Few things in general use in the great world to-day have the hall-mark of approval of two thousand years set upon them. New materials, new processes, new commodities have followed the train of advancing civilization and the ensuing multiplication and alteration of man’s economic needs. Even where the demand for a certain material to fulfill a particular function has continued through the centuries, widening knowledge of natural resources coupled with modern invention has usually found some substitute cheaper, more efficient, and better adapted for the purpose in question. Not so with cork. Recognized by the ancients as peculiarly suited for certain uses, time has vindicated their verdict; nothing has yet been discovered to supplant it in its wide sphere of usefulness.
Theophrastus, Greek philosopher and writer on botany, who flourished in the fourth century before Christ, was evidently familiar with the material, for he mentions the cork tree as being a native of the Pyrenees. For decades before the time of Horace cork was used for stoppers for wine vessels. In fact, the poet tells one of his friends, about 25 B. C., that on the occasion of a coming anniversary banquet he expects to “remove the cork sealed with pitch” from a jar of the rare vintage of forty-six years previous, the first but not the last proceeding of this character of which history makes record.
Gnarled Trunk of an Old Cork Oak
It remained for the elder Pliny, however, in his wonderful work on natural history, written in the first century of the Christian era, to make the most remarkable reference to cork to be found in ancient literature: “The cork oak is but a very small tree and its acorns of the very worst quality * * *; the bark is its only useful product, being remarkably thick, and if removed will grow again * * *.
