This glorious tree, with its few broken
limbs and scanty foliage, wears signs of many a wintry combat
and summer winds surprise attacks "as heroes their scars,"
unbending still through all those years of toil and strife.
Perhaps a few more years and this venerable tree shall yield to
some wintry blast; its present site to be marked by a monument
of bronze or marble. But how much more fitting would it be to
plant a young tree where the old one stood. This would be a
living monument where its cooling shadows would still fall upon
the weary travelers "like a benediction on the road of life."
Here pilgrims from Maine to California's farthest bounds might
some day rest beneath its beneficent branches. We fancy how they
will gaze in admiration at a new tree, whose symmetrical gray
trunk rises like a mighty fluted column, from which graceful
limbs spread out to form a glorious canopy. Its serrated leaves,
each an emerald in that vast corona of verdure, will become in
autumn a topaz in its gleaming crest. When the snows of many
winters shall have clothed its slender, drooping branches with
clinging drapery of star flowers and many springs thatched its
myriad twigs with emerald that droop like sprays of art, it too
shall grow hoary and give way to some fierce blast, making room
for another and still more glorious Washington Elm.
Other places you surely will care to see are Old South Church,
often called the "Sanctuary of Freedom," lying between Milk and
Water streets.
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