Arbor Day Leaves | Page 2

the schools were invited to unite in its observance, and instead of trees being planted merely as screens from the winds, they were also planted for ornamental purposes and as memorials of important historical events and of celebrated persons, authors, statesmen, and others. Thus the tree-planting has gained a literary aspect and an interest for all classes, for young as well as old. In preparation for it the pupils of the schools have been led to the study of trees, their characteristics and uses. They have learned the history of celebrated trees and of persons who have been connected with them. They have become familiar with the lives of eminent persons and the best writings of distinguished authors, and thus have received most valuable instruction, while, at the same time, their finer tastes have been cultivated.
Since the observance of the day has been modified, as it was on its introduction into Ohio, it has spread rapidly through the country and at present forty-four states and territories celebrate Arbor Day. Its every way healthful and desirable features have so generally commended it also that it has gained a foothold abroad and has begun to be observed in England, Scotland, France, and even in far-off South Africa. It has become pre?minently a school day and a school festival. In many cases school teachers and superintendents have introduced its observance. But it has soon so commended itself to all that, in most cases, it has been established by law and made a legal holiday.

Readings for Arbor Day.
ABOUT TREES.
From the originator of Arbor Day.
A tree is the perfection in strength, beauty, and usefulness of vegetable life. It stands majestic through the sun and storm of centuries. Resting in summer beneath its cooling shade, or sheltering besides its massive trunk from the chilling blast of winter, we are prone to forget the little seed whence it came. Trees are no respecters of persons. They grow as luxuriantly beside the cabin of the pioneer as against the palace of the millionaire. Trees are not proud. What is this tree? This great trunk, these stalwart limbs, these beautiful branches, these gracefully bending boughs, these gorgeous flowers, this flashing foliage and ripening fruit, purpling in the autumnal haze are only living materials organized in the laboratory of Nature's mysteries out of rain, sunlight, dews, and earth. On this spot, in this tree, a metamorphosis has so deftly taken place that it has failed to excite even the wonder of the majority of men.
[Illustration]
Here, sixty years ago, a school boy planted an acorn. Spring came, then the germ of this oak began to attract the moisture of the soil. The shell of the acorn was then broken open by the internal growth of the embryo oak. It sent downward a rootlet to get soil and water, and upward it shot a stem to which the first pair of leaves was attached. These leaves are thick and fleshy. They constitute the greater bulk of the acorn. They are the first care-takers of the young oak. Once out of the earth and in the sunlight they expand, assume a finer texture, and begin their usefulness as nursing leaves, "folia nutrientia." They contain a store of starch elaborated in the parent oak which bore the acorn.
In tree infancy the nursing leaves take oxygen from the air, and through its influence the starch in the nursing leaves is transmuted into a tree baby-food, called dextrine, which is conveyed by the water absorbed during germination to the young rootlet and to the gemmule and also to the first aerial leaf. So fed, this leaf expands, and remains on the stem all summer. The nursing leaves die when the aerial leaves have taken their food away, and then the first stage of oak hood has begun. It has subterranean and superterranean organs, the former finding plant-food in the earth, and the latter gathering it in the air, the sunlight, and the storm. The rootlets in the dark depths of soil, the foliage in the sunlit air, begin now their common joint labor of constructing a majestic oak. Phosphates and all the delicacies of plant-food are brought in from the secret stores of the earth by the former, while foliage and twig and trunk are busy in catching sunbeams, air, and thunderstorms, to imprison in the annual increment of solid wood. There is no light coming from your wood, corncob, or coal fire which some vegetable Prometheus did not, in its days of growth, steal from the sun and secrete in the mysteries of a vegetable organism.
Combustion lets loose the captive rays and beams which growing plants imprisoned years, centuries, even eons ago, long before human life began its earthly career. The interdependence of animal and tree life is perennial. The intermission of a single season