Thus we shall have a planet composed of several solid fragments held together only by their mutual attractions, but the rotary movement of these will, according to the French philosopher, become unequal, as “the fragments present different densities, and are situated at unequal distances from the centre; some will be accelerated, others retarded; they will rub against each other, and grind away those portions which have the weakest cohesion.” The fragments thus worn off will, “at the end of sufficient time, girdle with a complete ring the central star.” At this stage the fragments become real meteors, and then perform all the meteoric functions excepting the seed-carrying of Sir W. Thomson.
It would be an easy task to demolish these speculations, though not within the space of one of my letters. A glance at the date of this paper, and the state of Paris and the French mind at the time, may, to some extent, explain the melancholy relish with which the Parisian philosopher works out his doleful speculations. Had the French army marched vigorously to Berlin, I doubt whether this paper would ever have found its way into the “Comptes Rendus.” After the fall of Paris, and the wholesale capitulation of the French armies, it was but natural that a patriotic Frenchman, howsoever strong his philosophy, should speculate on the collapse of all the stars, and the general winding-up of the universe.
THE DYING TREES IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.
A great many trees have lately been cut down in Kensington Gardens, and the subject was brought before the House of Commons at the latter part of its last session. In reply to Mr. Ritchie’s question, Mr. Adam, the then First Commissioner of Works, made explanations which, so far as they go, are satisfactory—but the distance is very small. He states that all who have watched the trees must have seen that their decay “has become rapid and decided in the last two years,” that when the vote for the parks came on many “were either dead or hopelessly dying,” that in the more thickly planted portions of the gardens the trees were dead and dying by hundreds, owing to the impoverished soil and the terrible neglect of timely thinning fifty or sixty years ago.
Knowing the sensitiveness of the public regarding tree-cutting, Mr. Adam obtained the co-operation of a committee of experts, consisting of Sir Joseph Hooker, Mr. Clutton, and Mr. Thomas, “so distinguished as a landscape gardener,” and the late First Commissioner of Works. They had several meetings, and, as Mr. Adam informs us, “the result has been a unanimous resolution that we ought to proceed at once to clear away the dead and dying trees.” This is being done to the extent of “an absolute clearance” in some places, and the removal of numerous trees all over the gardens. We are further told that “the spaces cleared will either be trenched, drained, and replanted, or will be left open, as may appear best.” Mr. Adam adds that “the utmost care is being used in the work; that not a tree is being cut that can properly be spared; and that every effort will be made to restore life to the distinguished trees that are dying.”
I have watched the proceedings in Kensington Gardens and also in Bushey Park, and have considerable difficulty in describing the agricultural vandalism there witnessed, and expressing my opinion on it, without transgressing the bounds of conventional courtesy towards those who are responsible. I do not refer to the cutting down of the dead and dying trees, but to the proceedings by which they have been officially and artificially killed by those who ought to possess sufficient knowledge of agricultural chemistry to understand the necessary consequences of their conduct.
About forty years have elapsed since Liebig taught to all who were able and willing to learn that trees and other vegetables are composed of two classes of material: 1st, the carbon and elements of water derived from air and rain; and 2d, the nitrogenous and incombustible saline compounds derived from the soil. The possible atmospheric origin of some of the nitrogen is still under debate, but there is no doubt that all which remains behind as incombustible ash, when we burn a leaf, is so much matter taken out of the soil. Every scientific agriculturist knows that certain crops take away certain constituents from the soil, and that if this particular cropping continues without a replacing of those particular constituents of fertility, the soil must become barren in reference to the crop in question, though other crops demanding different food may still grow upon it.
The agricultural vandalism that I have watched with so much vexation is the practice of annually raking and sweeping together the fallen leaves, collecting them in barrows and carts, and then carrying them quite away from the soil in which the trees are growing, or should grow. I have inquired of the men thus employed whether they put anything on the ground to replace these leaves, and they have not merely replied in the negative, but have been evidently surprised at such a question being asked. What is finally done with the leaves I do not know; they may be used for the flower-beds or sold to outside florists. I have seen a large heap accumulated near to the Round Pond.
Now, the leaves of forest trees are just those portions containing the largest proportion of ash; or, otherwise stated, they do the most in exhausting the soil. In Epping Forest, in the New Forest, and other forests where there has been still more “terrible neglect of timely thinning,” the trees continue to grow vigorously, and have thus grown for centuries; the leaves fall on the soil wherein the trees grow, and thus continually return to it all they have taken away.