The Lilac, though not one of our native trees, has become so generally naturalized in our fields and gardens as hardly to be distinguished from them except by its absence from the forest. It is common in all waste lands that were formerly the sites of ancient dwelling-houses, marking the spot where the garden was situated by its irregular clumps; for when neglected it does not assume the shape of a tree, but forms an assemblage of long stems from one spreading root, like the barberry and the sumach. Under favorable conditions it is a very handsome tree, seldom rising above twelve or fifteen feet, but displaying a round head, and covered in its season with a profusion of flowers, unfolding their beautiful pyramidal clusters regularly on the last week in May. The color of these flowers is perfectly unique, having given the name by which painters distinguish one of their most important tints. The foliage of this tree is not remarkable, except for the regular heart shape of the leaves. It displays no tints in the autumn, but falls from the tree while its verdure remains untarnished.
The Lilac is still cultivated and prized in all our country villages. But its praise is seldom spoken in these days, for Fashion, who refuses to acknowledge any beauty in what is common, discarded this tree as soon as it became domesticated in humble cottage gardens. Even the rose would long ago have been degraded from its ancient honors by this vulgar arbiter of taste, if it had not been multiplied into hundreds of varieties, permitting one after another to take its turn in monopolizing to itself those praises which are due to the primitive rose.
THE BARBERRY.
All the inhabitants of New England are familiar with the common Barberry, one of those humble objects of the landscape that possess great merit with little celebrity. It is allied in picturesque scenery with the whortleberry and the bramble. We see it in hilly pastures, upon soils less primitive than those occupied by the vaccinium, though it is not uncommon as an under-shrub in many of our half-wooded lands. I have not yet been able to obtain a definite idea of the nature of those qualities that entitle a plant to the praises of florists and landscape gardeners, since we find them admiring the ugly mahonia more than the common Barberry, and the glutinous and awkward rose-acacia more than the common locust. The praises of the Barberry have not been spoken; but if our landscape were deprived of this shrub, half the beauty of our scenery would be wanting in many places. Its flowers hanging from every spray in golden racemes, arranged all along in the axils of the leaves from the junction of the small branches to their extremities, always attract attention. But though elegant and graceful, they are not so conspicuous as the scarlet fruit in autumn. There is not in our fields a more beautiful shrub in October, when our rude New England hills gleam with frequent clumps of them, following the courses of the loose stone walls and the borders of rustic lanes. Even after it is stripped of its fruit, the pale red tints of its foliage render it still an attractive object in the landscape.
THE MISSOURI CURRANT.
Among the flowering shrubs which are universally admired for the fragrance and beauty of their early blossoms, the Missouri Currant deserves more than a passing mention. Though introduced into New England since the beginning of the present century, it has become a universal favorite in our gardens, where it is cultivated chiefly for the agreeable odor of its flowers, resembling that of cloves, and penetrating the air on all still days in May. This shrub has a small leaf with irregular pointed lobes, turning to a pale crimson in autumn. The flowers are in small racemes like those of the common garden currant, but brighter in their hues, which are of a golden yellow, and producing only a few large berries of a pure shining black. This species is chiefly prized for its flowers, and is not cultivated for its fruit.
THE CEANOTHUS, OR JERSEY TEA.
The Ceanothus was formerly well known to the people of the United States under the name of Jersey Tea. Its leaves were extensively used as an imitation tea during the Revolution. They seem to possess no decided medicinal qualities, being somewhat astringent, slightly bitter, but not aromatic. It has been learned from experience that the aromatic plants, by constant use as teas, will pall upon the appetite, and injuriously affect digestion; while those which are slightly bitter, but wanting in aroma, like the China tea plant, may be used without seriously affecting the health for an indefinite space of time. I believe it may also be stated as a maxim, that those plants whose properties are sufficiently active to be used as medicines have never been long employed by any people as substitutes for tea.
The flowers of the Ceanothus are white, in full and elegant clusters, without any formality of shape, having a downy appearance, always attracting attention, not so much by their beauty as by their delicacy and their profusion. This plant is abundant in New England, flowering in June on the borders of dry woods.