SUNLIGHT and moisture fall upon the earth and find it full of germs of life. At once growths begin each after its own kind. There is such a multitude of them that they have not yet been counted. Each locality has forms peculiar to itself. The places most abundantly watered have different forms from those less favored by rain and dew, and those receiving more heat and sun allow more luxuriant growths than others if the water supply is large.

The business of life and growth is mostly carried on by means of water set in motion and sustained by heat. Those forms of life which reach highest above the surface of the earth are called trees. They are always striving to see what heights they can attain. But the different forms of life have limits set them which they cannot pass. The structure of one tree is limited to carrying its top twenty feet from the ground, that of another is so favored that it can reach twice that height, and others tower high above us and stand for centuries.

But the same tree does not flourish with the same vigor in different places. The nourishment of the soil may favor it or poverty dwarf its growth. Moisture and heat must be supplied or the growth will be slight.

I have stood upon the thick tops of cedar trees on high places in the White mountains near the tree-line. Towards the summit the trees diminish in size until they become veritable dwarfs. They are stunted by the cold. They shrink aside or downward trying to find shelter from the angry winds that are so cutting. Diminutive tree trunks are found that have curled themselves into sheltering crannies of rock and grown into such distorted shapes that they are gathered as curiosities.

The last trees to give up the fight on Mount Adams are the cedars of which I speak. They hug the rock for the little warmth that may be lurking there in remembrance of the sun's kindly rays; they mat themselves together and interlock their branches so as to form a springy covering to the whole ground. One may lie down upon their tops as upon a piece of upholstery, and in the openings below are rabbits and woodchucks and sometimes bears safely hidden from the view of the hunter.

From these ground-hugging trees of the mountain-tops to the great redwoods of our western slopes the mind passes the entire range of tree life. No trees are so great as our redwoods, though in Australia the eucalyptus reaches higher with a comparatively slender trunk. Where the forests are thickest, and the growth of the trees consequently tallest, the eucalyptus towers sometimes four or five hundred feet towards the sky.

The shrinking of mountain trees where the rock affords some warmth and shelter is shown on a larger scale in the forms of trees that stand at the edge of a forest. Where a stream divides the forest we find the trees upon the bank reaching out their branches and spreading luxuriant foliage over the water, because the open air in that direction helps the growth of leaves and twigs. Shade trees by the road-side reach out towards the open space of the road and grow one-sided because the conditions of light and air are better over the road than against the buildings or other trees that are behind them.

The prevailing winds of any country bend the trees largely in one direction. In the vicinity of Chicago, where the return trade winds blow day after day from the southwest, we find the willows of the prairie all bending their heads gracefully to the northeast.

The relations between trees and the fertility of the country around them is a matter of deep interest to man. Portions of France have been productive and afterwards barren because of the abundance of the trees at first and their having afterwards been cut down to supply the wants of man, who desired their material and the ground on which they stood. The rivers of Michigan are not navigable now in some instances where once they were deep with water. The destruction of the forests to supply the lumber and furniture markets of the world has caused less rain to fall, and the snows of winter which formerly lay late in spring beneath the forests now melt at the return of the sun in the early months and are swept with the rush of high water away to the great lakes. Many of the barren wastes in Palestine and other countries, which in olden times blossomed as the rose, have lost their glory with the destruction of their trees.

Men have learned something of the value of the trees to a fertile country and the science of forestry has arisen, not only to determine the means of growing beautiful and useful trees, but also to court the winds of heaven to drop their fatness upon the soil. In the state of Nebraska 800,000,000 planted trees invite the rain and the state is blessed by the response.

Man used to worship the forest. The stillness and the solemn sounds of the deep woods are uplifting to the soul and healing to the mind. The great gray trunks bearing heavenward their wealth of foliage, the swaying of branches in the breeze, the golden shafts of sunlight that shoot down through the noonday twilight, all tend to rest the mind from the things of human life and lift the thoughts to things divine.

The highest form of architecture practiced on earth is the Gothic, which holy men devised from contemplation of the lofty archings of trees and perpetuated in the stone buildings erected to God in western Europe through the centuries clustering around the thirteenth.

Trees afford hiding and nesting places for many birds and animals. Their cooling shelter comforts the cattle; they furnish coursing-places among their branches for the sportive climbing-animals, and their tender twigs give restful delight to the little birds far out of reach of any foe.

Man has always used the trees for house building; his warmth is largely supplied from fires of wood and leaves; from the days when Adam and Eve did their first tailoring with fig leaves, the trees have been levied upon for articles of clothing till now the world is supplied with hats of wood, millions of buttons of the same material are worn, and the wooden shoes of the peasantry of Europe clump gratefully over the ground in acknowledgment of the debt of mankind to the woods.

Weapons of all sorts, in all ages, have been largely of wood. Houses, furniture, troughs, spoons, bowls, plows, and all sorts of implements for making a living have been fashioned by man from timber. Every sort of carriage man ever devised, whether for land or water travel, depended in its origin upon the willing material the trees have offered. Although we now have learned to plow the seas with prow of steel and ride the horseless carriage that has little or no wood about it, yet the very perfection of these has arisen from the employment of wood in countless experiments before the metal thing was invented.

Our daily paper is printed from the successors of Gutenberg's wooden type, upon what seems to be paper, but is in reality the ground-up and whitened pulp of our forest trees. Our food is largely of nuts and fruits presented us by the trees of all climes, which are yet brought to our doors in many instances by wooden sailing-vessels, whose sails are spread on spars from our northern forests.

The baskets of the white man and the red Indian are made from the materials of the forest. Ash strips are pounded skillfully and readily separate themselves in flat strips suitable for weaving into receptacles for carrying the berries of the forest shades or the products of the soil, whose richness came by reason of the long-standing forests which stood above it and fell into it for centuries.

Whoever has tried to stopper a bottle when no cork was at hand knows something of the value of one sort of trees. He who has lain upon a bed of fever without access to quinine knows more of the debt we owe the generous forests that invite us with their cooling branches and their carpeted, mossy floors. The uses of rubber to city people are almost enough to induce one to remove his hat in reverence to the rubber tree; the esteem we have for the products of the sugar maple and the various products of the pine in their common forms of tar, pitch, and turpentine, as well as in their subtler forms, which are so essential to the arts and sciences, contributing to our ease, comfort, and elegance, should cause us to cherish the lofty pine and the giant maple with warmest gratitude.

Perhaps the most refined of the pleasures of man is found in the playing of musical instruments. There is not one of the sweeter-toned of all the vast family of musical instruments that is not dependent on the sympathetic qualities of the various woods. The violin shows the soul of this material in its highest refinement. No other instrument has so effectually caught the tones of the glorious mountain and the peaceful valley as has the choicely selected and deftly fashioned shell of the fiddle. It awakens all the fancies of a lifetime in one short hour, it brings gladness to the heart and enlivens the whole frame, and when the master hand brings out from its delicate form the deeper secrets of its nature the violin brings tears to our eyes and inspires within us an earnestness of purpose which is a perpetual tribute of the soul of man to the heart of the forest.

I took a spring journey once from the heart of old Kentucky through some of the northern states around to the eastward to Virginia. The dogwood was in blossom south of the Ohio. The forests and hillsides were set forth here and there in bridal array by the glad whiteness of myriads of these delicate flowers. Through Ohio and Indiana the peach trees were putting forth their delicate pink blossoms that sought us out in the cars and delighted us with their rare fragrance. In Pennsylvania we passed out of the peach region, and I thought the mountains could not give flowers to match the loveliness experienced on the two preceding days, but when we were running adown the "blue Juniata river" there burst upon me the purple radiance of the ironwood that I had entirely forgotten as a flowering tree of beauty. Brighter than the peach and softer than the dogwood it stood out against the foliage of the stream and hillside. It followed the railway all down the Susquehanna across the line into Maryland, and gave me joy until it was lost again as the warmth of the southern sun poured itself again before my eyes upon the purity and simplicity of the snowy dogwood.

And in the fall I once passed through the hills of New York and Massachusetts. It was Thanksgiving Day. The matchless American forests were then in their greatest glory. Every hill seemed to have brought out its choicest holiday garment and was calling for admiration. So richly blended are the reds, the yellows, and the greens that one cannot see how people can do business with such delights for the eye spread out before them. Why they do not come en masse and join in this holiday of the trees is more than I can understand. It seems as if the Creator of heaven and earth had reserved for the home of liberty the most gorgeous colorings that prismatic light is susceptible of bearing, and thrown them all down in luxurious profusion for the delectation of the people who should shake off the man-serving spirit and come here to breathe the air of freedom and rejoice with nature through the ten days of her gorgeous Thanksgiving time.