elm was often honored by the presence of Washington, who, it is
said, had a platform built among the branches, where, we may suppose,
he used to ponder over the plans of the campaign. The Continental army,
born within the shade of the old tree, overflowing the Common, converted
Cambridge into a fortified camp. Here, too, the flag of thirteen stripes
for the first time swung to the breeze.

These were the palmy days of the elm. When the tide of war set away
from New England, the Washington Elm fell into unmerited neglect. The
struggling patriots had no time for sentiment; and when the war came to
an end they were too busy in shaping the conduct of the government, and
in repairing their shattered fortunes, to pay much attention to trees.
It was not until the great actors in those days were rapidly passing
away, that their descendants turned with an affectionate regard to the
enduring monuments inseparably associated with the fathers. Among these,
the Washington Elm deservedly holds a high rank.

On the third of July, 1875, the citizens of Cambridge celebrated the one
hundredth anniversary of Washington's assuming the command of the army.
The old tree was the central figure of the occasion. The American flag
floated above the topmost branches, and a profusion of smaller flags
waved amid the foliage. Never tree received a more enthusiastic ovation.

It is enclosed by a circular iron fence erected by the Reverend Daniel
Austin. Outside the fence, but under the branches, stands a granite
tablet erected by the city of Cambridge, upon which is cut an
inscription written by Longfellow:--

UNDER THIS TREE
WASHINGTON
FIRST TOOK COMMAND
OF THE
AMERICAN ARMY,
JULY 3D, 1775.

In 1850, it still retained its graceful proportions; its great limbs
were intact, and it showed few traces of age. Within the past
twenty-five years, it has been gradually breaking up.

In 1844, its girth, three feet from the ground, where its circumference
is least, was twelve feet two and a half inches. In 1884, at the same
point, it measures fourteen feet one inch; a gain so slight that the
rings of annual growth must be difficult to trace--an evidence of waning
vital force. The grand subdivisions of the trunk are all sadly crippled;
unsightly bandages of zinc mask the progress of decay; the symptoms of
approaching dissolution are painfully evident, especially in the winter
season. In summer, the remaining vitality ex