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THE BIRCH.

BETULA ALBA.

"I find myself

Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful
Of forest trees, the lady of the woods)."

THIS sketch of the birch is not less correct than it is poetical. There is an elegance in its general appearance which fully justifies the poet's fancy, and entitles it to the appellation he has given it, of "lady of the woods."

In

every season, and under all circumstances, it is a lovely object; nothing can exceed the tender hue of its vernal leaves, as they wave to and fro in the sunshine. In summer, perhaps, it loses something of its beauty, as its bright tints then subside into a more sober green; still it preserves its gracefulness of aspect. In autumn it more than regains what it lost in summer; whilst winter, which deprives most other vegetable productions of their charms, by displaying more fully the slight silvery stem and delicate ramifications of the birch, seems but to invest it with new attractions.

almost

"That stem,

The pensile character of its foliage has obtained for it the designation of "the weeping birch." We are here reminded of a glowing passage (in the article on trees, before referred to) denying the applicability of such an epithet to any thing in inanimate nature. white as silver and smooth as silk, seen so straight in the green sylvan light, and thus airily overarching the coppice with lambent tresses such as fancy might picture for the mermaid's hair, is said by us, who vainly attribute our own sadness, to belong to a tree that weeps ; though a weight of joy it is, and of exceeding gladness, that thus depresses her pendant beauty till it droops, as we think, like that of a being overcome with grief."

We are glad the eloquent writer does not quarrel with Fancy, for attributing to inanimate objects feelings and passions in common with sentient beings, but merely with this particular appropriation of them. His creed, perhaps, is,

"In nature there is nothing melancholy;"

yet as uninterrupted happiness is not the lot of the most favoured of mortals, we rob nature of her dearest charm of companionship, if we may not call on her to sympathise with us in sorrow as well as in joy.

How beautifully this peculiar character is described by Professor Wilson,

"On the green slope

Of a romantic glade we sat us down,

Amid the fragrance of the yellow broom;

While o'er our heads the weeping birch-tree stream'd
Its branches, arching like a fountain shower."

Notwithstanding its fragility of appearance, the birch is a most hardy tree, refusing no soil or situation, however unpromising indeed two of the species-the dwarf birch, Betula nana, and the hoary alder, Betula incanawill grow where scarcely any thing else will, approaching nearer the arctic pole than any other tree, except the dwarf willow. That diminutive species of birch, Betula nana, has lately been discovered in the Highlands, where a strange and superstitious notion is prevalent accounting for its stunted growth, which they imagine is owing to its having furnished the rod with which Christ was scourged.

To the inhabitants of finely-timbered countries, the birch, distinct from considerations of pictorial effect, is a tree of small value; but to such as dwell in high latitudes, it is inestimable, holding, in their regard, the same rank in the vegetable kingdom as the rein-deer

does in the animal. Of its wood they form those light canoes, which answer every purpose of their limited navigation; its bark furnishes them with an almost impenetrable roof for their huts, and is ingeniously converted into various articles of clothing, whilst its inner coat, dried and ground, is a substitute for flour in times of scarcity; its sap affords them a refreshing beverage; its branches yield them fuel; and its leaves "form a soft elastic couch for the cradle of infancy."

Our earlier annals inform us that the birch supplied our ancestors with implements both for war and the chace; and when these feats were over, furnished various vessels, cups, bowls, &c., for their unrefined but hospitable entertainments.

Its bark was made use of by the ancients for tablets; and it is said some of the books which Numa composed and wrote on this material, were found in perfect preservation when his tomb was opened, after a lapse of four hundred years.

The fasces of the Roman lictors too were made of this tree, the use of which was to clear the way for the magistrates, and to beat such of the crowd as caused any obstruction to their progress. Even in modern days it seems to plead for the continuance of this ancient prerogative, being still used as an instrument of punish

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