The Stinging-Tree by J. K. Bloomfield

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, Cal. · Jan 28, 1886

"The Stinging-Tree."

By J. K. Bloomfield

"How many curious things there are in nature!" exclaimed Harry Webb, as he threw down the paper he had been reading.

"Yes, indeed!" replied his Aunt Mary, "There are many wonderful things in nature. But to what do you now especially allude?"

"I have just seen an account of the stinging-tree. Please do tell me more about it. Does it actually sting?"

"So it seems, Harry, from all accounts we have of it. Though called a tree, the Urtica gigas is more of a thrifty shrub; for in Australia, its native place, where it is very abundant, it is found in groves from two to three inches to fifteen or twenty feet in height. It is classed among the nettles. The leaves are alternate, large, and peculiar, from being covered with short, silvery hair, which, when shaken, emits a fine, pungent dust, most irritating to the skin and nostrils. We are told that if touched it causes acute pain of the arm, accompanied by a burning sensation, particularly in the shoulder and under the arm, where small lumps often rise.

"One writer says: 'The stinging-tree bears fruit of a pinkish flesh color, hanging in clusters so inviting that a stranger is irresistibly tempted to pluck it, but seldom more than once; for though the raspberry-like berries are harmless in themselves, some contact with the leaf is almost unavoidable. The blacks are said to eat the fruit; but for this I cannot vouch, though I have tasted one or two at odd times and found them very pleasant. The worst of this nettle is the tendency it exhibits to shoot up wherever a clearing has been effected. In passing through the wagon tracks cut through the scrub, great caution was necessary to avoid the young plants that cropped up even in a few weeks.' But, Harry, Providence, who watches over all, has caused this plant to emit a disagreeable odor, so one by using caution may avoid being stung."

"How very painful the sting must be. Does it last long, Aunt Mary?"

"A considerable time, I should think from all I hear. A traveler tells us that at times, while shooting wild turkeys in the groves, he has entirely forgotten the stinging-tree until made aware of its proximity by its smell, when, looking about, he has unexpectedly found himself in a little forest of them. Only once was he stung, and but slightly; but its effect, he says, was very curious. It left no mark; but the pain was maddening, and for months afterward, the part, when touched, was tender; also in rainy weather or when the spot got wet in washing.

"Though this stinging-tree leaves a most painful effect, it does not kill, as some poisonous things do. It is painful enough, however; for this same traveler assures us that he has seen a man who treats ordinary pain lightly, actually roll on the ground in agony after being stung."

"Does it torment animals in the same way, Aunt Mary?"

"Yes; horses have been known to become so maddened by the stinging-tree as to rush about frantic, and on any one attempting to approach them, to tear about open-mouthed, ready to bite. In some instances they have had to be shot. And dogs, too, rush about, whining piteously and biting pieces from the affected part. But, strange to say, it does not seem to injure cattle, which dash through the scrubs full of it, without receiving any damage. This fact is well known to all bushmen."

"I don't think I should like to come in contact with it," said Harry musingly. "It is well that it has a peculiar smell of its own to warn people of that country away from it."

"If all understood and took heed to the warning in time, Harry. But even when told about the odor and the effects of the sting, some are incredulous, others careless, and do not mind the warning. It is just so all over the world. There are some who seem utterly unwilling to listen to or profit by the experience or warning voice of another."

"Why, Aunt Mary, I should suppose any one in his senses, if told how dreadful this shrub is likely to sting, if too near it, would give it a wide berth. I'm sure I should, heedless as you sometimes say I am."

"Ah, Harry, that might be; but don't be too confident that you are any more certain to heed a warning voice than any other person. Just see how many people, though warned, dally with the wine-cup. It not only has a strong odor of its own, but the Bible, our guide through life, tells all who will listen: 'Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its color in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.'"

"Here you see, dear Harry, is a full warning, so that all who persistently partake of it know that at last it will sting like an adder, and in so doing destroy both soul and body. The immediate effects are not so great as from the stinging-tree, or a living serpent, but worse in actually destroying the human form."

Harry for a moment seemed to be in deep thought, then looking up to his Aunt Mary, he said with much emotion,—

"Aunt Mary, I shall not forget the account you have just given me of the stinging-tree, nor of that which stingeth like an adder, and is, as you say, still worse in its effects. And I shall try to steer clear of it all my life."

"And warn others from it, too, my dear boy, as you would from some deadly poison. 'None liveth unto himself;' we all have a work to do, and must ever strive by precept and example to accomplish what we can while here in the Master's vineyard."—J. K. Bloomfield, in N. Y. Observer.