“The Pyncheon Elm, throughout its great circumference, was all alive, and full of the morning sun
and a sweet-tempered little breeze, which lingered within this verdant sphere, and set a thousand leafty
tongues a-whispering all at once. This ages tree appeared to have suffered nothing from the gale.
It has kept its boughs unshattered, and its full complement of leaves, and the whole in perfect verdure,
except a single branch, that, by the earlier change with which the elm-tree sometimes prophesies the autumn,
had been transmuted to bright gold.”