amily just because he loves trees in general, and is
poking his eyes and his camera into unusual places, doesn't make close
determinations; he tells what he thinks he sees, and leaves exact work
to the scientists.

[Illustration: A blooming twig of the swamp white oak]

There are some oaks, however, that have borrowed the foliage of other
trees so cunningly that one at first scouts the possibility of the
Quercus parentage, until he sees an undeniable acorn thrusting itself
forward. Then he is sure that what seemed a rather peculiarly shaped
chestnut tree, with somewhat stumpy foliage, is none other than the
chestnut-oak. A fine tree it is, too, this same chestnut-oak, with its
masquerading foliage of deep green, its upright and substantial habit,
its rather long and aristocratic-looking acorns. The authorities tell
that its wood, too, is brownish and valuable; but we tree-lovers are not
enthusiastic over mere timber values, because that means the killing of
the trees.

The willow-oak will not deceive, because its habit is so oak-like and so
willow-less; but its foliage is surely borrowed from its graceful and
more rapidly growing neighbor. Not so large, by any means, as the white
oak or the chestnut-oak, it has somewhat rough and reddish bark, and its
acorns are perfected in the second year of their growth, close to the
twigs, in the way of the pin-oak. The general aspect of the tree is
upright, rather than spreading, and it partakes thus of the maple
character in its landscape effect. The willow-oak is one of the species
I would, if I were writing a tree-planting article, heartily commend to
those who wish to add adornment to the countryside that shall be
permanent and satisfactory. Just a hint here: nursery-grown oaks, now
obtainable from any modern establishment, have usually been frequently
moved or transplanted, as the trade term goes, and this means that they
have established a somewhat self-contained root system, which will give
them far greater vigor and cause them to take hold sooner when finally
placed in a situation where they are to be permanent features. The
reason is plain: the forest seedling, in the fierce struggle for
existence usually prevailing, must send its roots far and wide for food,
and when it is dug out their feeding capacity is so seriously curtailed
as to check the growth of the tree for many years. The nursery-grown
tree, on the contrary, has been brought up "by hand," and its food has
al