’s residing in it; insinuating, that every thing which may amuse him at home, and thus induce him to stay, although of itself childish or infamous, becomes of the highest importance, being ennobled by the end. The following courtly quotation is from Sir Walter’s proemial observations: “A celebrated politician used to say, he would willingly bring in a bill to make poaching felony, another to encourage the breed of foxes, and a third to revive the decayed amusements of cock-fighting and bull-baiting; that he would make, in short, any sacrifice to the humours and prejudices of the country gentlemen, in their most extravagant form, providing only he could prevail on them to dwell in their {232} own houses, be the patrons of their own tenantry, and the fathers of their own children.” Sir Walter does not attempt to describe or analyze the “humours and prejudices” necessary to render the above lures efficacious. Does he infer that such dishonourable power over their fellow men, or that the opportunity of indulging in such low despicable practices, would induce the country gentlemen to sojourn in their father-land? It is impossible to say any thing more insultingly cutting. But we are far from imputing to Sir Walter any intentional offence. Yet we cannot help being angry with the freakish favouritism of Fortune, although we are sensible it belongs instinctively to the female character, often a necessary and very interesting trait; how she dooms one man from his childhood to toil incessantly for a bare subsistence; how she lavishes her favours upon another, and surrounds him from the cradle with every delight; the mind enlightened, the taste cultivated, the body trained to the most graceful exercises, even whose very amusements are considered of so great importance as to throw a high interest upon an art of no earthly utility, but, on the contrary, where the labour of many workmen is thrown uselessly away. We are aware that Sir Walter and his Senator only regard these pastimes {233} of the country gentlemen, thus highly, through a reflected interest, the latter in a political view; and the Baronet, from the known warm benevolence of his heart (a feeling generally associated with genius), towards his poor countrymen, to whom he supposes, in the event of the country gentlemen being by any means induced to stay at home, a part of the great land revenue so unjustly wrung from the poor man’s labour would again devolve.

It is amusing to observe with what a flow of imagination Sir Walter shews off his friend’s inventions—inventions which have been practised with less or more success, in a manner very similar, by almost every planter of note, since the time of Nero. We quote again: “The existence of the wonders,—so we may call them,—which Sir Henry Steuart has effected, being thus supported by the unexceptionable evidence of competent judges (a deputation by the Highland Society), what lover of natural beauty can fail to be interested in his own detailed account of the mode by which he has been able to make wings for time?”—“But although we have found the system to be at once original, effectual, and attended with moderate expense, we are not sanguine enough to hope that it will at once find {234} general introduction. The application of steam and gas to the important functions which they at present perform, was slowly and reluctantly adopted, after they had been opposed for many years by the prejudices of the public,—earlier or later this beautiful and rational system will be brought into general action, when it will do more to advance the picturesque beauty of the country in five years, than the slow methods hitherto adopted will in fifty. It is now found we possess the art of changing the face of nature like the scenes in a theatre, and that we can convert, almost instantaneously, a desert to an Eden.”

Now, this is admirable! Even were it granted, that no planter before Sir Henry Steuart’s time, or without his instructions, had ever removed a tree of considerable size successfully (though we believe he has nearly as much the merit of discovery in this as in the other curious invention ascribed to him by Sir Walter, “making wings for time,” which must certainly have been performed by Sir Henry a long while ago, as we remember time flying very well when we were a truant boy); yet, nevertheless, Sir Walter, now that his paroxysm of admiration has had time to moderate, will surely help us to laugh {235} at the absurdity of his hyperbolic figures of comparison, with steam, and gas, and scenic transformation, which throw such ridicule upon his excellent friend.

We believe that Sir Henry Steuart has been as successful as many others of his countrymen in transplanting grown trees. We have had some little practice ourselves in this art, but which, had it not been for Sir Henry’s discoveries, we should not have thought of obtruding on the notice of the public. The house we occupied was covered to the south and west by part of an old orchard of apple and pear trees, which excluded the drying south-western breeze, so necessary in a low damp situation. We transplanted nearly an acre of these, certainly with more success and economy than could have been effected by Sir Henry’s practice, the soil being so tenacious, that it was impossible to remove the earth from the roots without fracturing all the smaller fibres. The soil, an adhesive brown Carse clay, contained a good deal of vegetable matter, to the depth of about 15 inches, when the subsoil, a close hard yellow clay commenced, into which very few of the roots penetrated. This ground had been long under grass, and the upper soil was much bound together by the grass and tree roots. Under these circumstances we adopted the following plan:—{236}

We first had a stout sledge made, about four feet square, of lumber pieces of wood, the side pieces about five feet long, on which it slid, had a small bend, and extended nearly a foot behind the cross bottom sheaths, which were sparred over with three narrow boards. The stout chain of a roller was affixed to this sledge, when at use, to drag it by. In the autumn we prepared the site where we intended placing each tree, by throwing out the earth on two sides about a foot deep, and eight feet square, and then dug over the bottom of this shallow pit one spit deep, and sloped the two other sides, to which the earth had not been thrown, so that horses could walk across it; we then took the opportunity of a slight shower, when the ground was slippery above and hard below, so that the sledge could easily be dragged, and set the labourers to work to dig a narrow trench, two feet deep, and about three feet distant from the stem (more or less according to the size of the tree), around those trees we intended to remove, paying no regard to the roots, but cutting them right down where they interfered with the trench, and where the roots in the central part (the part surrounded by the trench) were not immediately at the surface, paring off the turf till the roots appeared. This being done, we caused them to {237} under-dig and scrape out the clay all round, nearly a foot inward below the roots, and then to introduce two large ladders at one side as levers to upset the tree, the strong end of the ladders being put into the trench, and as far underneath the roots as to catch hold firmly, the outer side of the trench being the fulcrum on which they rested to obtain a purchase, the light end sloping upward about 14 feet high. Two men were then employed upon each ladder; one of them pulled down by a rope attached to the top, while the other guided the ladder, and rocked it a little up and down; and, at the same time, several men hung upon the opposite side of the tree, either by a rope or the branches, till their united force upset the tree with a large cake of clay bound together by the roots, five or six feet square, and perhaps fifteen inches thick, standing up like a wall, similar to what occurs when spruce or Scots fir are upset by high winds, in shallow wet-bottomed soil. We then removed the ladders, sloped the outer side of the trench where they had rested, and pared away the clay from the upset root, till we thought four horses could drag it, one or two men in the mean time sitting in the top to prevent the tree righting. After this we introduced the sledge, pushing it as far back as possible; if necessary, cutting holes to {238} admit the ends of the side-pieces of the sledge through the lower edge of the upset root; and if the tree were large, placing several wet slippery boards under the sides of the sledge, that it might be more easily drawn up the acclivity of the hole. The men hanging or sitting on the top, then let go their hold, and the tree generally righted itself, standing fair upon the sledge as it grew; if it did not do this of itself, they assisted its rising by lifting at the top. The root was then secured firmly upon the sledge with ropes, and the horses were attached, who, by pulling stoutly, dragged the sledge with its load out of the hole up the slope, and away to the prepared new situation, one man walking at each side, having hold of a rope attached to the top of the tree to guide and steady it when passing a furrow or other inequality of the road. The horses were led across the new site, and stopped when the sledge and tree were in the pit, about a foot past the berth; the ropes fixing the stool on the sledge were then untied, and, by pulling backward upon the ropes fixed to the top, the tree was upset again upon its side from off the sledge, and the sledge dragged forward. The tree was then allowed or assisted to right itself again in its proper berth, and friable earth packed well around and scattered over the stool, and a little litter spread over {239} all. The ground was then drained and trenched, excepting the part around the tree, which had been stirred in the planting. If thought necessary, a prop or two were placed to steady the tree during the winter, as it might otherwise work a little back and forward with the wind while the clay was moist and soft. After the earth had dried in the spring, the props were removed.

When we look back on the description of this practice, it seems tedious; but much of the work is done sooner than described. Were it of sufficient importance, trees might be grown in something like lazy beds, with water always standing in the dividing trenches, about fifteen inches lower than the surface, which would procure roots very manageable by this practice. We once had a small nursery of oaks so situated, and the trees which were removed, when of considerable size, had roots uncommonly matted and fibrous, and which carried with them a large mass of soil. These succeeded very well when transplanted, but we should consider that plants from a drier poorer soil, with roots equally fibrous, would be preferable, could they be extracted with as much adhering earth, which, however, could not be accomplished without preparation and considerable labour. Were it the only consideration to procure plants which would best {240} support the transplanting when of considerable size, this, or the practice of cutting the roots, and encouraging the rooting by manuring and thickening the earth around the stool, would merit attention; but as we have already stated, we consider plants with these matted roots not so likely to grow to large timber as those with several unchecked large diverging root-leaders.

Besides the above mentioned part of orchard, we have, by this practice, removed successfully (in some cases so much so as that no trace of the removal appeared), a considerable number of trees, where they were growing too close, and think it simpler, and much superior to Sir Henry’s, wherever the stool of the tree can be turned up with a large cake of earth, as in cases where the greater part of the roots run out horizontally near the surface, which always occurs in flat ground, when the subsoil is soaking with moisture the greater part of the season. Whatever risk there may be of the tree not growing when it has been subjected to all Sir Henry’s formal and tedious process, assisted by costly machinery, there is none here, provided it is placed in drained trenched ground, as a considerable number of the small fibres on which the suction of moisture for supply of the leaves depends, remain untouched, with this earth around them, and {241} strike out immediately in the new moist soft soil; and there is no laceration of the main roots, which, by Sir Henry’s plan, cannot altogether be avoided, this laceration being much more pernicious, and likely to occasion putrescency, than simple cross section49.

By the above sledging practice, we have successfully removed fruit trees 2 ¹⁄₂ feet in circumference, at two feet from the ground, and have had some 20 feet high, make a new addition to their height of six inches the first summer, where no shortening of the top had taken place. We have also plucked fair loads of fruit, both first and second season, as large {242} and well matured as any of the same kind produced by trees which had not been touched; but it is generally prudent not to allow them to fruit the first two seasons. As an experiment, we cut most of the branches from the top of two of the trees—that is, headed them down, but found these did not grow so well as those which were only slightly pruned, or not pruned at all.

Pruning at planting should take place in cases where there are long annual shoots of the preceding season, or much close spray as in old fruiting-trees; the former should be cut in, to five or six buds in length, and the latter ought to be thinned, to an extent, which the kind of tree, the largeness and safe state of the root, soil, exposure, and climate, must determine: we request our readers to pay attention to this. Pruning the long annual shoots, prevents a too early formation of leaves, which often occurs in moist cold soil, and which wither before the roots begin to strike.

In some cases, where we found the earth too friable, and not sufficiently bound together by the roots, to rise up in a cake, we first prepared the stool for upsetting, and waited for hard frost50 to bind {243} the earth and roots into a firm body like a large millstone, pouring some water upon it the evening previous to the commencement of the frost, that it might become firmer; we then proceeded with our sledging during the frost if the road was smooth; and, if rough, we covered over the frozen root with straw to retain the frost; and the first day of fresh, when the ground was soft and slippery above, and hard underneath, we proceeded with our work, taking care not to cover up the root with earth till it had thawed. We have found (contrary to general opinion), that no injury is sustained by exposure of the roots of various kinds of trees to frost, or as great cold as generally occurs at the surface of the ground in this climate. We have succeeded equally well with pear-trees, which had lain out on the exposed bare crown of a ridge for two months of winter, without the smallest quantity of earth adhering to the roots, or protection of any kind, as with those immediately from the ground where they grew. We have even thought that a certain exposure of the roots to cold increased their susceptibility to be stimulated to strike quicker by the warmth of the ground in spring, and thus the root suction coming to act sooner than it usually does in transplanted trees without balls, and nearer the time of the expansion {244} of the leaves; the check occasioned by the upper vegetation being too forward for the lower, was not so great. In some cases a slight degree of withering also appeared to have a good effect in deterring the development of the buds till the earth acquired a warmth sufficient for the root striking.

We succeeded to our wish with those we transplanted by sledging, excepting a few which were placed among young trees obtained from a sale nursery. These young plants brought along with them a number of the eggs of the common green caterpillar. These eggs produced larvæ upon the young trees the following spring; and these larvæ going down into the earth, produced a small grey silvery moth in July. The moths, from the tallest plants being most opposed to them in their flight, or from being guided by common parasitical instinct to choose the largest subjects, deposited their eggs upon the removed old trees in preference to those on which they had been brought from the nursery,—a preference which did not seem to arise from any sickliness of the old, as they were fully as vigorous the first summer after transplanting as the young. These imported vermin prospering under the propitious dry warm summer of 1826, rendered several of the old trees as bare of foliage the second and third June after {245} removal as they were in December; they have now, however, recovered their vigour, shaken off their parasites, and have produced good loads of fruit.

We may be thought fastidious in our tastes, and extravagant in our wishes, but we desire and expect more of our country gentlemen than to be mere idlers, or worse than idlers,—practisers of the Allanton system. When they turn their attention to forestry, we would have them to sow, or to plant from the nursery, and not to disturb and torture the fine growing timber which their fathers had located, and which generally suffers irreparable injury from removal,—a system to which Sir Henry Steuart is so absurdly attached, as to recommend its practice, although only to turn the lee side of the tree round to the wind in the same spot. Nor have we much sympathy with Sir Walter Scott’s taste for home-keeping squires,—those Shallows and Slenders with whom our great dramatist has made himself so merry. We would have our landed gentlemen to know that they are the countrymen,—many of them, perhaps, of the blood of the Raleighs, the Drakes, and the Ansons. Let them, like our Wellington, our Nelson, our Cochrane, Wilson, Miller, and many others, continue to set before the world some little assurance of British manhood. Let them, like our {246} no less honourable Penns, and Baltimore, and Selkirk, lay foundations of future empires. We would have our young men of fortune go abroad into the world as soon as their scholastic education is completed,—not to spend a few idle years in Paris, Rome, or other of the common enervating haunts,—they might as well remain in mother’s drawingroom or father’s stable; but to view man and nature under every appearance. Let them acquire horsemanship on the Pampas of La Plata; hunt the lion and the elephant, and other game, at the Cape, and study the botany and natural history of these prolific wilds. Let their ideas shoot while they recline under the lone magnificence of the primeval forest, while they gallop over the unappropriated desert, free as the Bedouin, or lie down composedly to sleep, serenaded by the hyena and jackal’s howl, and lion’s roar. Let them learn geology and mineralogy on the Andes and Himalaya, and around every shore where the strata are denuded. Let them wind about among those abrupt rocks and craggy precipices, where they may contemplate the sea-bird’s household economy—the wild herbs of the cliff—the vegetation and shells and monsters of the ocean—the solitary white sail from distant land—the vestiges of olden time, the exuviæ of former worlds, in the {247} exposed strata—the abrasion of the rocky land by the continued battering of the numberless pebbles moved backward and forward by the heaving of the ceaseless wave. Let them study the currents, and winds, and meteorology on the ocean, and enjoy the sublime feeling of riding over it in its wildest mood. Let them join the ranks of freedom in any quarter of the world where freedom is opposed to tyranny. Let them head the savage horde, and introduce the morality and arts of Britain among the ignorant barbarian; or lead out colonies of our starved operatives to new lands of high agricultural capability, where for centuries no population-preventive checks would be necessary. No other employment of life could be so abounding in heart-stirring emotion, as leading out the enthusiastic emigrants, with their huddled groups of children, whom you know you have rescued from the irksome unhealthy toil and wretchedness of the city manufactory; no occupation could be more delightful than cherishing the new-born settlement during the privations and hardships of infancy; in procuring a supply of food, when through mistakes, owing to ignorance of the climate and other circumstances, success had not attended their industry; and in leading them on to an effective self government. One would gladly leave {248} this old world, whose surface is disfigured all over by man’s patched drilled deformities, and pass on to a new one, where inviolated nature has produced and reared her own children after her own fashion, where every plant occupies its own place and blossoms in its own time. This order must afford intense delight to the naturalist, independent of the novelty of every thing, from the constellation in the sky to the lichen on the stone. In such a place, one should feel remorse to suffer the hatchet to work, or the ploughshare to enter in.

We fear these amusements (to which indeed, the British seem more disposed than any other people), would spoil all relish for the Allanton system, and that our travellers, on their return, would suffer the thriving trees planted by their fathers to remain at rest, and rather incline to introduce into the park some of their hardy foreign favourites—the iron-wood evergreens of Patagonia, the valuable pines and other trees of New Zealand and Eastern Asia. We believe, also, that an acquaintance with the real world, obtained in this way, would be much better fitted, than the following Sir Walter’s recommendation, to render our gentlemen in after life able and ready to direct at the nation’s councils, and to improve their estates, and the condition of their dependents. {249} Perhaps they would then disdain to hang on at St Stephen’s, the contemptible retainers (all but in livery) of some intriguing member of the cabinet, like hungry jackals (call-jack), for the pickings their master might leave them.

Having now looked at the general bearing of our subject, we shall approach it a little closer, to examine the facts, inductions, and minutiæ of the practice.

When we first heard of Sir Henry Steuart’s celebrated discoveries and new system of moving about large live trees, and read Sir Walter Scott’s declaration, that Birnam wood might now in reality come down living to Dunsinane, we were disposed to hold Sir Henry a magician, and were not a little alarmed lest grown up trees might indeed acquire, under his art, the locomotive power, and gallop about, to the no small terror and danger of his Majesty’s subjects; but, on closer examination, we find all Sir Henry’s art resolve itself into transferring them from one hole into another, by the labour of real men and horses, without injuring the trees to such a degree as preclude hope of recovery under proper subsequent attention. His mode of performing this may be stated shortly as follows:—

1st, Procure sturdy subjects, not drawn up tall {250} and delicate in close plantations, but with short stem balanced all round with numerous compact branches, and well and regularly rooted, such as occur in open situation on level surface. If you have not trees possessing these prerequisites ready at hand Go prepare them. Thin out your young woods to double and triple distance, according as you intend to transfer them to sheltered or exposed situations; cut the roots of these trees, and trench around them at a few feet distant from the bulb, or lay down rich compost mould around them, to encourage exuberance of rooting, and in eight or ten years you will have fit subjects for removal!

2d, Prepare the site a year previous, by trenching and manuring with compost, carefully mixing and blending the whole (the upper and lower earth of the soil and compost), and adding mould when the soil is shallow; attending to thicken and mix clay soil with sandy mould, and sand soil with clayey mould, also guarding against lodgment of water. Recent farm-yard dung, peat-moss, and quick-lime, when well compounded together, make an excellent compost manure.

3d, Commence extricating your trees by opening a deep trench at the extremities of the roots, undermining a little inward, and gradually severing the {251} earth from the rootlets, by stirring, scraping, and shaking with a very light pick, at the same time throwing the separated earth out of the hole, and working inward with the shovel underneath the bared rootlets, till the tree is so far loosened as to be upset by pulling on a rope fixed near the top, the rootlets, as extricated, being bundled up so as to be as much out of the way of injury as possible. Now, throw some earth into the hole; re-elevate the tree upon this earth, and upset it in the contrary direction; continue to throw in earth, elevate and upset in the contrary direction, till the bottom of the root be nearly on a level with the surface of the ground. Procure a large two wheeled wood-drag, and wheel it backward close to the standing tree. Elevate the pole of this drag, and tie it firmly aloft to the stoutest and most convenient part of the top. Make the body of the tree near the root fast to the axle, or to a beam raised a little above the axle, a pad intervening between the axle or beam and body of the tree, to prevent injury to the bark; then by pulling down upon the top of the pole, upset the tree upon the drag, balancing as near as possible upon the axle. All being now in readiness, attach your horses to the reverse end of the drag, where the root is swung, and have your plant pulled {252} backward to its new berth, and deposit it carefully there, without any top-pruning, having its heaviest branches towards the west, that it may the better withstand our prevailing winds, taking great care to divide and comb out all the rootlets, and to pack in the fine prepared mould, so as to separate them nearly in the order they formerly occupied. Then sad down the whole by beating or watering, and mulch over all to exclude the drought.

4th, Water every two or three days in dry weather, during the early part of the first summer, and continue for several years to work over the surface of the ground by repeated hoeing or otherwise, till the tree has forgotten her rough treatment, and has become reconciled to her new quarters.

Now, this is Sir Henry’s practice. What is there here meriting the name of discovery? All the world knew long ago, that trees drawn up tall and delicate, in sheltered situations, were unfit for an open exposure, especially when of considerable size. We have ourselves dug trenches round trees, and picked the earth from the rootlets with pointed instruments, preserving as far as possible every fibre entire. We have often collected fine mould and composts upon the ground previous to planting, and trenched over the soil; we have carefully arranged the {253} rootlets, and packed in our prepared mould; we have noticed that mutilating the top of certain kinds of trees was very pernicious, particularly of the beech and the oak; we have invariably turned round the heaviest branches to the west; we have mulched and watered the first summer, and have hoed around the plants for years afterwards; conveyance by a two-wheeled timber-drag has been long in use (we have employed the axle and wheels of a common cart); many, before Sir Henry, have prepared the roots by previous cutting; what planter of experience is ignorant of all this? We grant Sir Henry has done all this well; much of it must have occurred to himself, as it has done to us, as it will do to any person of ordinary acuteness and observation, but does this merit the name of discovery, or comparison with steam and gas?

We shall now give some little attention to a subject on which we consider Sir Henry’s claim to the rank of philosophic discoverer solely rests, and which he introduces to our notice certainly with sufficient prefatory flourish, under the designation of his “new principle,” “his rational theory,” which he predicts will raise transplanting of trees of considerable size to the rank of a useful art, it being thus founded on fixed principles. In order to bring the matter fairly {254} before the mind of our readers, we are under the necessity of having recourse to a long quotation. We fear our readers will find Sir Henry’s metaphysics not very intelligible; but this may well be forgiven, we are all too guilty of plunging about when we get into deep water, and some of us have not always sense enough to swim with the stream.

We here introduce a quotation of our author:

“But while every organic creation tends to full development, that is, to absolute energy, or perfect life, still we find, that the organs of which it is composed are each reciprocally dependent on every other, for the possibility and degree of their peculiar action. At the same time, as these internal conditions of animated existence are severally dependent on certain external conditions, which, again, are not always fully and equally supplied; so it follows, that the life of every organized being is determined in its amount, and in the direction of its development, by the outward circumstances of its individual situation. For this reason, we see that every animal, and every plant, is dependent for its existence, and also for its perfect existence, on conditions both internal and external.

“From this reasoning it may be conceived, how the several parts of the living whole reciprocally act and react. They are, in fact, cause and effect {255} mutually; and no one can precede another, either in the order of nature, or of time. Thus, in an animal, the digestive, and the absorbent, the sanguineous, the respiratory, and the nervous systems are at once relative and correlative. In like manner, in a plant, the same reciprocal proportion is found to hold between the roots and the stem, the branches and the leaves: Each modifies and determines the existence of all the others, and is equally affected by all in its turn. And as their several parts, by means of their union, constitute the organic whole; and as their functions, by the same means, realize the complement of life, which the plant or animal exhibits; it is evident, that every living individual is a necessary system, in which no one part can be affected, without affecting the other parts, and throughout which there reigns an intimate sympathy, and a complete harmony of perfection and imperfection.

“Further; The external conditions of this internal development of plants and animals, are Food, Air, and Heat; while Light seems to be a peculiar condition, indispensably necessary to plants. Where any one of these conditions is not supplied, the existence of life, whether animal or vegetable, becomes impossible; where it is insufficiently supplied, life is {256} proportionally enfeebled or repressed. But, to limit our consideration to the vegetable kingdom, it may be observed, that where a loose and deep soil affords an abundant supply of food, where a genial climate diffuses warmth in an adequate degree, and where a favourable exposure allows a competent access of light (for air, being fully and universally given, may be thrown out of the case); in these circumstances, a plant, if not mechanically injured, will vigorously exercise its functions, and attain the full development of its parts, thus realizing the absolute complement of life, to which it naturally tends. In the same way, when these conditions are stinted, the luxuriance of the plant is checked, in the ratio of that restraint, and the deficiency of the supply. Where any one of the external conditions is partially or inadequately supplied, the plant appears to make special, and even forced efforts to secure as much of the beneficial influence as it can, and to accommodate itself to the exigency of its situation. Thus, where light is admitted only from a single point, a plant concentrates all its powers, in stretching towards the direction of the light. Where light is shed all around, the plant throws out its branches on every side. In conformity with this principle, we find, that, in the interior of a wood, where the Trees {257} mutually impede the lateral admission of light, the tendency of each is upwards; and the consequence of this tendency is, that the plant is thereby not developed in its natural and perfect proportions, but is elongated, or drawn up to an undue height. It displays its ramification chiefly near the top; while the imperfection of its life is manifested in the whole character of its vegetation. In open exposures, on the other hand, the tree developes its existence, in full health and luxuriance. It reaches a height, such as the soil and situation admit, and sufficient to allow the branches, which are thrown out on every side, to expand their leaves freely to the sun. Not being compelled to concentrate its efforts, in securing a scanty supply of one beneficial influence, all its proportions are absolute and universal, not relative and particular. In such circumstances, therefore, it may be considered as in a full and natural state of perfection.

“Another condition of vegetable life appears to be an adequate degree of Heat. Within a certain range of temperature, vegetation is positively promoted: Below, or above a certain point (the degree differing in different species of plants), vegetation is positively checked. To speak only of the latter case, which is briefly expressed by the term {258} Cold, it is either produced by absolute lowness of temperature, or, in particular circumstances, by the generation of cold, through the effect of wind, and consequent evaporation from a moist surface; for trees, in themselves, have but little self-generated heat, above the surrounding temperature. Some they certainly possess, otherwise they would be killed during severe frosts. Of the above accidents nature can modify the former, by accommodating different species of plants to different latitudes and elevations: Against the latter she adopts the plan of affording suitable protection to the individual. In the interior of woods, where the free current of air is intercepted, where stillness and serenity are maintained, and where each tree affords shelter, more or less, to every other, nature has little need to generate the provisions necessary to mitigate the injurious effects of evaporation. But, in open exposures, and in the case of isolated trees, this effect must be assuaged, and is, in fact, to a certain extent alleviated, by various provisions or properties, bestowed upon the tree itself. In the first place, a thicker and closer ramification of the sides and top is supplied, and a more abundant spray towards the stormy quarter, thereby furnishing a kind of clothing of leaves, in order to protect from cold both the {259} ascending and the descending sap-vessels: And, secondly, a greater induration of the epidermis, and thickness of the cortical layers of the bark are provided; which, forming a bad conductor of heat, act as a still more effectual defence to the stem, by preventing the immediate and powerful application of cold, through the sudden subtraction of caloric, from the proper vessels of the inner bark.

“In this economy, nature only follows the analogy which she displays in modifying the influence of cold upon the animal kingdom. The quadrupeds, which are destined to encounter the severity of an Arctic winter, are provided with thick and shaggy coats, to enable them to withstand the intensity of the cold; and all the richest furs, which man employs to supply his natural, or rather his artificial wants, are always furnished by animals inhabiting the highest latitudes, and killed during the severest frosts. What is still more illustrative of the point under consideration is, that the coats of animals, of which the thin and short hair is familiar to us in the temperate climates, such as the dog, the fox, and the ox, are all remarkable, under the polar regions, for their close, lengthened, and almost impenetrable fibre, as a secure barrier of non-conducting matter, to prevent the escape of their vital heat. {260}

“In like manner, in all the other relations, we see Nature especially accommodating the character of each individual plant, to the exigencies of its particular situation. In the interior of woods, the wind can exert a far less mechanical effect on individual trees; and therefore, while they are positively determined to push upwards towards the light, they are negatively permitted to do so, by the removal of any necessity to thicken their trunks, for the sake of greater strength, and to contract the height of them, in order to afford the blast a shorter lever against the roots. But, with trees in an open situation, all this is widely different. There they are freely exposed to the wind, and the large expansion of their branches, gives every advantage to the violence of the storm. Nature, accordingly, bestows greater proportional thickness, and less proportional elevation on trees, which are isolated, or nearly so; while their system of root, which, by necessity, is correlatively proportional to their system of top, affords likewise heavier ballast, and a stronger anchorage, in order to counteract the greater spread of sail, displayed in the wider expansion of the branches.

“Every individual tree is thus a beautiful system of qualities, specially relative to the place which it holds in creation; of provisions admirably {261} accommodated to the peculiar circumstances of its case. Here every thing is necessary; nothing is redundant. In the words of a great philosopher, who was an accurate observer of nature, ‘Where the necessity is obviated, the remedy, by consequence, is withdrawn.’ If these facts and reasonings be correctly stated, the only rational theory of the removal of large trees consists, in prospectively maintaining the same harmony between the existing provisions of the tree, and the exigencies of its new situation, as had previously subsisted between its relative properties and the circumstances of its former site.”

“In considering the characteristics of trees above mentioned, we should always bear in mind, that every production of nature is an end to itself, and that every part of it is, at once, end and mean. Of trees in open exposures we find, that their peculiar properties contribute, in a remarkable manner, to their health and prosperity. In the first place, their shortness and greater girth of stem, in contradistinction to others in the interior of woods, are obviously intended to give to the former greater strength to resist the winds, and a shorter lever to act upon the roots; Secondly, their larger heads, with spreading branches, in consequence of the free access of light, are formed as plainly for the nourishment, as well as {262} the balancing of so large a trunk, and also for furnishing a cover to shield it from the elements; Thirdly, their superior thickness and induration of bark is, in like manner, bestowed for the protection of the sap-vessels that lie immediately under it, and which, without such defence from cold, could not perform their functions; Fourthly, their greater number and variety of roots are for the double purpose of nourishment and strength; nourishment to support a mass of such magnitude, and strength to contend with the fury of the blast.”

“On the other hand, in the interior of woods, a universal tendency, for the reasons already stated, is observable in trees, to rise to the light, to attain greater altitude, to form far smaller heads, and taller, slenderer, and more elegant stems. Here is found a milder and more genial climate; in which, by means of the calm generated by shelter, vegetation is not checked by cold, and, at the same time, is undisturbed by the external impediment of wind; and nature has no need, as in the case of exposures, to generate provisions necessary to mitigate the effect of evaporation, as has been above observed, or to endue each individual tree with distinct and appropriate means of defence against the elements.”

“That, as the four protecting properties, {263} already delineated, as belonging to trees in open situations, are essential and necessary to the vigorous development of their existence, so they may be set down as indispensable prerequisites for those intended for transplantation, which generally implies increased exposure; and that soil and climate being equal, such subjects will succeed the best as are endued in the greatest degree with those prerequisites or properties.”

“If we adopt this principle, and follow it up with a judicious mode of execution, it seems evident that the necessity of defacing or mutilating the fine tops of trees will be entirely superseded. We shall obtain at once, what the art, as hitherto practised, has not been able to obtain for us, the Immediate and Full effect of Wood, that is, Trees complete and perfect in all their parts, without the loss of the time required to replace the parts so defaced and mutilated.”—“And if such a mode of execution be superinduced upon it, as shall furnish to the tree a competent supply of sap at the critical period of removal, the art probably may be said to be established on fixed principles.”

“Wind being, in a great degree, excluded in unthinned plantation, and evaporation prevented, heat is, by consequence, generated in an undue degree. {264} In the same way, light is nearly shut out from such plantations, except from the top, and a disproportionate elongation of the stem is occasioned by the efforts which each individual makes to gain the light.” P. 191.

Now, what do we gather from all these discoveries which, in continuation, our author turns round and round, and exhibits to us under every combination, with admirable elegance, it must be allowed, like the objects in a kaleidoscope?—that trees grown in sheltered situation are not suited for exposed situation, because their roots are proportionally too small, and the stem too long for stability under the strain of high winds; their exterior bark or epidermis, dead and living, too thin to afford protection to the sap-vessels from cold, the effect of evaporation caused by the wind; their spray and leaves too elevated and open to exclude the cold, or wind generating cold, from the stem and branches. That the reverse coexistent conditions of trees in open situation—short stout stem, thick bark dead and living, strong rooting, close cover of spray and leaves all around, befitting the plant to withstand the tempest, and affording shelter to the sap-vessels of the stem and branches—and these conditions being {265} wanting when redundant in sheltered situation, show the beautiful adaptation of means to end, like warm fur of animals in cold countries: That trees being formed to grow tall in close situation, is a beneficent provision of Providence for accommodating man with straight long clean deal and beams: That trees shoot tall in close situation because they strain hard to reach the light: That trees shoot tall in close situation from warmth: That shelter and exposure is heat and cold: That, “to establish any just analogy between the transplanting of young and of old trees is utterly impossible:” That these conditions of trees being thus explained to mankind, and followed up by judicious execution, the thing is reduced to fixed principles, and raised to the rank of an useful art, and the necessity of defacing, or mutilating, the fine tops of trees, when transplanted, entirely superseded.

We shall now attempt to weigh some of these assertions and conclusions of Sir Henry, and to pursue these inquiries a little farther.

It is known to every forester, that trees growing in close order, and drawn up tall, will not continue healthy on being thinned out to very open arrangement, but will often fall victims to the change of circumstances, even though they withstand the gale. Who, then, would be guilty of the folly of expecting {266} they would bear exposure and the injuries of transplanting at the same time? Sir Henry Steuart mentions some particular facts as causes of this unsuitableness. Perhaps it would have been as well to ascribe it to general inaptitude and delicacy, as there are several other circumstances not easily understood, such as vital stamina, habitude or acclimatizing, and texture and configuration of vessels, which must have influence. We should also think simple evaporation of the fluids of the transplanted tree a much greater cause of its failure than the cold of this or of any other evaporation acting to numb the sap-vessels in the stem and branches. The absorbing mouths of the rootlets, excepting in the case of very large balls, are generally destroyed by the operation of removal; and the development of the leaves to a certain extent taking place before any new process of striking of the roots, owing to the atmosphere and branches getting sooner heated in spring than the ground and roots, the half-developed leaves shrivel up in the arid spring air, from the evaporation of the juices and deficiency of root-suction; and when the air gets moist, showers fall, and the earth becomes warm enough for the striking of the roots, the vital principle is too far spent, or the material substance too much changed, for the {267} recommencement of organic action. We have found that trees which had remained months out of ground, and were planted in March, succeed better than trees removed immediately from their old site to their new, both being planted with equal care in the same ground at the same time. The latter acquired half developed leaves early in April, which withered from deficiency of root-suction; and it was only with attention that we succeeded in causing them to bud forth anew and acquire leaves about midsummer; in several, we stimulated the root-suction by application of heated water, covering up with litter to retain the heat. The former were several weeks more backward in leafing, and when the buds burst, the ground had become warm enough for root-striking, and the vegetation proceeded without check. Sir Henry will say, that the check sustained by those which leafed early, was owing to the numbing effect of the cold spring wind, and of the cold of evaporation on the sap-vessels of the stem; but we had caused several of them to be wrapped round the stem with soft straw-ropes, and this did not prevent the shrivelling of the leaves, although it certainly protected the sap-vessels from the cold. This withering of the leaves of transplanted trees, by which large transplanted trees so {268} frequently perish, is most prevalent in cold damp soils, when the air is dry and the sun powerful, and evidently results from the superior vegetation being in advance of the inferior; torpor of the roots, not torpor of the sap-vessels of the stem from cold. It is also perfectly evident, that trees with long naked stems will suffer most, as their leaves are raised higher, more in the current of the drying wind; their root and top farther asunder, therefore less liable to contemporaneous impulse; the sap-vessels of the stem longer and more attenuated, therefore the streams of fluids from the soil, not only smaller, but also more liable to obstruction, or to flow slowly, from the insufficiency of the vital impulse, or of endosmose in the wounded sickly plant to impel to such a height. Our author’s assertion, that the rough epidermis generally covering the live bark of trees in open situations, is necessary to the health of the tree, in protecting the sap-vessels from cold, is, we think, not quite correct. Some time ago we caused the dead epidermis be hewn down from several trees, in a rather exposed situation. This was done with considerable nicety, and extending up along the branches. We remember of one case, of very thick indurated epidermis, where a carpenter was employed more than a day in laying bare the live bark of one tree. {269} Instead of suffering injury by this exposure of the sap-vessels to cold, the trees rather acquired new vigour from the operation; and the particular tree alluded to, was unusually luxuriant the season following this flaying, which was performed in winter. Now, to apply Sir Henry’s analogy of fur of animals, would an arctic fox have been benefited by exposure to the winter’s cold in like plight? We also think Sir Henry will find the trees of dry climates have a much thicker coating of dead bark than in cold countries, evidently a consequence of desiccation51, and, if Sir Henry must have animal analogy—similar to the desiccation and cracking of the skin of man in arid air. {270}

It is a subject of considerable difficulty to explain the cause of slender lengthened shoots in sheltered situations, and short stout shoots in exposed. Sir Henry solves this “excellently well” in two ways, first, attributing it to shelter and exposure themselves,—“for shelter is heat, and exposure cold,”—and again, to an instinctive straining in the sheltered to reach the light, of which its neighbours deprive it every way but from above, and would do so there too if it failed to exert itself.

We find that vegetables have long spindling shoots, and wide spaces between the leaves or buds, when growing in a damp, still, close atmosphere, especially when the plant is sickly or weak from deficiency of nourishment, and that this happens equally, whether a trailing plant being supported aloft throws out depending shoots in opposition to the current of light; whether a climbing52 plant runs out horizontally along a branch or beam at right angles to the light, or whether a self-supported mounting plant rises in direct opposition to gravity. No doubt, when the light comes from one direction, {271} such as the aperture of a window, the plant shoots forth towards the light, possibly in consequence of the leaves inclining themselves to receive the ray on their superficies, and thus leading the shoot in the direction of the light. But this does not prove any straining or lengthening of the shoot to approach the light; and we ask, what do general opinion and Sir Henry found their belief upon, of lengthening growth and straining to approach the light?

Again, with regard to heat, we notice that plants, particularly shoots from tubers, left to sprout in cold, damp, confined cellars, throw out very long stems, with wide spaces between the buds or leaves, and that very long shoots always occur in confined damp air—long in the ratio of the dampness and confinement, whatever the degree of heat may be, provided it exceed a little the vegetating point. Also on the north side of hills, the trees have generally longer stems than on the sun-ward side, although in the former case, they are exposed to the northern blast, while in the latter they bask in the sun. Has the same kind of plant, in lower latitudes, longer spaces between the leaves than in higher? And if it has not, is the cold, from greater evaporation, sufficient to balance the superior heat of the climate? {272}

The above facts must lead, we think, to the conclusion, that evaporation, or non-evaporation, of the fluids, has, directly, a very considerable influence in causing a shorter or longer extension of the shoot between the buds or leaves, and that the influence of the cold of this evaporation is at most but of a very secondary character. We would compare the extending rudiments and matter of the young scion to the slow flowing of a gelatinous fluid. In moist air, the watery part is slowly evaporated, and the drop extends into a long pendulous form. In dry air, the water of solution is quickly evaporated, longitudinal extension ceases, and the pendant is thicker and shorter. The cold of evaporation may a little affect the fluidity, but only in a very small degree53.

The causes of the elongation of vegetables are, {273} however, not very plain. We have noticed, that the deeper the seed is placed in the ground, the braird rises the higher above ground, even when the seeds at the different depths have been equally moist. This might admit of explanation, but having already occupied too much space with this subject, we shall only remark further, that in close woods, the trees elongate, because they are precluded from extending laterally. The top buds, from receiving more of the stimulating or nourishing influence of the dew, sun’s rays, fresh unvitiated air, invigorating motion of the winds, and perhaps of electricity54, {274} throw out a greater continuation of shoot than the under branches; nearly the whole nourishment from the soil being on this account drawn up and consumed by these top shoots, and the lower overshadowed twigs and branches languishing and dying from the absence of these advantages. Besides this extension of top shoots, by the greater continuation of leaves, or links of life, occasioned by the above causes, these shoots, owing to the moist atmosphere of the wood, also push out into longer spaces between the leaves. However, these top branches do not push sun-ward, but merely in opposition to gravity.

Sir Henry states, that “trees certainly possess some heat, otherwise they would be killed during severe frosts.” Our belief of the vital heat of vegetables is placed on a much better foundation than {275} this otherwise; otherwise our credence would be far from philosophic. Freezing cold affects many vegetables as well as some of the lower animals, only by mechanical injury, in rending the vessels by means of the expansion of the contained fluid. Now, if these vessels are not quite full of fluid, if the fluid be of such a nature as not to congeal into greater size, or if the body be small, and the vessels elastic, to yield to expansion without fracture—the vegetable or animal will often resume vitality, on being thawed from thorough congelation. We have rendered potatoes, turnips, and fruits, frost-proof, at least unless the frost was intense, by a slight desiccation caused by exposing them a short time to the air after being taken from the ground or tree55. In the cases where fishes and reptiles have been found {276} frozen so hard as to require a hatchet to dissect them, and reviving on thawing, it will be found that the fluids were principally oleaginous, which do not expand in congealing; and in the case of insects being frozen in masses during the night, and resuming their liveliness next day in the sun, we think, if their fluids have congealed at all, that either the vessels must have yielded, being elastic (which might more likely take place in a small body, without general fracture and derangement), or that the fluids had not extended by being congealed; but it is very probable, though frozen together in a mass of water and mud, that their fluids, from being of an acid nature, had resisted the congelation.

With regard to trees, we have heard that intense frost often splits the trunks of some of our indigenous kinds by congelation56; but these trees retain vitality, and only suffer from the consequences which may ensue from the fissures. We have seen evergreens, plants from milder climates, and trees which had not thoroughly ripened their {277} wood (that is, retained the vessels full of moisture), injured in the extremities, and even killed throughout by cold. But this does not prove that these had any vegetable heat, any more than those which suffered no injury from the same degree of cold, prove that they had vegetable heat. The juices of some kinds of plants do not congeal at the same point of temperature as others. The vessels of some in winter are not so much distended with fluids as others; and probably the vital principle of some is less susceptible of injury from cold than others. These facts may account for the endurance of intense cold by some kinds of trees, independent of vegetable heat.

Our author, speaking of the transplanting of fruit trees, states, that “any gardener could have predicted the probability of fruit during the first season, together with the certainty during the second of its not taking place.” Our gardeners will be moonstruck at having the gift of prophecy attributed to them, at least to predict in such a way. We have thought Sir Henry sufficiently ready to impute ignorance to gardeners before we came to this remark; but to represent a useful and intelligent class of men in so ludicrous a light, is certainly using a very improper liberty. {278}

Every gardener is aware that trees will fruit the first season after transplanting, just if they have had the rudiments of the fruit formed in the bud before transplanting, and should the blossom not be injured by severe weather. Every gardener is aware, though Sir Henry seems not, that all fruit trees, of any size, form these rudiments the season after transplanting, and that they invariably fruit the second season, if the season suit the fruiting of the kind; and every gardener of any experience is capable, even without Sir Henry’s instructions, of removing a fruit tree of considerable size, without injuring it so severely as to prevent it fruiting both first and second season, which it will do, and even mature fine fruit both years, though during the first, under very unfavourable circumstances, it should scarcely be able to develope leaves 1-5th of the usual size, and though these leaves wither and drop off long before the summer is ended, while the fruit remains to ripen on the tree. This is a direct consequence of evaporation. The thin leaves shrivel up in the ardent sun from evaporation and want of sufficient supply by root-suction; and the bulbs of the fruit, from their massiveness, contain sufficient moisture to resist withering till the night, when they drink the dews, and suck up some little moisture from the roots, undiminished {279} by evaporation in the transit, to replenish the daily loss.

Sir Henry remarks, that “no man who knows any thing of wood, will put down the oak or the elm on light sand or gravel, as it is only on deep loam and clay that the oak, in particular, will really thrive and grow into timber.” No man who knows how much a suitable soil for any kind of plant is under regulation of the moistness or dryness of the atmosphere, and other circumstances, will refrain from smiling at Sir Henry’s very superficial acquaintance with his own subject, and at the manner he thus again brings forward mankind to testify in support of his own error. Our author will place the above quotation among the errata should he take a ride up Strath-Tay from Birnam to Kenmore.

Among other items of expense given by our author, none of which seem to be overstated, we feel grateful for the information, that compost manure of lime, farm-yard dung, and moss, can be obtained, compounded, fermented, conveyed and applied, at the rate of 6d. and 9d. per single and double load!

Sir Henry makes good his assertion, that slow grown timber is always stronger, denser, and more durable than fast grown, by a cloud of witnesses,—every forester, gardener, and carpenter of the {280} country, is ready to attest it of course! There are few sublunary matters which admit of evidence more conclusive. We quote his account of this uniform “law of nature.”

“The same general law operates in a similar way on all woody plants, but of course less rapidly, owing to the less rapid growth of trees, from the lowest bush to the oak of the forest. In all these, the culture of the soil tends to accelerate vegetation, and by consequence to expand the fibre of the wood. It necessarily renders it softer, less solid, and more liable to suffer by the action of the elements. Let us shortly give a few examples of the uniform effect of this law of nature.

“Every forester is aware how greatly easier it is to cut over thorns or furze that are trained in hedges, than such as grow naturally wild, and are exempt from culture. Gardeners experience the same thing in pruning or cutting over fruit trees or shrubs; and, the difference of the texture of the raspberry in its wild and in its cultivated state, is as remarkable; for although the stem in the latter state is nearly double the thickness of that in the former, it is much more easily cut. On comparing the common crab, the father of our orchards, with the cultivated {281} apple, the greater softness of the wood of the latter will be found no less striking to every arboriculturist.

“Further, the common oak in Italy and Spain, where it grows faster than in Britain, is ascertained to be of shorter duration in those countries. In the same way, the oak in the Highland districts of Scotland or Wales, is of a much harder and closer grain, and therefore more durable, than what is found in England; though in such mountains it seldom rises to the fifth part, or less, of the English tree. Every carpenter in Scotland knows the extraordinary difference between the durability of Highland oak and oak usually imported from England, for the spokes of wheels. Every extensive timber-dealer is aware of the superior hardness of oak raised in Cumberland and Yorkshire, over that of Monmouthshire and Herefordshire; and such a dealer in selecting trees in the same woods, in any district, will always give the preference to oak of slow growth, and found in cold and clayey soils, and to ash on rocky cliffs, which he knows to be the soils and climates natural to both. If he take a cubic foot of park-oak, and another of forest-oak, and weigh the one against the other (or if he do the like {282} with ash and elm of the same description), the latter will uniformly turn out the heavier of the two.”

It is certainly the case, that luxuriant growth increases the size of the sap-vessels and cells, but with this increase of size, there is often a proportional increase of thickness of the sides of these vessels and cells, and a greater than proportional filling up of dense matter, as the alburnum is better ripened in autumn, or as the mature wood, especially of hard wood in dry situations, ripens more slowly in the course of years. There is also in many kinds more of close tissue and cellular part, in proportion to large sap-vessels, when the tree is growing vigorously than when it is stunted. (See the facts in our notice of Withers, p. 199.) Thence culture does not necessarily render the timber softer, less solid, and more liable to suffer by the action of the elements. We are really angry with those smooth-tongued rogues who “fool us to the top of our bent.” Every artificer who has worked slow grown ash of considerable age, that is, when most of the timber has been deposited after the tree has been seeding strongly, assures us that the timber is very inferior, in all respects, to that of quicker growth. {283}

We consider the forester who has observed that thorns or furze trained in hedges are much easier cut from softness of timber than when growing in detached bushes, a much better observer than ourselves; and we would inquire whether he were certain that the greater efficiency of his blows was not owing to their being better directed, from the conveniency of access, owing to the training up, than from the timber being softer? The example of the raspberry we consider very irrelevant, it being only a semi-herbaceous plant of biennial stem.

Gardeners certainly experience the branches and roots of crab-apple to be harder than the varieties with thicker bark, larger more downy leaves, and larger fruit. The largest growing apple varieties, however, are not the above mentioned mild varieties, but those which have a pretty close approximation to the crab. We have taken slips from some of the very largest of our pear-trees, and having placed them close to the ground on young stocks, have found they threw out spines and rectangular branching similar to crabs. Those most dissimilar to the crab have thick annual shoots, without any lateral rectangular branching, and very thick bark; they have been gradually bred to this condition by repeated sowing, always choosing the seed of those {284} partaking most of these qualities for resowing, their disposition to vary to mildness being at the same time influenced in some measure by culture and abundant moist nourishment; but these mild varieties, although they throw out a strong annual shoot while young, seldom or never reach to any considerable size of tree, unless they are nourished by crab roots, their own roots being soft and fleshy, and incapable of foraging at much depth or distance. Their branches and twigs as they get old, are also very soft and friable, covered with a thick bark, but the timber of the stem is very little inferior in hardness to crab timber.

We ask, if even the fact of these unnaturally tender varieties (obtained by long-continued selection, probably assisted by culture, soil and climate, and which, without the cherishing of man, would soon disappear), being of rather more porous texture of wood, goes any length to prove our author’s assertion? We have paid some attention to the fibre of the genus Pyrus, and find that the Siberian crabs have by far the smallest vessels. Having grafted the large Fulwood upon the smallest Red Siberian Crab, or Cherry-apple, the new wood layers above the junction swelled to triple the thickness of those below. By ingrafting other kinds upon other {285} stocks, we have found the reverse to take place, no doubt owing to those with largest vessels swelling the most, there being the same number of vessels above and below the junction, each corresponding, or being a continuation of the other57. But this small Siberian crab, when ingrafted upon a common crab, grew fully as quickly during several years as the Fulwood under the same circumstances; and the timber, though of much finer texture, scarcely exceeded the other in hardness. Sir Henry tells us, that the oak is less durable in Italy and Spain than in England58. We tell Sir Henry, that the red-wood pitch-pine from Georgia and the Floridas, on the confines of the torrid zone, is more durable than the red-wood pine from Archangel, on the confines of the frigid zone. But does this fact {286} regarding the oak of the south of Europe, prove any thing regarding the oak of England,—that it will always he deteriorated by culture for several years after planting, or that the quality may not suffer as much from slowness of growth as from fastness, or from the climate being too cold as from being too warm?

The reason why Highland Scots oak spokes are superior to English, is, because the latter are generally split from out the refuse of the timber cut for naval purposes,—principally the branches and tops of large trees; whereas, those from the Highlands of Scotland are from the root cuts of copse. We believe most carpenters of Scotland are aware of this. The oak from the Highlands of Scotland is, however, for the most part, of excellent quality, growing generally on dry gravel and rock, not on cold moist clayey soils. The hardest we have ever seen was from a steep, dry gravel bank, of south exposure, in an open situation, much exposed to the western breeze. The Highland oak from these soils is generally of a greyish colour, and very dense; whereas that from moist soils is often reddish-brown, and defective. Should Sir Henry weigh portions of oak from these soils in a pair of material, in place of mental scales, we think his conclusions would be {287} somewhat different.—The strongest, hardest ash we have seen, was cut from a hard, dry, adhesive clay, of course a young tree.

Sir Henry, speaking of the Western Highlands and Islands of Scotland, states that “it is from a want of soil, and not of climate, that woods of any given extent cannot be got up in these unsheltered, but romantic situations.” Of many situations of these bleak districts, this must be admitted, but we cannot receive it as a general fact; and even where it holds true, the want of (proper) soil, or formation of peat, is a consequence of the want of climate, although this may have reacted to increase the evil. There must have been a greater warmth of climate, at least in summer, when the forests grew, which lie buried in the mosses of the northern part of Scotland, and of the Orkney and Shetland Islands, as some kinds of timber are found in situations where such kinds, by no circumstances of gradual shelter under the present climate, could have grown. There are several indications of a greater warmth having been general throughout Britain, and even farther eastward, and that a slight refrigeration is still in progress. We instance the once numerous vineyards of England,—the vestiges of aration so numerous upon many of our hills, where it would now be considered fruitless to attempt raising grain, even {288} with the assistance of modern science; and the report that the Caspian is gradually overflowing her shores, a probable consequence of diminished evaporation from decrease of heat.