I will confess that I join in the admiration so generally bestowed upon
the American Elm. To me no other tree seems so beautiful or so majestic.
It does not exhibit the sturdy ruggedness of the oak; it is not so
evidently defiant of wind and tempest. It seems, indeed, to make no
outward pretensions of strength. It bends to the breeze which the oak
defies, and is more seldom, therefore, broken by the wind. The Elm is
especially the wayside tree of New England, and it forms the most
remarkable feature of our domestic landscape. If there be in any other
section of our land as many, they are individuals mingled with the
forest, and are not so frequent by the roadsides. In this part of the
country the Elm has been planted and cherished from the earliest period
of our history, and the inhabitants have always looked upon it with
admiration, and valued it as a landscape ornament above every other
species. It is the most drooping of the drooping trees, except the
willow, which it surpasses in grandeur and in the variety of its forms.
Though the Elm has never been consecrated by the muse of classic song,
or dignified by making a figure in the paintings of the old masters, the
native inhabitant of New England associates the varied forms of this
tree with all that is delightful in the scenery or memorable in the
history of our land. All spacious avenues are bordered with elms, and
their magnificent rows are everywhere familiar to his sight. He has seen
them extending their broad and benevolent arms over many a hospitable
mansion and many a humble cottage, and equally harmonizing with all.
They meet his sight in the public grounds of the city with their ample
shade and flowing spray; and he beholds them in the clearing, where they
were left by the woodman to stand as solitary landmarks of the
devastated space. Every year of his life he has seen the beautiful
hangbird weave his pensile nest upon the long and flexible branches,
secure from the reach of every foe. From its vast dome of branches and
foliage he has listened to the songs of the late and early birds, and
under its canopy he has witnessed many a scene of rustic amusement.
To a native of New England, therefore, the Elm has a character more
nearly approaching that of sacredness than any other tree. Setting aside
the pleasure derived from it as an object of material beauty, it reminds
him of the familiar scenes of home and the events of his early life. How
many a happy assemblage of children and young persons has been gathered
under its shade in the sultry noons of summer! How many a young May
queen has been crowned under its tasselled roof, when the greensward was
just daisied with the early flowers of spring! And how often has the
weary traveller rested from his journey under its wide-spreading boughs,
and from a state of weariness and vexation, when o’erspent by heat and
length of way, subsided into quiet thankfulness and content!
In my own mind the Elm is intimately allied with those old
dwelling-houses which were built in the early part of the last century,
and form one of the principal remaining features of New England home
architecture during that period. They are known by their broad and ample
but low-studded rooms, their two stories in front, their numerous
windows with small panes, their single chimney in the centre of the
roof, that sloped down to one story in the rear, and their general
homely appearance, reminding us of the simplicity of life that
characterized our people before the Revolution. Their very homeliness is
attractive, by leaving the imagination free to dwell upon their
interesting suggestions. Not many of these venerable houses are now
extant; but whenever we see one, it is almost invariably accompanied by
its Elm, standing upon the green open space that slopes down from it in
front, waving its long branches in melancholy grandeur above the old
homestead, and drooping, as with sorrow, over the infirmities of its old
companion of a century.
Early in April the Elm puts forth its flowers, of a dark maroon color,
in numerous clusters, fringing the long terminal spray, and filling up
the whole space so effectually that the branches can hardly be seen;
they appear at the same time with the crimson flowers of the red maple,
and give the tree a very sombre appearance. The seeds ripen early, and
being small and chaffy are wafted in all directions and carried to great
distances by the wind. In the early part of June, soon after the leaves
are expanded, the Elm displays the most beauty. At this time only can
its verdure be considered brilliant: for the leaf soon fades to a dull
green, and displays no tints, except that of a rusty yellow in the
autumn. In perfectly healthy elms, standing on a deep soil, the
brightness of the foliage is retained to a later period; but the trees
near Boston have suffered so much from the ravages of the cankerworm
that their health is injured, and their want of vitality is shown by the
premature fading and dropping of their foliage.
Nothing can exceed the American Elm in a certain harmonious combination
of sturdiness and grace,—two qualities which are seldom united. Along
with its superior magnitude, we observe a great length and slenderness
of its branches, without anything in the combination that indicates
weakness. It is very agreeable to witness the union, under any
circumstances, of two interesting or admirable traits of character which
are supposed to be incompatible. Hence the complacency we feel when we
meet a brave man who is amiable and polite, or a learned man who is
neither reserved nor pedantic. A slender vine, supported by a sturdy
tree, forms a very agreeable image; not less delightful is that
consonance we perceive in a majestic Elm, formed by the union of
grandeur with the gracefulness of its own flowing drapery.
The Elm is generally subdivided into several equal branches, diverging
from a common centre at a small distance above the ground. The height of
this divergence depends on the condition of the tree when it was a
seedling, whether it grew in a forest or in an open field; and the angle
made by these branches is much wider when it obtained its growth in an
isolated situation. The shape of different elms varies more than that of
any other known species. It is indeed almost the only tree which may be
said to exhibit more than one normal figure, setting aside those
variations of form which are the natural effects of youth and age. The
American Elm never displays one central shaft to which the branches are
subordinate, like the English Elm; or rather, I should say, that when it
has only a single shaft it is without any limbs, and is surrounded only
with short and slender twigs. This leads me to speak of its normal
diversities of shape, which were originally described by Mr. Emerson
under several types.