It produces millions of leaves, but every one is
awl-shaped--subulate. Woods have many odors--sickening, aromatic,
balsamic, medicinal. We go to the other side of the world to bring the
odor of sandal or camphor to our nostrils. But amid so many odors our
seed will make but one. It is resinous, like some of those odors the
Lord enjoyed when they bathed with their delicious fragrance the cruel
saw that cut their substance, and atmosphered with new delights the one
who destroyed their life. The big tree, with subtle chemistry no man
can imitate, always makes its fragrance with unerring exactness.
[Illustration: The Big Trees.]
There are thousands of seeds finished with a perfectness and beauty we
are hardly acute enough to discover. The microscopist revels in the
forms of the dainty scales of its armor and the opalescent tints of its
color. The sunset is not more delicate and exquisite. But the big
tree never makes but one kind of seed, and leaves no one of its
thousands unfinished.
The same is true of bark, grain of wood, method of putting out limbs,
outline of the mass, reach of roots, and every other peculiarity. It
discriminates.
But how does it build itself? Myriads of rootlets search the
surrounding country for elements it needs for making bark, wood, leaf,
flower, and seed. They often find what they want in other
organizations or other chemical compounds.
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