now marvelous
stories to travelers, and not long ago I was more amused than edified to
hear an eloquent clergyman just returned from abroad tell how he had
been shown the fruits of the Judas-tree, "in form like beautiful apples,
fair to the eye, but within bitter and disappointing;" and he moralized
just as vigorously on this fable as if it had been true, as he thought
it. He didn't particularly relish the suggestion that the pulpit ought
to be fairly certain of its facts, whether of theology or of science, in
these days; but he succumbed to the submission of authority for the
statement that the Eastern so-called Judas-tree, _Cercis siliquastrum_,
bore a small pod, like a bean, and was not unpleasant, any more than the
pod was attractive.

I mention this only in reprobation of the unpleasant name that really
hurts the estimation of one of the most desirable and beautiful of
America's smaller trees. The American red-bud is a joy in the spring
about dogwood time, for it is all bloom, and of a most striking color.
Deep pink, or purplish light red, or clear bright magenta--all these
color names fit it approximately only. One is conscious of a warm glow
in looking toward the little trees, with every branch clear down to the
main stem not only outlined but covered with richest color.

There is among the accompanying illustrations (page 201) a photograph of
a small but characteristic red-bud in bloom, looking at which reminds me
of one of the pleasantest experiences of my outdoor life. With a
cameristic associate, I was in a favorite haunt, seeing dogwoods and
red-buds and other things of spring beauty, when a sudden warm thunder
shower overtook us. Somewhat protected in our carriage--and it would
have been more fun if we had stood out to take the rain as comfortably
as did the horse--we saw the wonder of the reception of a spring shower
by the exuberant plant life we were there to enjoy. When the clouds
suddenly obscured the sky, and the first drops began to fall, the soft
new umbrellas of the May-apples, raised to shield the delicate white
flowers hidden under them from the too ardent sunshine, reversed the
usual method by closing tightly and smoothly over the blooms, thus
protecting perfectly their pollen hearts, and offering little resistance
to the sharp wind that brought the rain. At our very feet we could see
the open petals of the spring beauty coil up into tight little spirals,
the young leaves on the pin-oaks draw