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300 True acacias. 150 Bibeaux. 84 Avocayers. 10 Baobabs. 180 Bibaciers. 80 Bilembiers. 300 Badamiers. 17 Brindaonniers. 86 Cocoa-nut trees. 50 Camphor trees. 104 Caneficiers. 148 Caramboliers aigres. 50 Ditto doux. 10 Quince trees. 200 Dolbiers. 20 Foccias. 4163 Clove trees. 50 Illipes. 50 Jamiers. 12 Jaquiers, large kind. 8 Jambou boles. 3000 Jambou rosadiers. 92 Lataniers nains de la chine. 23 Longaniers. 20 Lit-chis, grosse espee. 36 Sapotes, negros de Moluquas. 30 Tata-mapacas of Madagascar. 3000 Small voakoas. 80 Mangostans. 56 Molavis. 1544 Nutmeg trees. 218 Sweet oranges. 4 Peach trees. 50 Perchers. 40 Rangoustans. 400 Rouffias. 40 Savonniers des Antillas. 80 Spirceas de la China. 300 Sagoutiers. 145 Wova-jourindis of Madagascar 40 Wouau guasailliers.
Here, growing in picturesque irregularity, were fifty or sixty old peach, nectarine, apricot, plum, and cherry trees, their boles double the thickness of a man's thigh; they had never been disfigured by the pruner's knife or saw, and their enormous size and rough bark, overgrown with grey lichen, gave them an appearance of great antiquity.
At intervals, where the dripping from over-hanging boughs had worn the road into dangerous hollows, boles of young saplings had been placed cross-wise in a corduroy pattern, and above them clouds of small belated butterflies drifted in the wind like blown yellow rose leaves.
Thus ended my first love scrape. In the winter of 1856-57 my father, in company with a man named J.C. Boles, went to Cleveland, Ohio, and organized a colony of about thirty families, whom they brought to Kansas and located on the Grasshopper. Several of these families still reside there. It was during this winter that father, after his return from Cleveland, caught a severe cold.
A mile farther and he had entered the forest of pines through which the road lay, winding and twisting to avoid the boles of the larger trees or the big scattered boulders which were many upon the steepening slope. Now he could seldom see more than a hundred yards in front of him, and now he had left the stifling heat behind him for the cool shadows which made a dim twilight of midday.
Then away northward, through the deep, trestled swamps, leagues and leagues, across Bayou La Branche and Bayou Desair, and Pass Manchac and North Manchac, and Pontchatoula River two or three times; and out of the swamps and pine barrens into the sweet pine hills, with their great resinous boles rising one hundred two hundred feet overhead; over meadows and fields and many and many a beautiful clear creek, and ten or more times over the winding Tangipahoa, by narrow clearings, and the old tracks of forgotten hurricanes, and many a wide plantation; until more than two hundred miles from the great city, still northward across the sinking and swelling fields, the low, dark dome of another State's Capitol must rise amid spires and trees into the blue, and the green ruins of fortifications be passed, and the iron roads be found branching west, north, and east.
I had given them two minutes' start at least, and by this time they might easily have passed the bend. Threading my way swiftly between the boles of the olive trees, I skirted the road to the edge of the stream and stood for a moment at pause before stepping out upon the footbridge and into the moonlight.
Round the boles of the trees the snow had begun to thaw, which gave me a chance to measure its depth, by leaning over the rim of the cup and thrusting my pole down as far as I could reach. The point of it must have been over seven feet from the surface, and it touched no bottom.
Why speak of anything I could do for you and Grace? How could I serve myself in any surer way? As schoolgirls say, 'I won't speak to you again. I'm going to prowl around a little, and see that all is right;" and he disappeared among the shadowy boles of the trees. When he returned from his rounds his friend was sleeping, but uneasily, with sudden fits and starts.
The slant sunlight glinted through the jungle and bathed us with its glory of golden-green. The shining boles of the silvery gray birch shot up straight, and the white birch unrolled its patches of dead pallor in the sombre, untrodden depths. The spruces quivered like pure jellies tipped with light, sunshine prisoned in every green crystal.
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