It is not their bones or hide or tallow that I love most. It is the living spirit of the tree, not its spirit of turpentine, with ...which I sympathize, and which heals my cuts. It is as immortal as I am, and perchance will go to as high a heaven, there to tower above me still.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Is it the lumberman, then, who is the friend and lover of the pine, stands nearest to it, and understands its nature best? Is it t...he tanner who has barked it, or he who has boxed it for turpentine, whom posterity will fable to have been changed into a pine at last? No! no! it is the poet.... All the pines shudder and heave a sigh when that man steps on the forest floor.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
To preserve wild animals implies generally the creation of a forest for them to dwell in or resort to. So it is with man. A hundre...d years ago they sold bark in our streets peeled from our own woods. In the very aspect of those primitive and rugged trees there was, methinks, a tanning principle which hardened and consolidated the fibres of men's thoughts. Ah! already I shudder for these comparatively degenerate days of my native village, when you cannot collect a load of bark of good thickness, and we no longer produce tar and turpentine.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »