But when evergreens are transplanted, it should always be done in the frozen ball, or in the clod, especially the white pine, spruce, hemlock or firs, and the more carefully it is done, the surer will be the success. Indeed, I have taken them up with a clod of earth about their roots, and transported them thirty miles, in a waggon, and planted them with as good success as I could reasonably ask for, and far better than I could have expected. But to take them up as we do small deciduous trees, without the clod of earth, the chance is comparatively small; and according to my experience and observation, twelve out of twenty will surely die. Now, the question arises in my mind, why should a chestnut tree he more difficult of removal than many other deciduous, and even evergreens. It is a native of our soil; it graces our noble forest, and crowns our highest hill, standing in the most bleak places, and seems to glory in its towering majesty, stretching out its mighty arms in defiance of the storm-warfare of centuries, till it sometimes attains to the size of ten feet in diameter.

I have grafted the chestnut with good success, and I have known the scions to grow from four to six feet in the first year; indeed, I think the success in grafting the chestnut to be fully equal to that of the apple, and any one who wishes to add usefulness to beau-ty, can do so with perfect safety, and improve their quality of chestnuts, by grafting. I do not wish to be lengthy in my remarks, but I have such a love for shadowy streets and lanes, especially on sultry days, that I cannot forbear to lay before your readers the result of an experiment of mine in bringing about this good work.

Four years ago I resolved to set a row of trees by the side of one of the lanes in our village. I accordingly measured the ground, and found that it required twenty trees. I thought I had a hard task to perform, and called on my neighbors to lend a hand in a public work, but I found that none had time to spare to aid or encourage such notions, so I resolved to do it alone. I went some little distance into the woods, to a fine little copse of rock maples, [or sugar maples] and in about five hours I succeeded in digging my number. The trees which I selected were about one inch and a half in diameter at the base; as they were sheltered by some aged pines, they grew remarkably slender, and seemed unable to sustain their own weight; and as there was a drouth in the fall, I teok them up with a clod of earth attached to them, and set them together by the side of a tree; not having conveyance at hand I left them there three or four days, when they were conveyed home. I cut their tops off to ten or eleven feet, not leaving a branch or scarcely a spur upon them. I set them upon light, gravelly ground, and when I dug the holes the earth was as dry as snuff.

I took heed not to cover the roots too deeply, but placed some stones on them, to prevent the frost from throwing them out, which answered a two-fold purpose, both to keep the tree firm, and to keep the soil pressed about the roots when the frost come out of it in the spring. I mention this, partly to show that this kind of tree will grow with less care in transplanting than some other varieties, though with more care, the better they will flourish. It was about a days' work to set them, and half a days' work to stake them up to guard against cattle. Counting time as money, the expense did not exceed three dollars; and though they set in an exposed, bleak place, I had but two failures, which were soon replaced. Some of them made a more rapid growth the first year than they would have done in their native forest. I have now the gratification of seeing as fine a row of trees as there is in the town, with the prospect of yearly additions to their beauty. On meeting my neighbors, some jocosely remarked that I had got my bean-poles set in season; while others said with a sneer, "I guess they will grow like beanpoles." I was, however, so elated with my success, that I resolved to set a row on the opposite side of the lane> which I did in a year two after.

This was attended with a little more expense, and better success. I got trees varying from two to three inches in diameter, and planted them in the same way. There are fifty-five trees in all. They have all flourished well, and bid fair to add much beauty to the landscape, and afford as pleasant a shade as one could wish; may others, interested in the beauty of shadowy lanes, go and do likewise. How many there are who spend three times as much money for that which is useless, and a great deal more time than it would require to plant a hundred such trees, landscape, would, in process of time, in many places, turn the bleakest spots to gardens of Paradise.

To resume my topic, I took those trees from a sheltered situation, and placed them in a position where the bleak north-westerly winds had a fair sweep at them, and old Boreas has not neglected to open his battery of hail, frost, and snow, upon these juvenile sons of the forest, but they are unscathed, and spring annually decks them in a drapery of the finest foliage.

Some years ago, I resolved to set a row of trees near the Tillage, on the edge of a meadow. I chose the sugur maple, and planted a fine line of trees, which flourished for a season and then died. I reset the row for several years, but without success. I then carted two or three loads of good soil to each hole, and then set them on the mounds thus raised. They now thrive well; but when their roots extend beyond the mounds, will they continue to flourish, or will they grow mossy and die?

In conclusion, I will venture to predict that whoever plants rock maples in clear meadow land, with an expectation of seeing them flourish, will be sadly disappointed. This is because they flourish in low, wet land, where the land is hard, and even do well in running water and ditch banks; and they will flourish in moist land, (like willows planted by the water course,) where the soil is not meadow mud. Yours truly, A. Collier.

South Groton, Mass., Dee. 28, 1850