THE 
CULTURE AND MANAGEMENT 
OF OUR 
NATIVE FORESTS 
FOR DEVELOPMENT AS 
TIMBER OR ORNAMENTAL WOOD. 
BY, 
H. W. S. CLEVELAND. 
1882 
Entered according to act of Congress, 
By H. W. 8. Cleveland. 
SPKINGFIELD: 
H. W. Eokkee, Peintei: and Binder. 
1 882. THE 
CULTURE AND MANAGEMENT 
OF OUR 
NATIVE FORESTS 
FOR DEVELOPMENT AS 
TIMBER OR ORNAMENTAL WOOD, 
BY 
H. W. S. CLEVELAND. 
1882. 
Entered according to act of Congress, 
By H. W. S. Cleveland. 
SPRINGFIELD: 
H. W. Rokkee, Pbintee and Bindee. 
1882. INTRODUCTION. 
It is proper that I should preface the following essay by a state- 
ment of the circumstances which led to its preparation. 
A letter of mine, on “Tree Culture,” which was published in the 
New York Nation of Dec. 1, 1881, elicited so many inquiries from 
such widely separated sections of the country, as to convince me 
that the subj ect was one of very general interest. In every letter I 
received the question was asked, “Where can I find any treatise or 
book of instruction on the management of our native forests ?” and 
I was forced to reply that I knew of no such book, and had been 
assured, on the highest authority, that there was no foreign work 
that was applicable to our wants. All that I had learned upon the 
subject had been from experience and observation, and I felt pain- 
fully conscious of my own ignorance of much that pertains to it. 
But the questions that were asked me by intelligent inquirers afford- 
ed in themselves sufficient evidence of a general want of recognition 
of some of the principles which experience had taught me wrere of 
essential importance in forest culture. These I have endeavored to 
set forth in the following essay, which I have had the honor of 
reading to a committee of the Massachusetts Legislature, and to the 
National Forestry Congress, at Cincinnati. 
H. W. S. Cleveland. 
97 Washington street, 
Chicago, III,, May 1, 1882. III 
Tin CEltnre ant Management ot onr Native Ferests, for Development 
as Trailer or Ornamental foot. 
H. W. S. CLEVELAND. 
Man’s progress from barbarism to civilization is indicated by the 
degree of skill he has attained in the cultivation of those products 
of the earth which minister to his necessities and comfort. As long 
as the natural resources are sufficient to supply his primary wants 
of food and clothing, he will make no effort to increase them, and 
it is only as he is driven by the necessities of increasing demand 
and diminishing supply that he exerts himself to secure relief by 
artificial means. 
The first efforts of the savage at cultivation are of the rudest de- 
scription, and just in proportion as tribes and nations advance in 
numbers, power and intelligence, do they also gain in improved 
methods of tillage, in greater knowledge of the science of culture, 
and in better implements and machinery for its performance. 
These are simple truths, which everyone will recognize. Their 
application to the subject of forest culture, lies in the obvious fact 
that it is not until a nation has reached mature age, and an ad- 
vanced stage of civilization, that the native growth of wild forest 
proves insufficient for the increasing demand for timber, and the 
necessity of providing, by artificial culture, for an additional supply, 
begins to be felt. 
We could hardly have a more striking illustration than is here 
afforded, of the adaptation of the provisions of nature, first, to the 
immediate necessities of existence, and subsequently to the develop- 
ment of the latent powers of the human race. The cereals and 
vegetables which are essential to man’s daily support are of annual 
growth. Their culture is comparatively simple, and he soon learns 
that his very existence is dependent upon their renewed production 
with each recurring summer. The forests are equally essential to 
his further development, by furnishing material for the construction 
of houses and ships, and the countless implements by whose aid he 
attains to almost superhuman power. But the forest requires the 
lifetime of two or three generations for the full attainment of ma- 
turity. In the infancy of the race, the necessity of providing for 
such distant wants could not be foreseen. 
Nature, therefore, as if she had been conscious that forest culture 
was too arduous an undertaking for primitive man, has furnished so 
abundant a supply, that no deficiency or necessity of economy is 
felt till the nation has acquired such a degree of intelligence as to 
be competent to the solution of the problem. 
And this is the point at which we now stand, and which the older 
nations of Europe have long since passed, seeing plainly that our IV 
natural sources are well nigh exhausted, yet shrinking from the un- 
familiar task of seeking to supply the deficiency by artificial means. 
Many once powerful nations have dwindled into insignificance in 
consequence of their neglect of this lesson which nature imperatively 
demands that we should learn. Their fate should be to us a warn- 
ing, as the efforts of the most intelligent nations of to-day should 
be to us an example, to save us from a like fate. The necessity 
for action is imminent, and can not be averted. The subject of the 
increasing demand and rapidly diminishing supply of timber through- 
out the country, has been so thoroughly discussed by legislative 
committees, both State and National, by agricultural societies and 
by able individual writers, that it would seem but a wraste of time 
to bring forward the oft-repeated statistics in evidence of the danger 
that threatens us, and the urgent need of adopting measures of 
protection and relief. 
Assuming, therefore, that my readers are familiar with the data 
which prove the necessity, I pass at once to the consideration of 
the means of averting the danger. 
The only measure of relief thus far suggested with any definite 
prospect of success, is the planting of new forests. Much has been 
said, it is true, about the preservation of those that remain; but 
the words seem meaningless, in view of the fact that private prop- 
erty is beyond the control of the Government, and Congress de- 
clines even to grant means to prevent the destruction of that which 
still pertains to the public domain. 
The planting of new forests is indeed an all-important work, which 
can not be too strongly urged, but we have not yet reached the 
period when it is likely to be successfully inaugurated, except, per- 
haps, in occasional instances by railroad or manufacturing compa- 
nies, with a view to their own future wants. Individuals will not 
engage, to any great extent, in a work which demands the invest- 
ment not only of a large amount of money, and the continuous ex- 
penditure of a great deal of labor, but also of a long period of time, 
which is the one form of capital of which we never have a surplus. 
It behooves us, therefore, to study rather more closely than we have 
heretofore done, the possibility of improving the condition of that 
wdiich remains. The woods still standing contain a vast amount of 
available material which is susceptible of development in far less 
time than would be required for the planting and growth of new 
forests, our utter neglect of which furnishes one of the most striking 
proofs of our ignorance of forest culture. 
No one can travel through any portion of the States east*of the 
prairie regions, without being impressed by the fact that he is never 
out of sight of woodland. In fact, the chief cause of the prevailing 
apathy on the subject of forest planting, arises from the fact of the 
great abundance of groves and extended forests, which convey the 
impression, in spite of the assertions of staticians, that there is still 
enough wood growing to supply the place of that which is removed. 
The Duke of Argyle, in the interesting sketch of his trip through 
the States, published after his return to England, says emphatically 
that nothing in the aspect of the country surprised and impressed 
him so much as the great amount of wood still remaining, and 
everywhere giving beauty and variety to the landscape; but he V 
added that it was everywhere the beauty of the wild wood, which 
never bore any evidence of culture or effort to increase its value by 
artificial development. 
“ I saw nothing (he says) that could be called fine timber, and no 
woods which showed any care in thinning, with a view to the pro- 
duction qf such timber in the future.” 
Such a criticism is not surprising from one who, like most coun- 
try gentlemen of England, is familiar with the process of forest 
culture, but it certainly is surprising that, with all our boasted in- 
telligence, wre still remain practically insensible to the fact that, 
while almost every tract of woodland contains a large percentage of 
such trees as are most valuable for timber, already well advanced in 
growth, and susceptible, by judicious management, of being devel- 
oped into proper form and size for use in far less time and at far 
less cost than would be required for the- planting and growth of new 
forest; yet, if left to themselves, not one tree in a thousand will 
ever be fit for anything better than fencing stuff or fuel. Vast re- 
sources of wealth are lying latent and running to waste in our 
woodlands, and we stand stupidly unconscious of the fact that its 
development requires simply the application of the intelligent cul- 
ture we bestow on all other crops. In many instances, it is true, 
the native woods have been so long neglected, that they are past 
redemption, but there are, nevertheless, large areas of continuous for- 
est, and smaller groves and woodlots in every section of the coun- 
try, now yielding no revenue, which might, by proper annual thin- 
ning, pruning and culture, be developed into timber forests of very 
great value, while yielding an annual crop of firewood in the pro- 
cess. 
Where shall we find, or how shall we create, the men who are 
competent to the work? To judge from invariable practice, our 
people seem not only to be ignorant of the first principles of forest 
culture, but unconscious even of the possibility of its application to 
the development of our native woods. The fact of such prevailing 
ignorance rests not alone upon negative evidence. We have posi- 
tive proof in abundance in the attempts which we often see at the 
“improvement” of a piece of woodland when it is appropriated as 
the site of a residence. It is hard to conceive of anything more 
dismal and forlorn than the average result of the effort to impart a 
homelike aspect to such a place; the dwelling, with its “span new” 
expression, standing in the midst of a multitude of tall poles, with 
tufts of leaves upon their tops, looking like fowls stripped of their 
feathers, and the bare ground fretted everywhere with freshly up- 
turned roots, the sole remnants of the wild shrubbery which has 
been ruthlessly exterminated. 
In order to a comprehension of the principles of healthy forest 
growth, let us consider some of the processes of nature, and learn 
from them her requirements. 
If we plant the seed of a maple, chestnut, linden, oak or ash tree 
by itself in the open ground in suitable soil, and suffer it to grow 
without molestation, simply guarding it from injury, we shall find 
that the first act of the young plant is to send out broad leaves, 
which serve among other purposes to shade completely the stem, VI 
and the ground immediately around it in which- the roots are grow- 
ing. As the tree grows, it preserves a symmetrical shape, the limbs 
spreading and the trunk increasing in size, in proportion to its 
height, but always preserving the condition, of keeping the trunk 
and the ground for a considerable distance around it, in the shadow 
of the foliage till mature age, when the roots have penetrated to 
such a depth as to be safe from injury, and the trunk is protected 
by thick layers of cork like bark, which safely "guards alike from 
heat and cold the inner layers and young wood in which the sap is 
performing its functions. 
Such are the conditions to which nature adheres, if not interfered 
with by accident or design, and such, therefore, we may be sure, 
are those best adapted to healthy and vigorous growth. The fact 
that they are continually violated with apparent impunity, serves 
only to show the wonderful power of nature to supply deficiencies, 
and adapt herself to circumstances, but in artificial culture, we 
should aim as nearly as possible to imitate the course she would 
pursue if unimpeded. 
The requirements of nature are of course the same when trees are 
growing together in a forest, as when they stand singly, but the 
conditions of growth are so changed that the‘ end is attained by 
entirely different means. 
If we enter a tract of wood land, covered with a hard wood growth 
of an average height of thirty or forty feet >%e find it composed 
almost exclusively of trees which have run up to a great height in 
proportion to the spread of their limbs. The largest and oldest of 
them may have had some lateral branches which are now dead, 
but the younger growth will consist only of tall, slender stems, with- 
out a branch or leaf except near the top. It will be difficult, per- 
haps impossible, to find a single tree possessing sufficient symmetry 
of form to be worth transplanting for ornamental use. A little 
reflection will serve to convince us that this form of growth, so 
different from that of the single tree in the open ground, is the 
natural result of the action of the same rules under changed con- 
ditions. 
When a young wood first springs up on open ground, each tree 
begins to grow as if it were alone, sending out lateral branches 
and preserving its just proportion. But whenever these laterals 
meet and mingle with each other, they shut out the sunlight from 
all below, and thence forward all lateral growth must cease, and 
each individual is struggling upward to keep even with its neighbors 
and secure its share of the sunbeams which are essential to its 
existence, and which can only be had at the top. It thus becomes 
forced out of all just proportions in the effort to keep even with its 
fellows. The conditions of keeping the trunk and roots in the shade, 
however, are even more rigidly adhered to than in the case of the 
single tree, growing by itself, for the whole area of the wood is 
shaded, and, moreover, the trees on the edges of the wood, if not 
interfered with by men or cattle, will be clothed on the outer side 
with limbs and foliage, clear to the ground, so as to check the free 
passage of the winds whose drying influence upon the soil is even 
more active than that of the sun. VII 
If we examine more closely we shall find that nature adapts her- 
self to these changed conditions, and avails herself of whatever 
advantages they afford. 
The single tree when growing by itself sends its roots deep into 
the ground in search of the moisture which cannot be had near the 
surface, and thus, when it reaches mature age, it draws its supplies 
from sources beyond the reach of temporary changes, and, moreover, 
secures so firm a hold upon the ground that it suffers no injury 
from the storms that assail it, but fearlessly stretches forth its 
arms as if to challenge the gale. 
In the woods, on the contrary, the surface soil never becomes 
parched or heated, but maintains an even degree of temperature 
and moisture in consequence not only of the exclusion of the sun 
and winds, but of the deep mulching of leaves which annually cover 
the ground and keep it moist, while, by their decomposition, they 
form a rich mould comprising all the ingredients of vegetation. 
If we dig only a few inches into this mould we find it everywhere 
permeated by fibrous rootlets emanating from larger roots, which 
under these circumstances have kept near the surface where they 
draw nourishment from the rich material there provided. If the 
single tree in the open ground had tried to live by such means, it 
would speedly have perished for want of nourishment, or would 
have been uprooted by the winds as forest trees are liable to be 
when left alone in a clearing. 
In the woods the necessity no longer exists of sending the roots 
to a great depth either in search of nourishment or for support 
against storms, and nature always adapts hereself to circumstances 
and attains her ends by the simplest and most economical means. 
If we now consider the facts I have stated, which anyone can 
easily verify for himself, we shall find that all the essential princi- 
ples of tree culture are comprised within their limits, and by their 
rational observances we may secure healthy and vigorous trees, and 
develope at will either such forms as will fit them for timber or for 
ornamental use. 
The five trees I have cited—maple, chestnut, linden, oak and ash 
—are among the most common and yet the most valuable of our 
forest trees, and may be taken as representatives and proper illus- 
trations of the facts I am stating. Either of these trees, if growing 
by itself in proper soil and undisturbed by other than natural influ- 
ences, will attain, at maturity a height of seventy or eighty feet, 
with a spread of limb equal in diameter to its height, and a trunk 
of such massive proportions as leaves no room for apprehension of 
inability to uphold the wilderness of foliage it has to support. But 
these same trees, if growing in a wood, will send up a slender stem, 
straight as an arrow, fifty, sixty or seventy feet without a limb or 
a leaf, till it reaches the average height of its fellows, and sends out 
its tufts of foliage to secure the benefit of every sunbeam it can 
catch. 
We see therefore, that if we wish to form a beautiful and sym- 
metrical tree, or a grove of such, composed of individual specimens 
of majestic and graceful proportions, we must allow it free access, 
to sun and air, with full power of expansion on every side. While 
young, however, the growth will be more vigorous and healthy, and VIII 
we can develop the desired forms more easily and sucessfully, by 
leaving a much greater number of trees than are eventually to 
remain, and removing from year to year all which are near enough 
to the final occupants to check or impede their full development. 
If, on the other hand, we wish to develop the trunk or bole for 
use as timber we must plant, or suffer the trees to grow more 
thickly together, and thus extend its trunk longitudinally by forcing 
it to ascend in search of the sunlight on which its very existence is 
dependent. The indigenous growth, however, is always a great deal 
too thick for successful development. The trees are so crowded 
that many of them perish in the struggle, and those which survive 
are drawn up into such spindling proportions that not one in a 
hundred ever attains the dignity of timber, whereas by proper and 
reasonable thinning, and judicious culture and pruning of the trees 
selected for final retention, every acre of woodland might be made 
to yield an annual crop of fire-wood, and all the while be growing 
timber which eventually in many instances might be worth more 
than the land itself; or by a different process of management may 
be converted into a grove of majestic and graceful, ornamental trees. 
The proper performance of this work constitutes the most impor- 
tant part of forest culture and for want of the knowledge of how it 
should be done, or from ignorance of the possibility of its applica- 
tion to our native forest, a vast area (in the aggregate) of woodland 
is running to waste; yielding no revenue and promising nothing 
better in the future than fire-wood, of which a very large propor- 
tion is yet susceptible of redemption and conversion into timber of 
great value at far less cost of time and labor than would be required 
for the planting and rearing of new forests, while the very process 
of development would be yielding an annual income instead of 
demanding large outlays. 
Travel where we may we are never out of sight of forest, and 
every wood lot is a mine of wealth waiting only the application of 
intelligent labor for its development. In almost every tract of wood- 
land may be found more or less of the trees I have named and in 
many places also hickory, walnut, butternut, elm, cherry, beech and 
other valuable timber trees, mingled with a great variety of those 
which are worthless, or fit only for fuel. In some cases they are 
past redemption, having been so long neglected that they have run 
up into mere thickets of liooppoles. Young growth may everywhere 
be found, however, which are in condition to be taken in hand, and 
in almost all cases the work of thinning, and pruning may be 
entered upon with a certainty of profitable results if wisely and 
persevermgly conducted. 
The work of thinning, as ordinarily conducted in the occasional 
instances in which on any account it has become desirable, is en- 
trusted to mere laborers, who have no regard for the natural condi- 
tions which are essential to healthy growth, and which can not be 
suddenly changed, without serious injury to the trees that are left. 
All the small growth of shrubs, such as hazel, cornel, dogwood, 
elder, shad-bush, etc., is first grubbed out and destroyed under the 
general term of “underbrush,” and this not only throughout the 
interior of the wood, but round its outer edges where such shrubbery 
is apt to spring up in thickets, which serve the very important pur- IX 
pose of preventing the free passage of the wind over the surface 
soil of the interior, besides adding incalculably to the beauty of the 
wood, as seen from without by connecting the line of foliage of 
the trees, with that of the sward below, and presenting a living mass 
of verdure. The trees which are considered most desirable to pre- 
serve, are then selected, and all the rest at once removed. Finally 
the leaves are carefully raked from the surface and carried off or 
burnt. 
Sun and wind now have free access to the soil, and it very soon 
becomes parched and dry. The fine rootlets near the surface, which 
have heretofore been preserved by the never-failing moisture of the 
rich mould under its mulching of leaves, are converted into a mass 
of wiry fibres, no longer capable of conveying nourishment, even if 
it were within their reach. And while the means of supply are thus 
reduced, the tall, slender trunk, through which the sap must ascend 
to the leaves, is now exposed to the free action of the sun and 
winds. Now I do not presume to say, that evaporation can take 
place through the bark, but the provisions which nature makes to 
guard the inner vital tissues, from the effect of the sun’s rays indi- 
cate beyond all question, that they are in some way injurious. I 
have elsewhere shown that in the case of the single tree growing by 
itself, the trunk is always shaded by the spreading foliage, when 
suffered to retain its natural form. In the forest, the trees shade 
each other, and thus effect the object by mutual action. But now 
let me call your attention to another provision of nature which few 
people observe, but the meaning of which is too obvious to be mis- 
taken. If we examine the bark of an oak, elm, chestnut or maple, 
of mature age, which has always stood by itself, exposed to the full 
influence of atmospheric changes, we find it to be of great thickness 
of very rugged character, and of a cork-like consistency, all of which 
characteristics make it the best possible non-conductor of heat or 
cold that can be imagined, under the protection of which the living 
tissues are safely kept from injury through the burning heat of 
summer and the intense cold of winter. 
Now go into the forest where the trees shade each other, and wind 
and sun are excluded, and you will find that the bark of the trees, 
is smooth and thin in comparison with that of those in the open 
ground. 
Natrue never wastes her energies needlessly, and the trees in the 
woods do not require the thick coat of those that are exposed. But 
the effect of suddenly admitting the sun and wind upon them is 
precisely the same as that of exposing any portion of the human 
skin which had heretofore been clothed. It is to guard against 
injury from this source that experienced tree-planters, when remov- 
ing large trees from the woods, are a'ccustomed to swathe the trunks 
with ropes of straw, which is a rational process, yet it is by no 
means uncommon to see the reverse of this action. I have seen, 
during the past winter a great many very large fine trees planted 
on the best avenues in Chicago, at a cost of certainly not less than 
fifty dollars each, from the trunks and large limbs of which all the 
rough bark had been carefully scraped, leaving only a thin, smooth 
covering over the inner tissues. This is as if a man should prepare 
for unusual exposure to heat or cold by laying aside all his clothing. X 
Few persons, even among those whose business is tree culture, as 
fruit-growers and nursery men, have any just conception of the value 
of thorough mulching, as a means of promoting the health and 
vigor of growing trees. In fact, such a mulching of the whole 
ground as nature provides in the forest by the annual fall of the 
leaves, may be said to be unknown in artificial culture, so rarely is 
it practiced, yet its immediate effect in promoting new and vigorous 
growth is such as would seem almost incredible to one who had not 
witnessed it, and affords one of the most beautiful illustrations of 
nature’s methods of securing the most important results by such 
simple and incidental means that they escape our notice, though 
going on right under our eyes from year to year. 
Of course the richest food for plant consumption is in the soil 
near the surface, but if that soil is subjected to alternations of tem- 
perature and moisture, sometimes baked in clods, and at others 
reduced to the consistency of mire, no roots can survive the changes. 
In the forest, as I have elsewhere said, these changes are preven- 
ted by the shade of the foliage and the mulching of fallen leaves. 
The rich mould of the surface soil maintains an even temperature, 
is always moist, and is everwhere permeated with fibrous roots 
drawing nourishment from the rich sources which surround them, 
and this process may be artificially imitated, and the same results 
attained, by mulching, if properly done. It does not suffice to pile 
a few inches of straw or manure around each tree for a short dis- 
tance from the trunk. If the tree stands singly, at a distance from 
others, the mulching should extend on every side beyond the spread 
of its branches; and in the case of an orchard, or young wood, the 
surface of the whole area it occupies should be covered with leaves, 
straw, shavings, chip-dirt, tan-bark, or whatever material is most 
available, to a depth of several inches. I first learned the value of 
the process when a young man, on a coffee plantation in Cuba, where 
a portion of the hands were constantly employed in collecting re- 
fuse .vegetable matter of all kinds, and spreading over the whole 
ground between the rows of the coffee bushes, to such depth as 
served to keep the surface cool and of even temperature, and also 
to prevent the growth of grass and weeds and thus supersede the 
necessity of ploughing between the rows. 
Afterwards, when engaged in fruit culture in New Jersey, I prac- 
ticed it in my vineyard and orchards with most satisfactory results, 
of which an account was published more than thirty years ago, in 
the Horticulturist, then edited by A. J. Downing.* 
The trees and vines responded at once to my efforts in their be- 
half by such increased luxuriance of growth that it was easy to dis- 
tinguish the portions that had been mulched as far as they could 
be seen, and, on digging into the surface soil under the mulching 
at any point, I found it filled with fibrous roots precisely as is the 
case in the leaf mould in the woods. No fruit-grower who has once 
tried this experiment will ever after forego the advantages it offers, 
and 1 have spoken of it thus at length from the obviously vital im- 
portance of its bearing on forest culture. A moment’s reflection 
will show that in the opening and thinning of native wood which 
had grown thickly together, a heavy mulching of such portions of 
* Horticulturist, Yol. 3, p. 113. XI 
the ground as may unavoidably become exposed may be of most 
essential service in preserving the health and vigor of the trees that 
are to be retained. 
It is difficult to lay down specific rules by which a novice could 
be guided in the work of opening and thinning out the wood of a 
native forest, except by fully impressing him with the importance 
of preserving, so far as is possible, the conditions which nature 
shows to be the most favorable to vigorous growth, and proceeding 
very cautiously "when it becomes necessary to change the relative 
proportions of the influences which affect the vitality of the trees. 
The age and condition of the wood at the time the work is begun, 
are, of course, important elements for consideration. If the growth 
is not more than ten or fifteen years, and the trees have not sprung 
up so thickly as already to have become a mere thicket of hoop- 
poles, but have preserved a reasonable degree of symmetry, its 
management can be much more easily controlled than if it has 
attained a more mature age, and especially if the object is to cre- 
ate an ornamental grove composed of fine specimens of individual 
trees, a process by which the value of desirable residence sites in 
the vicinity of cities or large towns might often be very greatly in- 
creased. 
Whether this be the object, or the development of timber, the 
first thing to be done is to select and place a distinguishing mark 
upon every tree which is ultimately to be retained. Then remove 
at first from its immediate vicinity only those which are actually 
crowding it, or impeding its growth by shading or interfering with 
its foliage. Those which simply shade the trunk or the ground 
around it are serving a useful purpose, and should not be disturbed. 
Indeed, if it is found that the necessary removals involve much in- 
creased exposure of the surface soil around the tree, it should at 
once be covered with the mulching of sufficient depth to prevent 
the possibility of its becoming heated and dry. All other sources of 
danger to the health of the trees are insignificant in comparison 
with that of the rude check they are liable to receive from sudden 
exposure of the trunks and surface roots to the influence of the sun 
and wind, from which they have heretofore been protected, and to 
which they can only become accustomed by a gradual change. 
The next year it will be found that the tree has gladly availed 
itself of the opportunity for expansion, and has spread its limbs to 
fill the vacant space around it, so that more trees must now be re- 
moved, while the increased mass of foliage it has developed renders 
it less liable to suffer injury from their loss. 
The removal of the undergrowth of shrubbery, should be very cau- 
tiously conducted, and in no case should it be removed from the 
outskirts of the wood, which should everywhere be left with as dense 
a growth as possible, to prevent the entrance of the winds. 
The sirocco-like wind from the S. W., which often blows with 
great violence for days together, especially in the spring and early 
summer, when the trees are full of sap, and the young shoots and 
leaves are tender and sensitive, is the one from which most danger 
is to be apprehended. The merely mechanical injury it inflicts upon 
the spray and foliage is often serious, but its worst effects are due 
to its absorption of moisture and vitality. XII 
All experienced nursery men and fruit-growers, have learned to 
dread its exhausting influences especially, upon grape vines and other 
broad leaved plants, and they too are aware of the fact, which com- 
paratively few ordinary observers seem to have noticed, that its 
effects in giving a general trend of the spray and branches of 
trees in exposed situations towards the N. E., is so marked that no 
one who has learned to observe it, need ever be long at a loss to 
know the points of the compass in any parts of the country. 
The fact, however, that we have it in our power to guard against the 
evil effects of this wind by artificial means, is not so generally 
known as it should be, and it was only after many years observa- 
tion and experience that I came to a full realization of certain facts 
in connection with its action, which have a most important bearing 
upon the question of forest culture. 
I became aware, many years since, that many shrubs, trees and 
plants would grow and thrive at Newport, R. I., and at Yarmouth, 
Nova Scotia, which in the interior were only found much farther 
south, and would certainly perish if removed to the latitude of those 
towns. The reason assigned in both cases was the warming influ- 
ence of the neighboring gulf stream, which seemed a plausible ex- 
planation in which my faith remained unshaken for years, until I 
went to Chicago, where I found it was impossible to grow many of 
the finer fruits, and some of the forest trees which elsewhere are 
found in much higher latitudes. Neither peaches or grapes can be 
grown at Chicago, or at any other point on the western side of the 
lake without artificial protection, and the native growth of wood is 
very meagre, and many varieties which elsewhere are found much 
farther north, as the beech and the hemlock cannot be grown; yet 
the eastern shore of the lake, only sixty miles distant, has no supe- 
rior in the whole country as a fruit growing region. Peaches, grapes, 
strawberries, etc., grow most luxuriantly anywhere on that shore up 
to the northern extremity of the lake, three hundred miles north of 
Chicago, and every variety of forest tree indigenous to the country 
is found in the best condition of vigorous health. 
There is no gulf stream to account for this difference, but the 
relative position towards the lake of the whole extent of its fruitful 
shore is the same as that of Newport and Nova Scotia towards the 
ocean. In both cases the S. W. wind reaches the shore after pass- 
ing for a long distance over water, and instead of burning and ex- 
hausting vegetation with a breath of fire, it comes laden with the 
moisture it' has gathered up in its passage, and brings health and 
strength upon its wings, instead of disease and death. Further 
reflection served to convince me that the rule was susceptible of 
much wider application, and serves to explain the different vegeta- 
tion of the eastern and western shores of great continents in the 
same parallels of latitude. Central Spain and southern Italy the 
lands of the orange and grape are in the same latitude as Boston, 
and going west on the same parallel to California, we again find 
ourselves surrounded with fruits and plants which in Boston can only 
be grown under glass. Continuing our western flight across the 
Pacific, we find the flora of Eastern Asia to bear, in many respects, 
a striking resemblance to that of Eastern America. XIII 
These facts have certainly a very important bearing upon the 
question of forest culture. They prove that the S. W. wind of 
spring and early summer is perhaps the worst enemy we have to 
guard against, and also that its deleterious influences are neutralized 
when it passes over a large body of water. It is comparatively rare, 
however, that a situation can be secured affording that advantage, 
and the question naturally arises, are there no other means of pro- 
tection? I am happy to have it in my power again to summon 
nature as a witness that such means are within our reach. 
I have said that the beech would not grow near Chicago, a fact 
which I was very reluctant to admit on first going there, and was 
only fully convinced of its truth by witnessing repeated failures, and 
the evidence of reliable nurserymen who had tried in vain to pre- 
serve it. Yet after I had long been satisfied that it was idle to 
attempt its culture, I was one day amazed, while surveying in the 
woods a few miles from the city, at coming upon a little group 
of beech trees comprising some twenty or thirty in all, of mature 
size and in full health and vigor. On examining the situation, to 
discover, if possible, an explanation of the phenomenon, I observed 
first that they stood in the bottom of a ravine so deep that their 
tops were scarcely even with its banks, while the wood which sur- 
rounded them extended more than a mile to the S. W., so that they 
were completely sheltered from the effects of the wind from that 
quarter. I have never been able to find or to hear of another beech 
tree anywhere in that region, and can only account for their pres- 
ence by supposing the seed to have been brought from a distance 
by birds, probably crows, jays or wild pigeons, and dropped acci- 
dentally on a spot, which proved to be a “coigne of vantage,” where 
they were safe from the enemy. The evidence thus afforded of the 
value of a screen on the S. W. side, should not be lost upon those 
wdio are selecting sites for orchards, or vineyards, and shows the 
importance when thinning a wood, of leaving whatever shubbery or 
foliage there may be on that side to arrest the progress of the wind. 
The work of pruning the trees which are to be preserved for tim- 
ber involves a careful consideration of the principles I have set 
forth, apart from the judgment required for the skilful performance 
of the mere manual labor. The object in view being the de- 
velopment of the bole, it is important to remove any limbs 
which threaten to become its rivals in size, if any such have be- 
come established before the work of improvement began. But 
after the trunk has attained the desired height, it is on all accounts 
desirable to deveiope the largest possible mass of foliage, because 
the making of wrood can only be effected by the elaboration of the 
sap, which is the work of the leaves. 
If one is rearing a new forest, in which the trees have been under 
his control from the time of planting, it must be the result of his own 
ignorance or negligence if he has failed to secure such forms as he 
desired, since it is easy to direct the growth of young trees, and 
prevent them from running into extravagances, which will unfit 
them for service as timber. And not unfrequently we may find a 
young wood of indigenous growth, which may be taken in hand and 
wrought into such shape that its future progress can be easily di- 
rected. But, for the most part, in woods that have been suffered to XIV 
run wild till they have approached maturity, a good deal of skilful 
pruning will be required to bring the individual trees that are to 
be preserved into such form as will give them most value. Nothing 
but practice and careful observation can confer this power. The 
little treatise of DesCars on the pruning of forest and ornamental 
trees, translated by Mr. C. S. Sargent, of the Arnold Arboretum, 
and published by A. Williams & Co., of Boston, (price 75 cents ) 
contains full and explicit illustrated directions for all the manual 
work of pruning, and is invaluable as a guide to the novice, and a 
work of reference to experienced foresters. But mere manual skill 
in the performance of the work will be of little avail without the 
application of a thorough knowledge of the principles of tree growth, 
and a strict compliance with the requirements of their nature. 
If our agriculturists will but apply to the management of their 
forests the same intelligence with which they direct the culture 
of other farm crops, they will find an equally ready response 
to their efforts. The farmer who should leave his field of corn or 
potatoes to shift for itself, or suffer his cattle and hogs to ramble 
through it at will, would be justly sneered at by his neighbors and 
punished by the loss of his crop—and trees have no more capacity 
for self-management than corn or other vegetables, and are quite as 
ready to profit by judicious culture, and to yield returns corres- 
ponding to the care bestowed upon them. They are not liable to 
be utterly destroyed, as corn is, by the incursions of live stock, but 
they do suffer serious injury from the trampling and rooting up of 
the ground. I have seen beautiful groves of oaks in Iowa full of 
dead and dying trees, and, on asking the cause, have been told that 
the native woods “can’t stand civilization,” but always die out when 
cattle begin to run in them; and I am told that, in Kentucky and 
elsewhere in the South, the young growth is found to contain only 
the inferior varieties of oaks, as the swine running in the woods 
seek and greedily eat the acorns of the white oak, on account of 
their superior sweetness. Has anyone ever estimated the cost of 
raising hogs on such food? 
I have endeavored, in the preceding pages, to confine myself 
to the special features of forest growth which need to be re- 
garded in the effort to develop and improve a native wood, wher- 
ever it may be. The planting and culture of an artificial forest 
is quite another affair, and I have made no allusion to it because 
my special object has been, if possible, to urge the fact, and 
arouse attention to it, that we still have vast resources of latent 
wealth on every side, susceptible of development by proper man- 
agement, which we are everywhere suffering to run to waste. 
The work of planting and rearing artificial forests can not indeed 
be urged too strongly, and there is no danger of its being overdone. 
But the conviction of its necessity can be more readily and forcibly 
impressed upon the popular mind by an illustration of the possi- 
bilities of forest culture, when applied to our native woods, than by 
any other means. The need of further progress by artificial plant- 
ing will speedily become obvious, and will follow in natural course. 
It has been asserted, and with truth, that it is idle for us to 
establish schools of forestry, because there is no demand for fores- 
ters, and consequently no stimulus to the acquirement of a knowl- XV 
edge of the theory and practise of the art. It will be time enough 
to establish such schools, it is said, when we have evidence that 
there are people who desire to avail themselves of the advantages 
they offer, and that will not be till there is a demand for the ser- 
vices of those who have done so. This is true, so far as it goes, 
but the next consideration is, how to create the demand. There was 
no demand a few years ago for telegraph operators, and when I 
was a boy there was no demand for railroad employes, for there 
were no railroads. How was the demand created ? By showing the 
importance of the results. Think of the time and labor expended 
by Morse and his associates before they could get permission to 
demonstrate the value of the electric telegraph by a line from Wash- 
ington to Baltimore. No general interest was felt in the scheme till 
its advantages were thus made manifest, because there was no real- 
izing conviction of its truth. And to-day we are in a similar posi- 
tion in reference to the question of forestry. The impending danger 
of the diminishing supply of timber is acknowledged by all who are 
familiar with the subject, but there is no realizing sense of it in the 
popular mind, and there is a want of confidence in the practicability 
of any of the proposed measures of relief. The first and most im- 
portant thing to do, therefore, is to stimulate popular interest by 
showing what can be done. To create a popular demand of any 
kind, it is essential first to demonstrate the value of its object. 
The men who are familiar with forest culture, know, as well as 
Morse knew the capability of the telegraph, that the wealth of the 
nation may be enormously increased by the proper development of 
the native woods already standing, but they can point to no evi- 
dence of the truth of their assertion, and the fact that it has not 
been done is regarded as proof of its impossibility. There is no 
such thing in the country as an illustrative example of what may 
be accomplished by timber culture, and very few of our citizens who 
visit Europe can appreciate the works which have there been 
achieved. They go abroad to study works of art, with the idea that 
we have nothing to learn in regard to natural productions, and the 
comparatively small number who grasp the conception of the grand 
possibilities of development which our forests offer to the exercise 
of such artificial culture as may there be seen, can do no more on 
their return than express their convictions and urge the importance of 
acting upon them. This they have done for many years past, but 
they have not succeeded in arousing such a popular conviction of 
the necessity as should enforce the action of their representatives to 
the point of making needful provision. The enormous and costly 
scale on which the work of planting new forests must be undertaken, 
in order to be effective, seems to throw a damper upon every effort 
to bring it to pass. 
If every owner of a wood lot could be convinced that its value 
might be enormously increased by a process which, so far from de- 
manding an outlay, would add to his annual income, it would not 
be long before farmers would consider it as derogatory to their rep- 
utation to leave the forests in the wild condition they now are, as 
they would to have a field of corn presenting a similar appearance 
of slovenliness. To produce such conviction the truth must be dem- 
onstrated in actual practice, and the cost of such demonstration XVI 
will be but a trifling price to pay for the returns it will bring. Let 
any State or city select a tract of woodland at some easily access- 
ible point, and put it under a proper course of management, as an 
experimental forest, and it would very soon excite an interest which 
could not fail to increase. A portion of it should be suffered to 
remain in its original, unimproved condition. Another part should 
be improved as ‘‘open park,” for the best development of individual 
trees in their fullest natural capacity of dignity and grace, and a 
third portion should be devoted to the production of timber by the 
process of thinning, pruning and proper culture. The progress of 
development could then be seen and watched from year to year in 
all its stages, and the demonstration thus afforded would touch the 
interest of every owner of a wood lot. The process would soon 
begin to be imitated, a conviction of the value and importance of a 
knowledge of forestry would become established in the popular 
mind, and the demand for the services of those who had acquired 
it would lead to a demand for the means of acquirement, and thus 
the schools of forestry would be called into existence by the natural 
course of events. 
The inauguration of such an experimental or illustrative forest as 
a means of exciting public interest is surely an object that is well 
worthy the consideration of legislative and municipal bodies, or of 
corporations whose interests are connected with this form of national 
wealth. The cost would be insignificant in comparison with that of 
planting and maintaining new forests, and the spur of personal 
interest would incite such general action as would add incalculably 
to the wealth of every State without further outlay than the cost 
of demonstration. 
It is of course desirable that the experimental forest should be as 
conspicuous and easily accessible to the public as possible, for which 
reason the vicinity of a city would seem the most appropriate 
point. And municipal bodies would be justified in making a liberal 
appropriation for the promotion of such an object, since it would 
certainly constitute, for great numbers of people, one of the princi- 
pal attractions of the city. The beneficial results which would fol- 
low, however, would add so largely to the substantial wealth and 
power of the State that its main support should be derived from 
legislative rather than municipal action. 
It is not, however, my province to discuss the means of effecting 
the work, beyond this general suggestion. 
I have aimed only to convey a conception of the rich resources 
which nature has placed at our disposal, if we choose to avail our- 
selves of her offer. 
I have made no statement in regard to forest growth which will 
not be recognized as true by all who are familiar with the subject, 
and all such persons will endorse my statement that, practically, the 
rules which govern the process are universally ignored. 
I have pointed out what I conceive to be the readiest means of 
awakening public attention and creating such general interest as 
will insure reform, and I leave to other hands the task of arranging 
the laws which must govern its execution.