The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 02, No. 12, October, 1858: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 02, No. 12, October, 1858: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
You see, of course, that I am talking in a cheap way;--perhaps we will
have some philosophy by and by;--let me work out this thin mechanical
vein.--I have something more to say about trees, I have brought down
this slice of hemlock to show you. Tree blew down in my woods (that
were) in 1852. Twelve feet and a half round, fair girth;--nine feet,
where I got my section, higher up. This is a wedge, going to the
centre, of the general shape of a slice of apple-pie in a large and not
opulent family. Length, about eighteen inches. I have studied the
growth of this tree by its rings, and it is curious. Three hundred and
forty-two rings. Started, therefore, about 1510. The thickness of the
rings tells the rate at which it grew. For five or six years the rate
was slow,--then rapid for twenty years. A little before the year 1550
it began to grow very slowly, and so continued for about seventy years.
In 1620 it took a new start and grew fast until 1714; then for the most
part slowly until 1786, when it started again and grew pretty well and
uniformly until within the last dozen years, when it seems to have got
on sluggishly.
Look here. Here are some human lies laid down against the periods of
its growth, to which they corresponded. This is Shakspeare's. The tree
was seven inches in diameter when he was born; ten inches when he died.
A little less than ten inches when Milton was born; seventeen when he
died. Then comes a long interval, and this thread marks out Johnson's
life, during which the tree increased from twenty-two to twenty-nine
inches in diameter. Here is the span of Napoleon's career;--the tree
doesn't seem to have minded it.
I never saw the man yet who was not startled at looking on this
section. I have seen many wooden preachers,--never one like this. How
much more striking would be the calendar counted on the rings of one of
those awful trees which were standing when Christ was on earth, and
where that brief mortal life is chronicled with the stolid apathy of
vegetable being, which remembers all human history as a thing of
yesterday in its own dateless existence!
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