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"All outward wisdom yields to that within.
Whereof nor creed nor cannon holds the key; 
We only feel that we have been, 
And evermore shall be.
"And thus I know, by memories unfurled,
In rarer moods, and many a nameless sign,
That once in Time, and somewhere in the world,
I was a towering Pine."
When the writer was a "freshman medic" she acquired the spruce pillow fad—for were we not told by our professor of materia medica that tired brains may be soothed into forgetfulness of quizzes, "exams" and other horrors of medical college life by the fragrance of oleum pini sylvestris? No college "den" was complete without one or more spruce pillows. While my love for the pine tree was and is sufficiently general to include every branch of the very large pinus family, which embraces the spruce pillow variety, my preference naturally inclined me to want a pillow of the Georgia pine. No northern member of the pine family, I imagined, could possibly be more fragrant and soothing than its southern relative. Imbued with this idea, I wrote my mother to send me from Georgia to New York a bagful of needles of Georgia pine. 
The Pine-needle Basket Book
By Mary Jane McAfee