Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1885-12-18

Let us walk out into the inviting woods
The trees can never be so fully seen as now.
Their painted trunks, relieved against this
neutral foil OF snow, disclose a surprising
wealth of color, and the exquisite tracery Of
branch and twig, the essential elements Of
the trees beauty and character, heretofore
largely concealed by the pershable garniture
of foliage, is now revealed The true tree,
freed from all disguise, stands forth like an
athlete stripped for the contest. Observe the
soft, blending tones on the bole of this
smooth, dappled beech. See the infinity Of
refined grays, browns and greens which
everywhere spread and intermelt upon its
surface. "The painted beech, " it has been
happily called. Yes, It is the palette Of the
sylvan studio 1t is Dame Natures sampler.
Upon its gray surface she mixes and tests her
sober and subtler tints, to be afterward dis
posed in those artfully artless contrasts
throughout the landscape. You shall find
this silvery sample on yonder rock-maple,
disposed in one telling splash, divided verti
cally by the brown assures of the bark.
This bright ochery remnant re-appears on the
hickory beyond, in strong brilliant touches
here and there upon the shingly shaes; and
the broad rock hard by has received lavish
decoration in notified circles of this pale sage
green. Here is the array Of tints with which
she paints the antiquailed stone walls, and
here the sheeny gray by which she has re-
claimed the rambling miles of splintered rails.
The virescent drab of poplar, the rosy ash
of young maple, and the varied mosaic Of the
messy bowlder, all find their complement
here
With its clean, trim contour and bright,
smooth complexion, we may readily appreci-
ate the estimate of Thoreau. ''No tree has
M fair hola 90 ban1 itcf tha
beech" This latter feature, however, is
often lost in the winter woods, as the trees
stand knee-deep in snow, and the comely
slope of their feet, clad in velvety moss, is
concealed from view
1t is a common error to suppose that winter
effaces the distinctions Of individuality among
the various trees. Nothing can be further
from the truth care you the friend Of your
friends thoughts, or of his buttons2" asks
Emerson, as though we should know our
companion only by his dress. Many of our
trees announce themselves even more distinct
ly in February than in June. The shagbark
was never barked as now. The white birch
reveals many more Of her distinctive pallid
features; and in this unreasonable weather
the tattooed buff satin dress of her cousin,
the yellow birch, seems more than ever con-
spicuous. The tupelo never more effectually
asserted its precious whimscality. The
white oak audibly rustles its identity; and
the marbled buttonwood- tree hangs out tell
tale label from every twig. Look at this
scraggly silhouette against the sky over this
lichen-painted wall. Who needs the hint of
the brown frozen apple lodged among the
twigs to call its namel Is it not written in
every angle Of its eccentric spray, or even in
its shadow in the snow2 Likewise the elm,
with pendant nest, the spiral fluted hornbeam,
and sugar maple too. Who would not know
e4ch from fragment of its barki Scarcely
in less degree do the linden, the ash, the va
rious willows, oaks and naples, the chestnut
and the tulip tree, assert their individuality
and claim recognition. To the curious OBJ
server they soon become familiar, and he can
name them all at a glance. W. II. Gibson,
in December Harper's.