Meanwhile, the lesson of our experience is that we must still treat the European larch as a foreigner of great distinction. Let it never be exposed to contact with the Norway spruce, a useful tree in its way, but, commercially, not half the value of larch. Let it not be planted as a pure crop, but let it be mixed with other trees, as it is usually found in a wild state. There is no better companion for it than the beech, none, indeed, equal to that beneficent tree, owing to the manner in which it screens the soil from evaporation and radiation, and refreshes it with an abundant annual leaf fall. Finally, let the utmost care be bestowed upon the critical operation of planting; see that in removal from the nursery the roots are not suffered to get dry, as they often become when sent to a distance by rail; and let these roots be fairly spread in the pit dug for them, instead of being rammed in a bunch into a mere notch in the ground, as is too often done. It is worth much effort to retain such a desirable denizen of our woodlands in health and vigour.
Attention has been drawn within the last few years to the Western Larch (L. occidentalis) of North America, a tree which Douglas found in British Columbia in 1826, and mistook for Larix europæa. It has now, however, been recognised as a distinct species, the mightiest of the genus, reaching a height of 180, perhaps 200 feet.[22] In habit and outline it is very different from the European larch, still more so from the Japanese species, for the side branches, though horizontal, are short, which gives the tree a fine columnar habit. Owing to the great height of the trees in Montana and British Columbia, and to the cones opening and scattering the seed as soon as ripe, it is difficult to collect a supply of seed, which can only be done from trees in September. Dr. Henry visited Montana in the autumn of 1906 on purpose to obtain a supply. Unluckily, very few cones were formed that year; but a good supply was obtained in 1907, whereof I was given some. It germinated freely; the seedlings grew as rampantly as those of Japanese larch, forming beautifully rooted plants; I cleared the hardwood off three acres of good land, and planted it with 12,000 western larch, fine rooted plants, in the spring of 1910. The result has been discouraging; about 50 per cent. died outright, and by the end of 1914 the remainder have made poor growth. On the other hand, a dozen seedlings which Mr. Elwes sent me, raised from seed in 1904, and planted on moist but well-drained bottom land, have grown fast and well, being now 14 to 18 feet high. Evidently this tree, like the Sitka spruce, requires moist deep land; the other place, though far from being poor, was not wet enough for it.
There are three specimens of the western larch at Kew, one being 34 years planted and about 35 feet high; but the soil of Kew is too dry to nourish without much coddling a tree whereof all reports go to show that it demands so much moisture at its roots as would be fatal to the European and Japanese species. Sheltered valleys on the western side of Great Britain seem to be the likeliest environment for the development of this most valuable timber tree, and probably nearly all parts of Ireland.
The Yew
What the ash was to the Scots of old, the yew (Taxus baccata) was to the English; for while the ash furnished staves for the national weapon, the pike, which the Scots learnt to handle from their Flemish allies, the most powerful longbows were fashioned of yew, and it was as archers that the English excelled all other infantry until gunpowder came into general use. Even long after the smoke and stench of "villainous saltpetre" had altered the conditions of battle, much attention was given to archery in the English army. Despite the many Acts of Parliament enjoining the planting of yews, the supply had run short before Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, so that in 1571 it was enacted that bow-staves should be imported from the Continent (13 Eliz., c. xiv.).
Apart from military association, the yew is a tree of gloom, taking the place in British churchyards which the cypress, "like Death's lean lifted forefinger," occupies in Eastern cemeteries. Tennyson was least likely of poets to miss the significance of this tree's melancholy; at first he could recognise in it nothing else but that and its changelessness:
Old yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the underlying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.
Oh not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale!
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom.
Shakespeare received a similar impression: