LONDON TREES.
IR HERBERT M &X WELL, in an interesting letter to 0 the Times, gives the result of his observations of the effects of the dry summer upon the London trees. Those which have suffered least are the planes, which have shed many leaves, but retain the others fresh and green ; the aspens and poplars, which have a mechanical protection against the heat in glands which lie on both surfaces of the leaf, while the oak, ash, and beech have them on one side only ; the ailanthus, and the acacia. The limes, horse-chestnuts, and wych-elms, on the other hand, have already lost nearly all their leaves ; and Sir Herbert Maxwell considers that this is evidence of their unsuitability for planting in towns, and recommends his conclusion to the notice of the Office of Works,Isnd of those in charge of London gardens and squares. With regard to the wych-elm----a species readily distin- guished from the common elm by its more willowy branches and larger leaves—the objection is one which will hold good not only in this but in all summers. But in defence of the horse-chestnut and the lime, it must be remembered that the first is almost the earliest of London trees to come into leaf, and that this year it was out a full month before its time The horse-chestnut, from the first sunny days of early spring, when the sight of its sticky buds, and the smell of soot and wallflowers, suggest to the Londoner that winter is past, throughout its later glories of white or red blossom, and down to the early days of autumn, when the ripe chestnuts come ,dropping from the pods, is perhaps the favourite tree of Londoners,--certainly, of London children ; the horse-shoe and the nails upon its bark, the glutinous sheaths of its leaves, its exquisite blossom, and the richly coloured, polished nut, lying inside the white-lined case like a red sard in a cushion of satin, are invitations to look and to think, which are seldom made in vain. The horse-chestnut appeals irresistibly to children, as well as to " grown-ups," to use their eyes, and on this, if on no other ground, its planting and preservation .in cities deserves encouragement. The limes, it is true, do Jose their leaves, and so rob us of their mellow autumn glow, But few people would, on this account, forego the enjoyment of the tender young green, through which their smoke- blackened branches show, like a background of jet trellis, or fail to miss the ,honey-sweet scent of the blossom, and the murmur of the London bees in the limes at midsummer.
Even the short list of names quoted by Sir Herbert Max- well suggests that the number and variety of London trees is increasing, and not decreasing, in spite of all that may be said against the London atmosphere. The plane, though well known for its beauty, was not a common tree in London forty years ago ; and the poplar, ailanthus, and black-alder, were almost unknown. Judging by the present size and condition of the various species, the elm, was formerly the only common tree of London, native to the soil, though nowhere reaching any great size on the Middlesex side, within the limits of London proper, and only rising to a considerable height in the low ground at the extreme western corner of Kensington Gardens. Street-names are no bad guide to the names of the trees which once adorned the sites now occupied by houses, .and there are a hundred such names as Elm Gardens, Elm Park, Elm Grove, Nine Elms, and the like, to one which records the existence of the oak, the ash, or the beech. The woods in which the Bishops of London had the right to feed two thousand swine must have been on the Surrey side, or on the northern heights by Enfield Chase, where the oak and beech still flourish, and not on the elm-bearing gravels of the Middlesex shore of the Thames. There are abundant signs of a great advance on this early Victorian monotony of elms, not only in the parks, but in the streets and public gardens which are springing up throughout and around the Metropolis. No better evidence of this could be found than the contrast presented by the view eastwards from the Round Pond at Kensington Palace, with the newer plantations and walks on the fringe of the Gardens. The trees seen from the Round Pond are by far the most creditable monument left by the early planters of the parks. Their guiding idea VirtIS to reproduce on a small scale the forest scenes of Versailles or Fontainebleau, where a number of vistas cut in the forests meet at a point opposite the principal front of the palace. In the French forests, the spaces between each of the vistas are generally occupied by trees of different species ; and this is reproduced at Ken- sington, where limes, horse-chestnuts, or elms line the avenues in masses, Most of these trees have arrived at their full growth, or rather, at such dimensions as the soil will support. A. very few small, scrubby oaks, some of which are now covered with acorns, and the remains of a fine grove of Spanish chest- nuts coeval with the elms in the Broad Walk, complete the list of pre-Victorian trees. The writer fails to find a single ash, or beech, or even a poplar or a hornbeam. Near the upper waters of the Serpentine are two fine young oaks of good size, and some vigorous young beech- trees ; but the last cannot be more than thirty years old. Looking back from the east side of the upper Serpentine, the outlines of the trees upon the opposite bank are very bold and striking when seen against the glow of the setting sun. But in nearly every case the tall and branching limbs are those of the common English elm, The change from the monotony of the old to the variety of the new tree- life of the Parke, is at once obvious to any one who will skirt the shore of the upper Serpentine and return by the beautiful shaded walks which lead past the Albert Memorial to Ken- sington High Street. There the question which immediately suggests itself is no longer "What trees can be made to grow " but " What species exists which does not flourish in the London smoke f " Weeping-ashes, into which the peafowl are flying up to roost, droop over the water. Long avenues of beautiful young planes have shot up into trees fifty feet high. The pale-green weeping-willows, and gnarled black-alders do not yet show the hand of autumn, though the forms of the wood- pigeons can be seen clearly among the bare boughs of the ragged old wyeh-elms. The whole eastern shore of the Serpentine seems fringed with silver-birches, lanrustinus, and planes, while in the distance the pinnacles and turreted roofs of the monster flats at Albert Gate rise like the Chilean of Chambord from a confused mass of foliage. The trees in the side-walks on the lower side of the Garden deserve a more minute study. Opposite the Memorial grows what we believe to be the first cedar-tree west of St. Paul's. It is a tradition among tree-planters that the firs, pines, and cedars were the first trees to be destroyed by the smoke. Certainly there are very few of them in or near London, though the cedars of Hammersmith and West Kensington were once, as those at Chiswick. House are now, almost unequalled in England.
If the gardeners are right, the range of the cedar should mark the limits within which the air is sufficiently pure for the general health of trees. But though nearly all the fine cedars which grew in Hammersmith and West Kensington have disappeared, possibly because the ground was wanted for building purposes, this fine young tree does not seem to suffer in any way, though fully two miles nearer to the heart of London. The bark is certainly black, and when rubbed with a sheet of white paper leaves a stain of soot, which is perhaps all the darker for the rainless summer. But its leaves, when sub- mitted to the same test, are no dirtier than those of the delicately green weeping-birch which is its neighbour ; and the sap which exudes from its stem where a limb has been lopped shows a plethora of health and vigour. The rougher bark of the cedars must afford a readier lodging to the soot, than the smoother stems of the limes or the deciduous bark of the plane. Bat unless the soil of the parks is less admirably suited to the cedar than that of the western suburbs, the experiment of planting these stately trees would seem worth repeating. A grove of young weeping-birches stands opposite Kensington Gore, and masses of the beautiful wild-clematis, or "old man's beard," of the hedgerows, are already whitening with autumn. Copper-beeches, ailanthus, thorns of many kinds, and a few fine hollies by no means exhaust the list of young and vigorous trees of recent date. The holly seems thoroughly suited to the London atmosphere ; it profits by the warmth and shelter of the houses, and its polished leaves are washed clear of soot by every shower. In the absence of the pines and cedars, the holly should be planted more frequently than it is for winter foliage.
There can be very little doubt that, so far, those responsible for the planting of London trees are moving on the right lines. The planes, which are now the dominant feature in the foliage of the Metropolis, are not only healthy, but likely to remain so. The few very large and old plane-trees which are found in some of the squares and on the lower side of Hyde Park, are still vigorous and in full growth, and there is no reason to suppose that the younger trees will fare worse. The ailanthus, with its long, dark, fern-like leaves, does not seem to be so common as it deserves to be ; but its numbers are increasing. Like the poplars, many of which are now growing fast in the Embankment Gardens, it is somewhat disappointing until it reaches maturity, when it attains a dignity and beauty not inferior to that of the acacia or the lime. Some few trees seem to be forgotten or out of favour which might well be added to the list. The Spanish chestnut, alone of all those now existing in the parks, attaining the dimensions of a timber-tree, a rapid grower, and unsurpassed for beauty of form and foliage, is no longer planted. A grove of young chestnut-timber would soon replace the large elms which were destroyed on the north side of Kensington Gardens some twelve years ago. Fruit- trees, especially the apple and the pear, will grow in any part of London, and both in blossom and in leaf are far more ornamental than scrubby elms or dwarfed limes. The acacia, which is now largely planted in the suburbs, should take the place of planes in many streets where the road is too narrow to admit th9 exuberant foliage of the latter. Lastly, the mulberry, the most beautiful of all fruit-trees except the medlar, might be planted with advantage in any private grounds, however small. London clay is the best and kind- liest soil for the mulberry, and the present writer has this year seen the branches of a mulberry-tree, planted twenty years ago, broken by the weight of their fruit, although standing in a London garden.
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