nd bent these lofty
arches? Two or three centuries ago, two men in coarse garb, and, it
may be, in wooden shoes, came here with a donkey, bearing on its
back a bundle of little elms, each of a finger's girth. They came
with the rude pick and spade of that time; and, in the first six
working hours of the day, they dug thirty holes on this side of the
aisle, and planted in them half the tiny trees of their bundle.
They then sat down at noon to their bread and cheese and, most
likely, a mug of ale, and talked of small, home matters, just as if
they were dibbling in a small patch of wheat or potatoes. They then
went to work again and planted the other row; and, as the sun was
going down, they straightened their backs, and, with hands stayed
upon their hips, looked up and down the two lines and thought they
would pass muster and please the master. Then they shouldered their
brightened tools and went home to their low, dark cottages,
discussing the prices of bread, beer and bacon, and whether the
likes of them could manage to keep a pig and make a little meat in
the year for themselves.

That is the story of this most magnificent structure to which you
look up with such admiration. Those two men in smock frocks, each
with a pocket full of bread and cheese, were the Michael Angelos of
this lofty St. Peter's. That donkey, with its worn panniers, was
the only witness and helper of their work. And it was the work of a
day! They may have been paid two English shillings for it. The
little trees may have cost two shillings more, if taken from another
estate. The donkey's day was worth sixpence. O, wooden-shoed
Ptolemies! what a day's work was that for the world! They thought
nothing of it--nothing more than they would of transplanting sixty
cabbages. They most likely did the same thing the next day, and for
most of the days of that year, and of the next year, until all these
undulating acres were planted with trees of every kind that could
grow in these latitudes. How cheap, but priceless, is the gift of
such trees to mankind! What a wealth, what a glory of them can even
a poor, laboring man give to a coming generation! They are the most
generous crops ever sown by human hands. All others the sower reaps
and garners into his own personal enjoyment; but this yields its
best harvest to those who come after him. This is a seeding for
posterity. From this well of Baca shall they draw the cooling
luxury of the gift w