anniversary in which humanity looks futureward instead of pastward, in which there is a consensus of thought for those who are to come after us, instead of reflections concerning those who have gone before us. It is a practical anniversary. It is a beautiful anniversary. To the common schools of the country I confide its perpetuation and usefulness with the same abiding faith that I would commit the acorn to the earth, the tree to the soil, or transmit the light on the shore to far off ships on the waves beyond, knowing certainly that loveliness, comfort, and great contentment shall come to humanity everywhere because of its thoughtful and practical observance by all the civilized peoples of the earth.

J. Sterling Morton.

LEAVES, AND WHAT THEY DO.

The leaves of the trees afford an almost endless study and a constant delight. Frail, fragile things, easily crumpled and torn, they are wonderful in their delicate structure, and more wonderful if possible on account of the work which they perform.

They are among the most beautiful things offered to our sight. Some one has well said that the beauty of the world depends as much upon leaves as upon flowers. We think of the bright colors of flowers and are apt to forget or fail to notice the coloring of leaves. But what a picture of color, beyond anything that flowers can give us, is spread before our sight for weeks every autumn, when the leaves ripen and take on hues like those of the most gorgeous sunset skies, and the wide landscape is all aglow with them. A wise observer has called attention also to the fact that the various kinds of trees have in the early springtime also, only in a more subdued tone, the same colors which they put on in the autumn. If we notice the leaves carefully, we shall see that there is a great variety of color in them all through the year. While the prevailing color, or the body color so to speak, is green, and the general tone of the trees seen in masses is green—the most pleasant of all colors to be abidingly before the sight—this is prevented from becoming dull or somber because it comprises almost innumerable tints and shades of the self-same color, while other distinct colors are mingled with it to such an extent as to enliven the whole foliage mass. Spots of yellow, of red, of white, and of intermediate colors are dashed upon the green leaves or become the characteristic hues of entire trees, and so there is brought about an endless variety and beauty of color.

Then there is the beauty of form, size, position, and arrangement. Of the one hundred and fifty thousand or more known species of trees, the leaves of each have a characteristic shape. The leaves of no two species are precisely alike in form. More than this is also true. No two leaves upon the same tree are in this respect alike. While there is a close resemblance among the leaves of a given tree, so that one familiar with trees would not be in doubt of their belonging to the same tree, though he should see them only when detached, yet there is more or less variation, some subtle difference in the notching or curving of the leaf-edge perhaps, so that each leaf has a form of its own. These differences of shape in the leaves are a constant source of beauty.

What a variety of size also have the leaves, from those of the birches and willows to those of the sycamores, the catalpas and the paulownias. On the same tree also the leaves vary in size, those nearest the ground and nearest the trunk being usually larger than those more remote. How different as to beauty would the trees be if their leaves were all of the same size; how much less pleasing to the sight.

Then what a wide difference is there in the position of the leaves on the trees and their relative adjustment to each other? Sometimes they grow singly, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in whirls or clusters. Some droop, others spread horizontally, while others still are more or less erect. The leaves of some trees cling close to the branches, others are connected with the branches by stems of various length and so are capable of greater or less movement. The leaves of poplars and aspens have a peculiarly flattened stem, by reason of which the slightest breath of wind puts them in motion.

These are some of the most obvious characteristics of the leaves, and by which they are made the source of so much of the beauty of the world in which we live. It will be a source of much pleasure to anyone who will begin now, in the season of swelling buds and opening leaves, to watch the leaves as they unfold and notice their various forms and colors and compare them one with another. There is no better way of gaining valuable knowledge of trees than this, for the trees are known by their leaves.

But let us turn now from their outward appearance and consider what is done by them, for the leaves are among the great workers of the world, or, if we may not speak of them as workers, a most important work is done in or by means of them, a work upon which our own life depends and that of all the living tribes around us.

Every leaf is a laboratory, in which, by the help of that great magician, the sun, most wonderful changes and transformations are wrought. By the aid of the sun the crude sap which is taken up from the ground is converted by the leaves into a substance which goes to build up every part of the tree and causes it to grow larger from year to year; so that instead of the tree making the leaves, as we commonly think, the leaves really make the tree.

Leaves, like other parts of the plant or tree, are composed of cells and also of woody material. The ribs and veins of the leaves are the woody part. By their stiffness they keep the leaves spread out so that the sun can act upon them fully, and they prevent them also from being broken and destroyed by the winds as they otherwise would be. They serve also as ducts or conduits by which the crude sap is conveyed to the leaves, and by which when it has there been made into plant food, it is carried into all parts of the tree for its nourishment. Protected and upheld by these expanded woody ribs, the body of the leaf consists of a mass of pulpy cells arranged somewhat loosely, so that there are spaces between them through which air can freely pass. Over this mass of cells there is a skin, or epidermis as it is called, the green surface of the leaf. In this there are multitudes of minute openings, or breathing pores, through which air is admitted, and through which also water or watery vapor passes out into the surrounding atmosphere. In the leaf of the white lily there are as many as 60,000 of these openings in every square inch of surface and in the apple leaf not fewer than 24,000. These breathing pores, called stomates, are mostly on the under side of the leaf, except in the case of leaves which float upon the water. There is a beautiful contrivance also in connection with these pores, by which they are closed when the air around is dry and the evaporation of the water from the leaves would be so rapid as to be harmful to the tree, and are opened when the surrounding atmosphere is moist.

The green color of the leaves is owing to the presence in the cells of minute green grains or granules, called chlorophyll, which means leaf-green, and these granules are indispensable to the carrying on of the important work which takes place in the leaves. They are more numerous and also packed more closely together near the upper surface of the leaf than they are near the lower. It is because of