THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

PRESENTED BY

PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND
MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID

VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

«^;, r*:'.

VOICES

PROM

THE WOODLANDS,

DESCRIPTIVE OF

FOREST TREES,

FERNS, MOSSES, AND LICHENS.
BY

MARY ROBERTS.

LONDON:
REEVE, BENHAM, AND REEVE,

KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND.
1850.

PRINTED BY REEVE, BENHAM, AND REEVE,
HEATHCOCK COURT, STRAND.

DEDICATED TO THE ADMIRERS

OF

WOODLAND SCENEKY,

IS DESIGNED

TO AWAKEN THE SYMPATHIES OF THOSE
WHO MAY HAVE PASSED HITHERTO

AMID
THE BEAUTIFUL SOLITUDES OF NATURE

UNMINDFUL
THAT EVERY TREE HATH ITS OWN HISTORY.

ivS517£9

PREFACE.

METHINKS I hear some one say, Why are things inanimate
thus fabled to speak ? Why not rather tell concerning their
properties and uses, and the places of their growth, without
having recourse to fiction? Be not chafed, courteous
Reader, but remember, that poets in all ages have preferred
to instruct mankind after the same manner ; that even the
Sacred Volume offers a precedent which cannot be objected
to ; — when Jotham, desiring to reprove the treachery of
the men of Shechem, went to the top of Mount Gerizim,

Vlll PREFACE.

and put forth a parable concerning the trees, who sought
for a king to rule over them.

Sanctioned, therefore, by the usages of antiquity, and,
above all, encouraged by the example above cited, I have
ventured to assign both speech and memory, with the love
of poetry and nature, to many an aged tree or sapling,
fern or way-side moss ; trusting that some who read, will
go forth into the woods, and learn to gladden their solitary
walks with associations of engrossing interest.

VOICES

THE WOODLANDS.

CHAPTER I.

LICHENS.

Upon this herbless rock a small grey Lichen
Did fix her home. She came with meek intent,
To hless her stern and sterile place of rest ;
And presently her gentle sisters followed,
Some vestal white, and some in robes of brown,
And some in yellow vestures, labouring all
At the same work, with tiny cups held out
To catch the rain-drops, and with mattocks small
To pierce the rock. And well did they effect
Their destined purpose.

A FEEBLE tribe are we, said a small voice from off a lichen-
dotted stone; and yet, Stranger, many a wildly- wooded spot,
where giant trees bend from their strong holds over rushing

2 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

torrents, owe their beauty and luxuriance to our unwearied
ministry.

Periods have been in this world's history, nor less in
that of isolated spots, when the rugged flanks of granite
rocks, desolate and herbless, uprose from out their depths.
Summer suns shone on them, and soft showers fell silently
upon them, from one season to another ; but no return did
those stern rocks yield, till the seeds of crustaceous lichens
— for such Linnasus calls us — were scattered by the winds
in fissures wrought by time or storms, and, spreading
gradually over the sterile surface, varied it with our multi-
farious tintings. Years passed on, and with them the ever-
recurring round of decay and renovation, till at length a
slight accumulation of fine earth became deposited. In
this, seeds pertaining to small plants were committed by the
wind, that random sower ! till, becoming in their turn a
richer kind of vegetable mould, innumerable mosses sprang
up, and produced a pleasant green turf fit for the reception
of larger plants. Among these rapidly appeared both grasses

LICHENS. O

and bright flowers, again to be succeeded by shrubs and
trees, till at length, after the lapse perchance of ages, ex-
tensive woodlands mantle in their luxuriance those bold
and precipitous rocks on which our small tribe first took root.
Take notice of our exceeding beauty, for although but
small, and seeming to form part of the stony mass to which
we cling, few among the vegetable tribes may equal us in
delicacy of form or tint. Look carefully, and you may
count at least nine species on the rough stone beside you,
among which is the violet-scented lichen, conspicuous for
its brilliant hue. Linnaeus speaks of this our brother, in
his tour through Oeland and East Gothland, as tinting the
stones, on either side his pathway, with a red pigment,
which, on being rubbed, became bright yellow, and yielded
a scent of violets ; whence the natives call them violet-
stones, though the stone itself is scentless. The same bright
lichen appears like blood-red stains on the stones of Holy-
well in Flintshire. Men in old times fancied such stains
were left when St. Winifred was martyred amid its rushing

B 2

4 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

waters; that the stream, though exceedingly rapid, and
hurrying from out its channel whatever tended to pollute
or to obstruct its course, left unchanged the deep stain
impressed on its stones, that after generations might re-
member the martyrdom of St. Winifred.

Observe also the scarlet lichens which diversify this time-
worn stone with their bright cornelian-tinted tubercles and
greenish crust, growing profusely on the vast masses of
Stonehenge, and incrusting many a memory-haunted tree or
ruin. The white coral-crusted lichen, too, is here, of snowy
whiteness, and bearing on its surface mimic pillars, resembling
corallines; and close beside, appears the crab-eye lichen,
indigenous to rocks in the north of England, and yielding a
crimson or purple dye. The tartareous lichen has also its
own specific character. It grows ofttimes on old trees and
mosses, which it covers with yellow saucers, in a manner
analogous to incrustations formed by springs that abound
in calcareous particles and flow over beds of moss or river-
weeds. A few tufts grow here, but amongst the stones

LICHENS. 5

on the lake side, this same lichen spreads like a close
carpet.

Useful, too, in commerce, and yielding a dye of no ordi-
nary beauty, is the grey-brown orchil, which you may
readily distinguish by its rising out of a chalk-like basis to
the height of two or three inches. Though frequent in the
glen, its favourite localities are the coasts of Guernsey, and
the wild sea -cliffs of Tintagel Castle, where King Arthur
held his court : it mantles also the rocks of the Canary
Islands, with those of the Grecian Archipelago, and, when
scarce, has been sold at the enormous price of one thousand
pounds per ton. Although the purple dye is somewhat
perishable, it imparts an exquisite bloom to other colours.
Nor less worthy of remark is another of our small brother-
hood, the prickly lichen, clustering in thick tufts, with its
interwoven and compressed branches, ending in fine thorns;
rare in northern climates, but common to the same localities
as the orchil, where a fine red pigment called lake is pre-
pared from its steins.

O VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Patches of lungwort diversify the same locality, not
growing with their brethren in the full light of day, but
rather on the shady side of the old stone ; and among them
is the grey, and wrinkled sulphur lichen, — the one yielding a
deep yellow, the other a pale orange- colour. Preferring,
in like manner, a damp and shady place of growth, the
creeping verrucose lichen, from which a bright blue is ex-
tracted, has fixed its roots in the same habitat. You will
riot find the blistered lichen in their dull company, with its
brown foliage, consisting of a single leaf. This cheerful
species incrusts our domicile towards the south ; it loves to
bask in the bright sunshine, as if to heighten the beautiful
red colour which it contains : and yet, however brilliant,
that colour when extracted is capable of being changed into
an excellent black.

Others of our tribe pertain to the ravine, imbedded either
on huge masses of ruptured rocks, or else mantling old
trees with their pendent tufts. Yonder stunted pollard,
which stands singly beside the rush of the torrent, is hoary

LICHENS. 7

with tree-moss, from which a gum is extracted which
answers the same purpose as that known by the name of
Senegal. The ragged mealy lichen differs somewhat in its
growth and hue, and is readily distinguished by numerous
irregular cracks on the sides and edges of its broad seg-
ments. A mucilage is extracted from them, which in drying
becomes transparent, and possesses the essential properties
of gum-arabic. Further up the glen a group of aged trees,
growing among ferns, are covered in like manner with long
tufts of the ragged lichen, which differs according to its place
of growth — such as affect the willow being nearly as soft as
silk, while such as pertain to the hawthorn assume a hoary
appearance, — but, wherever growing, imbued with the sin-
gular property of retaining odours, and becoming in con-
sequence the basis of many perfumed powders.

Such are a few among our tribes indigenous to Britain,
and of which the seeds, sown by autumn winds, took root
in the interstices of the old stone, or found a resting-place
in this solitary ravine. Mark well our dissimilar localities

8 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

and such as you find them in this wild spot are our habitats
throughout creation. Children of the rock are we, often
growing on sterile and lonely heights, where the winds of
heaven fiercely contend, and the sleety shower beats with
unpitying violence ! No rock so sterile, but we seek to
embellish it ; no stone may lift its bare forehead amid the
grass, but we haste to shed over it somewhat of the aspect of
vegetation. We incrust ofttimes old balustrades and broken
columns, and vary the worn surface of many a venerable
pile, which has nought else of beauty to commend it.
Beacon plants are we, noting the rock from which we
spring ; for as our brother, the violet-scented lichen, grows
on rocks and stones of quartz, so is the calcareous peculiar
to those of lime formation, that he who passes may readily
distinguish them apart, however thickly incrusted ; the
latter, too, when dried and powdered, imparts a brilliant
scarlet, and is much used in dyeing by the .Welsh and
Scotch.

Thus beautifully diversifying, with an exquisite variety of

LICHENS. 9

intermingling hues, the places to which we are assigned,
grow lichens of all forms and hues. The crisp-incrusted,
with smooth stems confined like sea-weeds to the rocks,
constitute the beginning of vegetation even on blocks of
lava. Scarcely has some fiery convulsion hurled forth huge
masses of lava, to cool amid scorched vineyards, or to carry
desolation wherever they extend, than that same lichen
takes root among the cracks, and grows not unfrequently
to the height of nearly four inches, on which, in Iceland,
reindeer often pasture.

Thus spake small voices from off the time-worn rock,
concerning latent qualities and uses, which few perchance
have noted ; and one who heard with fancy's ear would
carry on the subject, telling of mountain ranges where
lichens linger on the verge of eternal snow, — respecting also
that gradation of vegetable life, which proceeds in regular
series from vines and flowers to the boundary line of vege-
tation verging on regions of perpetual ice.

10 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

Linnseus, in his Lapland Tour, notes the gradual decrease
of vegetation on mountain sides. Esmack, member of the
Norwegian Council of Mines, sought to ascertain such facts
as bore expressly on the subject, and for this purpose he
ascended Schneehattun, or the Snow-capped Mountain. This
wild hill had much to interest the naturalist. It was shrouded
with a snowy mantle, on which clouds seemed to rest; and
at one point, where a partial thaw had occurred, layers of
vegetable mould, separated by a rind of ice, were readily
discovered. Considerable difference, with regard to the boun-
dary line of vegetation, was obvious on the sides of the moun-
tain, as likewise the kind of trees and shrubs, in proportion
as they were capable of bearing a greater or less degree of cold.
Fruit-trees throve and became productive at an elevation of
one thousand feet ; barley and oats, in sheltered places, from
fifteen to eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea.
To these succeeded forests of larch and pine, or birch-trees,
in regular gradation ; next, short grass, with several species
of herbs, adapted to the pasturage of cattle ; higher up the

LICHENS. 11

mountain, appeared at intervals a few stunted birches, dwarf
willows, and juniper-trees ; mosses and lichens came next ;
and lastly, rugged and frowning rocks, among which occa-
sionally, and wherever the surface of the rock became visi-
ble, a few lichens, though often incrusted with snow, peeped
forth, as if wishful to assert the empire of Mora, even on
the verge of perpetual winter.

Who that ever visited the island of Teneriffe does not
remember with delight the five zones of plants, which the
Peak exhibits ? Zones, beautifully arranged in stages one
above the other, and rising to the height of one thousand
seven hundred and fifty toises.

The first zone, that of the vines, sweeps upward from the
sea- shore to an elevation of five or six hundred yards. It is
well cultivated, and varied with farm-houses and cottages,
among which grow giant spurges, mesembryanthemums, and
flowering shrubs, of which a considerable number exhibit, in
their succulent leaves and tints of bluish green, characteristics
which distinguish the vegetation of Africa, Noble groups

1'2 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

of date-trees tower above the landscape, conspicuous against
the azure of a sky, of which the clearness is unsullied
by any trace of vapour; plantains also, sugar-canes, and
Indian figs, with giant arums of the purest white, olives,
European fruit-trees, vineyards, and fields of corn, appear
in mingled beauty. Neither is the bread-fruit of Otaheite,
the cinnamon of the Molucca islands, the coffee of Arabia,
and the cocoa of America — vast vegetable columns rising
majestically at least sixty feet in height — wanting to this
delightful region.

A belt of laurels, termed the abode of perpetual spring,
forms the second zone, or woody portion of Teneriffe.
Covered with verdant turf, and refreshed by streams of
water, this pleasant zone exhibits also lofty forests, varied
with different kinds of laurel, arborescent olives, iron-trees
distinguished by leaves of indescribable beauty, and myrtles
of various kinds, that rise to a commanding height and load
the air with fragrance.

To this succeeds a third zone, varied with groups of

LICHENS. 13

arbutus and candleberry myrtles, beneath which the earth
is profusely carpeted with a beautiful heath, known to the
natives by the name of Texo, and forming a striking con-
trast to the vast forests of dark and sombre pines, which
surround them as a girdle.

Grasses and lichens constitute the fourth and fifth zones,
among which heaps of pumice-stone and masses of lava,
hurled from the summit of the mountain, are seen in all
directions. Tufts of flowering broom, however, present
occasional patches of verdure ; and two herbaceous plants,
the figwort and a gigantic kind of violet, advance even to
the Malpays. To these succeed a turf scorched by the
beams of an African sun, where the humble Cladonia
paschalis overspreads a burning soil, and athwart which,
wreaths of smoke and flame often hurry in their headlong
course, when the herdsman has unwarily set fire to some
patch of arid vegetation. Higher up, innumerable lichens
labour unceasingly at the decomposition of scorified matter ;
and thus, by a continual combination of organic forces, by

14 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

slow and unwearied efforts, the empire of Flora extends
itself over places ravaged by volcanic fire. If, therefore,
the plants of Teneriffe do not reach the verge of the crater,
it is not because perpetual snows, and the cold of the sur-
rounding atmosphere, lay down limits which they cannot
pass : it is that the scorified lava of the Malpays, the pow-
dered and barren pumice-stone of the Piton, offer insur-
mountable obstacles to such plants as grow among them,
and imperiously prohibit any further advance towards the
brink of the crater.

Hence it is, that on the summit of the Peak nought of
vegetation is discoverable ; no trace even of the humblest
lichen, no insects fluttering in the air. An awful scene of
desolation meets the view ; while the solemn stillness of the
place is broken only by the sound of winds, which, coming
in hollow gusts, resemble the roar of distant cannon.

CHAPTER II.

MOSSES.

A small grey sisterhood of plodding lichens
Wrought on the rock ; the sun, the wind, and rain,
Helping them gladly, till, each fissure fill'd
And fit for planting, Mosses came in haste
And strewed small seeds among them, — destined they
To clothe the stern old rock with softest verdure,
With ferns and flowers, where yet the labouring bee
May find her pasture.

WE sit beside our sisters, the tiled lichens (said a gentle
voice, speaking from out a bed of moss), beautifying many
an herbless mass, and preparing, as years glide on, that
deposit of vegetable mould on which large plants may find
a resting-place. Unlike the generality of our vegetable
brethren, chill winter does not harm us, neither may

16 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

summer suns affect our verdure. When deciduous trees
begin to lose their leaves, or when the woodlands are varied
with autumnal tints, we still look green, and embellish
many a rough bank or streamlet edge, from whence even
the lingering crane's-bill and eye-bright have departed.
But would you see us in all our beauty and utility, go to
the wild solitudes of Lapland, and retrace the haunts which
Linnaeus has so well described.

Lapland mothers know well how to value the grey bog-
moss, or its elegant variety of a beautiful peach-colour, of
which the capsules burst with a crackling noise, making
the passer-by to start and look around, fearful lest the
herbage should have suddenly caught fire. They tastefully
decorate, with this valuable species, the cradles of their
infants, and also wrap them in it as an excellent defence
from cold.

Nor less valuable to the natives of those sterile regions
is our brother, the common hair-moss ; and rarely has the
goodness of the Great Creator been more wonderfully

MOSSES. 17

evinced than in providing both beds and coverings for those
who traverse the savage wilderness of Lyckselle Lapland.
Linnseus availed himself of the protection thus mercifully
bestowed, when, having to pass the night amid scenes of
inconceivable desolation, far from all human habitation,
and unknowing where to bend his steps, he selected the
starry-headed plants, on account of their greater softness,
and, having traced with his knife a considerable circum-
ference, he separated the thickly-tangled herbage from the
earth beneath; for, although the shoots were scarcely
branched, they were yet so much entangled as to form an
elastic couch and coverlet, beneath which the traveller lay
down to rest, amid the solemn stillness of those wild re-
gions, while on high a few stars of the first magnitude
looked down through the dim twilight on that solitary man.
The same moss grows also in different parts of Britain ;
and those who cheer their rambles with pleasant thoughts
of things around them, may do well to observe the won-
derful construction of our brother. His haunt is often on

c

18 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

l)leak hills, and hence, to defend the seed-vessel from the
injury of the weather, it is covered with a cone-shaped
umbrella. This appendage, when the seeds begin to ripen,
loosens from the place to which it had hitherto been firmly
fixed, and falls off; the stem, also, which upholds the seed-
vessel and its elegant appendage, remains in a reversed
position, till the seeds are fallen to the ground.

Few, perchance, have seen another of our tribe, the
shining feather-moss, — that vegetable glow-worm, which
sheds a golden green light in the shady recesses of damp
caves, glimmering like a fairy lamp, fabled to light the
tiny people in their nightly revels. Yet, not less strange
than true is this wondrous property, and which, when seen
by him who explores, for the first time, lone caverns in
solitary places, awakens somewhat of a feeling akin to fear.
This property, peculiar to our tribe, has no parallel in the
vegetable kingdom. It cannot be referred to electricity,
neither does it originate from any luminous quality in the
plant itself. It is caused by rays of light, however faint,

MOSSES. 19

being concentrated and reflected from the innumerable
and inconceivably minute lenses of its thin, pellucid, and
pale green leaves, which shine as if wet with dew. The
cavernous and gloomy rocks of Dartmoor are beautifully
illumined by this mild light, as also the shady recesses of
the Rowter rocks in Derbyshire.

Others of our race are found in places the most dis-
similar ; — some on commons open to the sun, or mantling
with untiring diligence high cliffs or swampy hollows.
Level marshes and bank sides are visited by mosses of
luxuriant growth, while some of the more graceful species
delight in woody places, filled with dancing lights and
shadows, and all pleasant sounds. The greater water-moss
prefers the neighbourhood of cataracts, and flourishes most
where the waters rage impetuously in their onward course ;
the slender-branched thread-moss thrives, on the contrary,
amid dry rocks ; and the great hairy thread-moss roots
itself on walls and the roofs of cottages.

c 2

20 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

*' The wildest glen on earth can show
S.ome touch of nature's genial glow :
On high Benmore green mosses grow,
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencoe,
And copse on Cruchar Ben."

Gather the humblest from among our company, and
describe, if you can, its varying lights and shades, its
different hues, now bright, now dark, as the sunbeams
come and go, or clouds pass athwart the heavens. Observe,
too, its wondrous construction, — the adaptation of its roots
to rock or fen, the varied beauty of its leaves, and the
exquisite finish of all its parts, and learn from them that
deep wisdom is manifested in the smallest plant that imbibes
the dew of heaven.

And what more beautiful than a brotherhood of mosses
growing among the tangled roots of aged trees, scathed
by time, and twisting in their strange fantasies adown steep
banks on either side of some green lane, that winds away —
away — into the woodlands ? You may see one and then
another nestling between the huge blocks of stone, or among

MOSSES. 21

interstices formed by the roots, looking fresh and green in
even the most sultry weather, and sported over by dancing
lights and shadows, as over-arching branches wave in the
breeze of summer. Wild strawberries grow among our
friendly tufts, that keep the otherwise dry soil moist, and
the merry voices of young children ofttimes wake up the
echoes when searching for their scarlet-coloured fruit. Some
adventurous urchin makes a ladder of the old roots, and
climbs to their high growing-place, while his little sister
holds up her blue apron for the tempting bunches which
he warily throws down. And then what glee and peals of
merriment, and trampling of young feet, are heard and seen,
as first one, then another, vainly attempt to scale the high
bank, and as often tumble in their rashness !

But still more beautiful are mosses when clustering
round the well-head of a bright, clear stream, that gushes
forth from a rugged bank, mantled with ferns and flowers,
throwing its random spray on the bright green brotherhood,
and causing them to drip and glisten in the sunbeams, even

VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

to reflect, it may be, the hues of that bright arch which
now spans the valley in its glorious beauty.

Have you not read that, in ancient times, our giant
brother, the Sphagnum palustre, or grey bog-moss, usurped,
with his dense compact tufts and leaves of intense green,
a vast range of desert country, now covered with corn-fields
and cottages, with green meadows and groups of cattle; and
that, as time went on and changes were wrought by war or
storms, that same moss underwent a strange metamorphosis,
and passed into a substance which is called peat, inter-
mediate between his past condition and half-formed coal ?
Travellers will tell you, that the same substance, composed
of all such vegetables as grow best in watery places, occurs
in the southern hemisphere; but with this difference, that
none of our tribe enter into the composition of South
American peat, — not even in the swampy parts of that
portion which is drained by the river La Plata, on the east
side of South America, nor in the island of Chiloe to the
west. The same unerring law which restricts the calceolaria

MOSSES. 23

to the southern hemisphere, and forbids the heath to vege-
tate in the New World, exercises its inexplicable influence
over the unassuming moss. But when the traveller reaches
the 45th degree of latitude, and examines the peat of the
Chonos Archipelago, or the Falkland Islands and Tierra de]
Fuego, he again finds an abundant growth of our friendly
tribe.

Forests occupied in old times the site of those vast feus
where our brethren became developed in all their greenness
and luxuriance, and which, known by the name of mosses,
comprise a wide range of country. Such mosses owe
their origin to the fall of trees, and the obstruction caused
by their branches to the free drainage of atmospheric waters.
Thus, in Mar forest, in Aberdeenshire, travellers relate that
large trunks of Scotch fir, which had fallen from age, were
soon covered with moss; thus, also, the overthrow of a
forest by a storm, gave rise to a peat-moss near Lochbroom,
in Ross-shire.

Observe the wonderful construction of this usurping

24 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

moss. He possesses the singular property of throwing up
new shoots in the upper portion of his thickly-entangled
branches, while the lower part gradually decays ; and thus
the course of years produces no other effect upon this
member of our tribe than the deposit of vegetable mould,
and the rising, as it were, of one layer upon another, till
hollow places are filled up, and the huge trunks and branches
of fallen trees are concealed from view.

Roman roads have in consequence been discovered at the
depth of eight or ten feet, as also coins, and warlike instru-
ments, with those of husbandry ; and some years since, the
body of a woman was found in one of the Lincolnshire
peat-mosses. The night of centuries must have passed
over her since, flying perhaps for refuge to one of her
native forests, she perished in its recesses, and her lone
requiem was that of winds or birds ; for her antique sandals
afforded evidence that she must have remained undiscovered
for ages, and yet there was no trace of decay. In Ireland
one of her earliest aborigines was in like manner recently

MOSSES. 25

exhumed ; — the remains were buried a foot deep in gravel,
and covered with eleven feet of moss ; they were completely
clothed, and the garments seemed to have been made of
hair. Thus men, in remote ages, clothed themselves, before
the introduction of wool-bearing animals brought the loom
and distaff ; and hence, without doubt, those remains belong
to a period antecedent to any written records concerning
Ireland.

The great moss of Solway includes a flat area of about
seven miles in circumference, forming part of the western
border-land between England and Scotland. It looks well
to the eye, and green are its grass and rushes, but the
slightest pressure discovers that the bottom is unsound and
semi-fluid. Guides, however, venture to conduct the tra-
veller across its perilous surface during the hottest summer
months ; but woe betide him if he is allured by some beau-
tiful bog-plant, or if, forgetful of the perils by which he is
surrounded, he deserts the rushy hillocks that stretch across
the waste. There the soil is firmest, but on either side the

26 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

danger is imminent : if his foot happens to slip, or is put
down unwarily, he may never more be seen. Solway moss
is a wild and tradition-haunted place. Fiery shapes are
seen, ofttimes, skimming rapidly where mortal steps may
not adventure ; fearful to look upon, yet somewhat beau-
tiful, for the ignis fatuus assumes a variety of fantastic
shapes ; at one time resembling a globe of fire — at another,
a flickering light — at another, a pale meteor-form, hovering
over some legendary spot. Such are the night fires of
Solway moss ; and tales are told concerning them beside
the wintry hearth, which make the heart of many a timid
urchin sink within him. " You may not see the spot,"
said an aged sire, " for the night has gathered, and methinks
I would not look out into the darkness, lest, perchance, we
should see its strange, unearthly guards. But you know the
old stunted willows, that stand on the verge of the firm
land. There it was that, after the fight of Solway, when
the Scotch army, commanded by Oliver Sinclair, was routed,
a troop of horse came rushing over the plain, and plunged,

MOSSES. 27

without thought, into the morass, which instantly closed
upon them. Ah ! well-a- day ! there were breaking hearts
in many a cottage among the hills, ay, in castles too !
They were fine men to look upon, that troop of highlanders !
dressed and armed according to the fashion of their country,
and well mounted ; but the horses seemed panic-struck as
well as their riders, and in they went ! Scarcely ten years
since, some of the neighbouring peat-cutters found the
skeletons of a man and horse, in complete armour; the
flesh was gone, but the armour remained entire, and doubt-
less, if they had sought further, they might have found the
troop mounted like living men ; but, a few yards onward,
the moss was unsound and wet, and they would not
venture."

Listen to the voice of chemistry, and she will explain
from whence originates the preserving quality. She will
tell you that it results from carbonic and gallic acids, which
issue from decayed wood, as also from the presence of
charred wood, into which, by a strange alchemy, many

28 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

fallen trees are changed in the lowest strata of peat-mosses,
for charcoal is said to be a powerful antiseptic, and capable
of purifying the most unwholesome and stagnant water :
that, further, vegetable gums and resins act in the same way.
The small voice ceased ; and the listener went his way,
reflecting on the strange and wondrous qualities which
even a small moss developes at her appointed season. He
thought, too, of the vast growth of mosses, and the causes
from which their growth originates ; of that wondrous
alchemy which, by a transmuting power, absorbs into a dry
and lifeless mass its all of greenness and luxuriance.

CHAPTER III.

FEKNS.

"Beautiful Fern,

Much have I loved, where thou art reared, in greenest strength to stray,
And mark thy feathery stem upraised o'er lichened ruin grey,
Or in the fairy moonlight bent, to meet the silvering hue,
Or glistening yet, when noon is high, with morn's unvanished dew."

Hollings.

EEENS spake next, and it seemed as if one rejoicing
chorus had burst from every cliff and stream-bank in the
lone wilderness. Children of the rock and flood are we,
they said, — of heathy moors and hedge-banks ; our haunts
are frequently among the spray of waterfalls or cavern roofs,
beneath which the wild waves come and go. They sang
concerning the beauty of creation, of their own wild homes,

30 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

and the need that exists for them, and how mysteriously
they are connected, not only with rocks and soils, but
with every wandering sunbeam, wind, or shower, that visits
the place whereon they grow.

And when the symphony of mingled voices ceased, first
one, and then another, took up the wondrous tale. Hearken,
said the majestic crowned prince of English ferns, the
flowering-fern or bracken, bearing his rich brown seeds in
spikes, resembling sceptres. My favourite haunt is Loch
Tyne, with its clustering islands and wide expanse of water,
growing, according to my mood, either erect and rigid, or
else gracefully bending above the current, and forming a
shelter for the timid coot, which gazes on the passer-by
from beneath my canopy. Know you that active, lead-
coloured bird, with her quick, glancing eye, skimming rapidly
upon the surface of the water, and building her nest among
the rushes ? A home-loving bird is she, preferring her native
streams to any other, and, when her young are hatched,
leading them among the labyrinths formed by my drooping

FERNS. 31

branches, where the waters well and murmur, and the glad
young creatures splash merrily in and out, now glancing
in the sunbeams, and again as rapidly disappearing.

Princes have their palaces and country houses, some for
state, others for enjoyment ; and thus it is with me. Loch
Tyne is of all places the one "beloved the most;" but my
metropolis is Cunnemera, in the west of Ireland, and there
no other fern may lift his head. The islands are subject to
my sway, and the tranquil waters that flow around seem proud
to reflect my image. At Loch Tyne dwelt the waterman
old Osmund, whose heart, as poets sing, is impressed in my
roots when cut. Who that ever lingers in that wild spot,
does not hear the legend of old Osmund, which young
watermen of the present day sing to the dipping of their
oars, and the echoes repeat from out their haunts in the
wood-side ?

Fairest among maidens was the daughter of Osmund, the
waterman. Her light-brown hair and glowing cheek told
of her Saxon origin, and her light steps bounded over the

32 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

green turf like a young fawn in his native glades. Neither
want nor sorrow had visited her father's cottage, since
^Elfreda shed the gladness of her spirit on that home ; and
often, in the stillness of a summer's evening, did the mother
and her fair-haired child sit beside the lake, to watch the
dripping and the flashing of the father's oars, as he
skimmed right merrily towards them, over the deep blue
waters.

Sounds were heard one day, as of hasty steps, coming in
swiftness and in fear ; and presently a company of fugitives
told, with breathless haste, that the cruel Danes had fired
the old monastery of Avondale, and were making their way
towards the ferry. They counselled Osmund to secrete his
wife and daughter, lest the spoilers should take them cap-
tive, and the mother and her child be sold into distant
slavery, — for such was the custom of those fierce men.

Osmund heard them, and his heart failed with fear ; for
the country, though thickly wooded, afforded neither caves
nor coverts, wherein to find a hiding-place. Suddenly a

FERNS. 33

red glare was seen on the horizon, as of villages on fire,
and the shouts of furious men came remotely on the ear;
the fugitives rushed on, and Osmund stood as if senseless
for a moment, when a glad thought arose within him, and,
snatching up his oars, he rowed his trembling wife and his
fair child to yonder small island, covered with the great
Osmund royal, rising some feet in height towards the cen-
tre, but drooping round the margin, and extending in tufts
into the river, according to its mode of growth in marshy
places. Osmund moored his bark, and found, on treading
warily, that the ground was firm ; he then assisted his wife
to land, and enjoined her to lie down beneath the tall ferns ;
this done, and having commended them to the protection of
heaven, he hastened back. The small stock of wearing-
apparel was as hastily concealed in a narrow fissure of the
rock, from whence gushed an ample stream, and the distaff
thrown into a well. Scarcely, however, had the ferryman
returned to his cottage beside the river's brink, than a com-
pany of Danes rushed in. But him they hurt not, for they

34 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

knew that the ferryman could do them service, and the
surrounding country offered no inducement to remain.
During the whole day, and partly through the night, did
Osmund row backwards and forwards across the river,
ferrying troops of those fierce men, who fled from the
avenging arm of Alfred ; and when the last company was
put on shore, you might have seen Osmund kneeling beside
the river's brink, and returning heartfelt thanks to heaven
for the preservation of his wife and child.

Often, in after years, did Osmund speak of that day's peril;
and his fair child, grown up to womanhood, called the tall
fern by her father's name. And not only was it called
Osmund, from love to him, but Royal also, that none, in
passing, might forget to pray for the good king who de-
livered his country from the cruel aggressions of the Danes.
Often, too, when years had silvered his once dark locks, did
Osmund sit on the old stone beside his cottage, with his
grandchildren round him, telling them about the cruel
Danes, and how their mother, when a young child, was con-

PERNS. 35

cealed in the great fern-bed. " I love to look upon that bed
of ferns," he said, " and to think of Him who gave them to
us, as a hiding-place, when there was no other within reach :
even as he concealed his servant of old from the face of
the cruel king who sought his life. When I am gone,
children, and your parents too are called hence, never
forget, in looking at the Osmund royal, the goodness of
your Heavenly Pather, without whose watchful care your
mother and yourselves might have been the slaves of some
fierce sea-king. Methinks that whoever cuts the root ob-
liquely may see my heart depicted within that blessed fern."
The green spleenwort told of a restricted locality. Very
limited is my range, she said ; — confined in England to her
northern counties; in Ireland to one solitary mountain,
Ben Balben ; while my brother, the common spleenwort, is
found in almost every locality, from rocks and ruins to
mossy banks and hedge-rows. I bring to mind that won-
derful arrangement of the vegetable kingdom, which assigns
to every plant its place of growth. Men, in looking at me,

36 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

may do well to meditate on the order that exists throughout
creation; on the wondrous combination of undeveloped
causes, which renders one fern scarce, another common, —
which restricts the wind from scattering, or the soil from
cherishing, such species as may not thrive beyond their
allotted precincts.

My brother, on the contrary, is a citizen of the vegetable
world. Old Gerard wrote concerning him, in ancient days,
that "he growethe plentifully upon old stone walls and
rockes in dark and shadowie places throughout England ;
especially upon stone walls by Bristowe, as you go by St.
Vincent's rocks, as likewise about Bathe, "Wells, and Salis-
bury, where I have seen great plenty thereof." Newman,
in later times, says that few places are without that graceful
fern. He found a colony growing in such profusion on a
bridge in the valley of the Wye, near Bualt, as to form a con-
tinuous covering of green, beautiful to the eye and seeming
to invite the pedestrian to sit down awhile on the old bridge,
and consider what lessons of wisdom and deep skill, and

FERNS. 37

wondrous beauty of effect, may be learnt from the hum-
blest fern, and is developed by the reflecting or refracting
such rays of light as visit his lone resting-place.

" My place is not where art exults to raise the tender flower,
By terraced walk, or deck'd parterre, or fenced and sheltered bower,
Nor where, the straightly-levelled walks of tangled boughs between,
The sunbeam lights the velvet sward, and streams through alleys green.

My dwelling is the desert heath, the wood, the haunted dell,
And where the wild deer stoops to drink beside the mossy well,
And by the lake with trembling stars bestud when earth is still,
And midnight's melancholy pomp is on the distant hill."

Rollings.

Listen, said the scaly hart's-tongue, I too can speak of
a prescribed range. The Emerald Isle, where my brother,
the lordly bracken, grows profusely, does not own me ; in
Ireland I am rarely seen ; throughout this country only in
the south-western counties. My natural habitat is the
fissures of dry rocks, or walls, for my brown and scaly roots
possess the property of readily penetrating through the
smallest opening. Hence, our tribe are seen on the bold

38 VOICES FttOM THE WOODLANDS.

fronts of high and beetling crags, far above the reach of
even adventurous school-boys, who long to rob the nest of
the sand-marten, often our sole companion. Those birds
go forth in quest of food, but we must remain stationary.
Yet the elements befriend us — dews and summer showers,
winds and sunbeams ; and we have within us a wondrous,
yet beautiful machinery, by means of which we derive
benefit from each. "When the sunbeams visit us, we obtain
greenness for our leaves ; when the rain, such moisture as
we need ; when the wind, whether a gale or zephyrs, that
degree of exercise which all plants require in order that the
sap may freely circulate.

Those who visit the beautiful solitudes of Dovedale or
Cheddar, or linger beside a rock on the road between
Bangor and Carnarvon, may see us in all our pristine
grace. Associated, too, with many a site of historic in-
terest, we are often gathered from the walls of Ragland
Castle and Tintern Abbey, and preserved as memorial
plants. Young botanists will journey far to pluck us from

FEENS. 39

the old walls of Winchester, or from among the heaps of
ruins that surround the banquet halls of Ludlow, where
Milton first recited his immortal "Comus."

Others of our tribe embellish the wildest solitudes of
nature. The rock-brake, or parsley, forms a cheerful and
pleasing contrast to the dark masses of weather-beaten
rocks, among which he loves to nestle ; growing, it may
be, occasionally in the crevices of old stone walls, yet pre-
ferring to take root on shapeless masses of stone, which
project from among the heather. His favourite abode in
England is the lake district of Cumberland and Westmore-
land ; in Wales, the Snowdon range ; in Ireland, the Mourne
mountains. Bare in Scotland, and, when found, only as a
few scattered plants on old walls, or among such stones as
time or whirlwinds have scattered at the base of mountains.
Among such, yet nearly at the bleak and rugged summit
of Ben Arthur, one who loves our tribe identified his
locality.

Thanks to me, responded the wall-rue, for many a plea-

40 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

sant thought of far-off scenes, even in crowded cities. I re-
semble, among the -vegetable tribes, those half domesticated
species, the confiding sparrow and temple-haunting martlet,
which love the dwellings of men, and skim over thronged
streets, telling that spring flowers are seen in fields, and that
the cuckoo is already come. Bocks and ruins are my
native haunts, church walls, and ancient bridges, and yet I
often deck the cottage roof, or such rough fences as enclose
their gardens. The primitive wynch well, with its chain
and bucket, allures me also ; I grow thereon in company
with the small purple snapdragon and white nailwort,
looking down serenely on the clear cold mirror in which we
are reflected.

You may find me in profusion on the walls of Greenwich
Park, though covered with dust in summer; and those
who like to associate memorial places with such plants as
grow among them, may think of the wall-rue in connec-
tion with Arthur's seat, near Edinburgh. That stern spot,
with its high rocks, fierce winds, and raging waters, was for

FERNS. 41

many years the only locality in which my relative, the forked
spleenwort (rarest of British ferns) had found a resting-
place. Since then, botanists report that the same fern
has been found in Carnarvonshire ; subsequently, in great
profusion on a wall by the road-side, leading from Llanrwst
towards Conway.

But not on walls only, ruins, and wild rocks, beside
public ways, or mantling extensive moors, do ferns congre-
gate. The sea spleenwort finds a home in the crannies of
sea-cliffs, or in the gloomy recesses of marine caverns ; their
rough and quarried roofs being often mantled by its aid with
a luxuriant vegetation. Nor less profuse of growth is the
sea spleenwort on the heights of Teneriffe and Madeira;
and the searcher after ferns may find this species rooted on
a way-side rock, beneath the Turk mountain, that flings
its dark shadow over the road from Killarney towards
Kenmare.

Why is it, Stranger, that while the common polypody
hangs in bright yellow-dotted tufts on cottage roofs, or

42 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

clusters around the stone-work of old wells, where chil-
dren play, our brother the oak- or wood-fern, the most
elegant among his tribe, is almost exclusively confined to
wild and mountainous districts, and shuns the vicinity even
of a solitary cottage ? His haunts are places shaded by high
rocks or thick foliage, where his black, wiry, and often
creeping roots form not unfrequently a dense mass resem-
bling net-work. Gather intruction, as the poet said, even
from way-side weeds. The reason of this is obvious.
Because in no locality, however lone, may this graceful
tribe be wanting, either to beautify some sterile growing-
place, or to afford a home to such small winged or creeping
insects as nestle beneath their leaves. Hence, also, the
brittle fern, that affects moist or mountainous districts,
rooting in the fissures of rocks or the crevices of old walls,
seems especially to delight in bridges, where it speedily
becomes established, and looks down on the waters as
they flow beneath.

The common polypody does, indeed, hang profusely,

FERNS. 43

with her bright yellow-spotted leaves, from the roofs of
cottages, or around the low stone fence of the old wynch
well, — answered a soft voice. Yet not there alone ; but
on stone walls and rocks, where we ofttimes succeed crus-
taceous lichens and small mosses. Wherever a space,
however scant, admits of taking root, be it on walls or
rocks, church towers or old bridges, there are we; diver-
sifying likewise the rugged stems of many an aged tree, or
the half-decayed stumps of hazels and whitethorn bushes,
with a graceful canopy of leaves. The grey owl often
brushes among us, when entering her hollow in the tree ;
and many a woodpecker owes to us a pleasant screen for
her young ones, from the hot beams of the summer sun.
Look up ; you may see us, waving as if in triumph, on the
fork of this tall beech; here we shall remain, unchanged
by the change of seasons. Leaves will grow russet, and
fall profusely to the earth ; and such birds as sing merrily
around us will depart for other climates ; the wintry blasts
will despoil their summer haunts, but our bright green

44 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

leaves will look cheerful when all else of summer verdure
has departed; even in those dull close days which often
succeed a sudden thaw, —

' ' When there is not wind enough to twirl
The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up to the sky."

Coleridge.

We grow, on the contrary, in watery places, said a beau-
tiful beech fern, that waved beside the torrent. We are
peculiarly the fern of waterfalls : our roots are black and
fibrous, and form ofttimes a complete net-work over the per-
pendicular face of rocks, within reach of the torrent's spray.
Our delight is in such localities ; for although bearing the
name of beech, as if attracted exclusively to her roots, and
haunting only forest walks, such are not our assigned loca-
lities. Rapid mountain rills and waterfalls, as those of
Dartmoor, and the falls of Ogwin and Loch Catrine, attract
us with a resistless power.

PERNS. 45

Our sister, the beautiful Trichomanes speciosum, is far
away : — that graceful fern which delights in the fissures of
damp rocks and walls, or the margin of eddying streams,
when, rushing into old stone troughs, they again flow forth,
and form for themselves a channel among rough stones.
Wild are her haunts, amid the roar of waterfalls, in places
where only the most enterprising among botanists would
dare to venture. We hear of her as having fixed her
abode on a rocky ledge projecting into one of the Kil-
larney waterfalls, — a place so high and perilous in its
approach, as to be gained only by leaping from one stone
to another, amid the spray and roar of waters : by climbing
also, for he who would adventure to gain the ledge, must
ascend by the aid of interlacing roots and branches, till,
having reached the platform, he sees the rare and beautiful
Trichomanes nestling in her wild haunt, and extending
over a contiguous rock; her dark green leaves drooping
gracefully, and gemmed with sparkling drops, which often
beautifully reflect prismatic colours ; — while, on either side,

46 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

the wildly-wooded scenery, with its rocks and torrents,
is worthy of the graceful fern that dwells among them.

Do not overlook me, said one, whose place of growth
was lowly, beside the water. Hart's-tongue is my name,
and, if it became me to speak in my own praise, I might
say that none among my tribe are more graceful and pleasing
to the eye. I am almost universally, though not abundantly,
distributed ; and even in my places of growth the naturalist
does not always find me, as I love to hide in the thickest
part of hedges, — growing, too, on walls and ruins. But my
favourite haunts are old wells, because of their shade and
dampness. Listen to what a poet has sung concerning me. —

" Lonely the forest spring. A rocky hill
Rises beside it, and an aged yew
Bursts from the rifted crags that overhang
The waters, cavern'd there. Unseen and slow,
And silently they well. The adder's tongue,
Rich with the wrinkles of its glossy green,
Hangs down its long lank leaves, whose wavy dip
Just breaks the tranquil surface. Ancient woods
Bosom the quiet beauties of the place,
Nor ever sound profanes it, save such sounds

FERNS. 47

As Silence loves to hear, — the passing wind,

Or the lone murmuring of the scarce-heard stream."

We come up, said the common brake, on every heath,
and wood, and waste, throughout your fatherland ; grouping
beside your pathways, and embellishing those healthy and
windy ranges which the wild deer love. We shade many a
green bank where the snowdrop looks forth from her green
vest, on the streamlet edge, when the throstle begins her
song. Not bursting forth in all our fulness, like the winter
aconite, that suddenly emerges from out the damp, cold
earth, earliest herald of the spring; but gradually unfolding
and enlarging, and spreading forth our leaves simultaneously,
as creation emerges from her winter sleep.

" When bees are stirring, birds are on the wing,
And winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring," —

then it is that the bleak rock seems as if suddenly covered
with extraneous verdure ; that dreary and exposed wastes,

48 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

among which grey stones lift up their lichen-covered heads,
and a few dry bents wave wearily to the winter winds, look
green and beautiful. The timid leveret loves to hide be-
neath our friendly canopy; the stone- curlew often hastes
to us for shelter ; the dusky lark commits to us her rough
nest, formed of straw and leaves ; and you may hear her
soaring brother rise from out our midst, warbling, as he
rises, with that wild and joyous melody, which swells, and
sinks, and swells again, and seems as if it had nought to
do with this dull earth ; — which

" singing still doth soar, and soaring ever singeth,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun."

Hieroglyphics, too, have we, strangely pictured by nature's
pencil on the cross sections of our rich brown roots. Many
a school-boy spends his summer afternoon in culling ferns
among the hills, wandering from heath to moor, from hill-
side to ravine, delighted at the strange marks which our
stems exhibit.

FERNS. 49

" With hieroglyphics older than the Nile
The heavens are studded," —

but not less old and wondrous are the hieroglyphics im-
pressed within our stems. Linnseus gave us the specific
name of Aquilina, fancying that our heraldic emblem re-
sembled a spread eagle. Those who lived in the troublous
times which preceded the Commonwealth, lurking, per-
chance, in our lone growing-places, beguiled their sad
thoughts by cutting our stems obliquely, and called such
tintings by nature's pencil " King Charles in the Oak-tree."
Strange legends are associated with our small tribe, said
a faint voice, speaking from a tuft of moonwort ; legends
which still linger round many a time-hallowed spot. Our
name, derived from the Saxon word mund, signifies strength,
in allusion to our invigorating virtues; and those who
examine the base of our stems, when spring is on the hills,
may discover the rudiments of the next year's plant. Our
leaves are crescent-shaped, bearing a close resemblance to
the moon in her first and last quarter : and hence the

E

50 VOICES PROM THE WOODLANDS.

veneration with which men in the olden times regarded us,
and the gathering of our symbolic leaves by village maidens,
when the crescent moon was seen in heaven ; —

" Then rapidly, with foot as light
As the young musk roes, out they flew,
To cull each shining leaf that grew
Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams."

High hills and mountain pastures delight us most, though
seen occasionally beside coal-pits and the rush of waters.
Beautiful are we in our assigned localities, when dews and
sunbeams are abroad, and cloud-shadows chase one the
other over the greensward; but far more beautiful when
the moon, shining in her brightness, gives to the wide
moor or upland pasture a character of vastness and extent,
and when all sounds are heightened, whether of distant
waters, or the moaning of night winds.

You will like to know, it may be, why our leaves were
gathered in silence and in mystery. Because of their
fancied resemblance to the moon. Seek for the origin of

FERNS. 51

this in Druidic times, when those who dealt in augury
shunned the light of day, and, presiding either in caves or
woods, performed each mystic rite beneath the beams of the
planet they adored.

Emulating our stately brother, the royal moonwort or
great Osmund, we carry our seeds on spikes, and are, in
consequence, easily distinguished. With our brethren, on
the contrary, the case is otherwise. Hence, ancient na-
turalists, looking cursorily on our tribe, and finding neither
flowers nor yet seeds, conjectured that both were wanting.
Their minds, prone to superstition, fancied that this obvious
and natural peculiarity indicated some hidden mystery, and
being unable to comprehend from whence proceeded the
numerous scions that sprang around a parent stem, con-
jectured that, as the seeds were invisible, ferns possessed
the power of rendering invisible whoever gathered them
during the silence of the night. Youths and maidens,
therefore, often sought for them, when dew lay heavy on
the grass, and the pale moon looked from her station in

E 2

52 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

high heaven on the misty landscape ; then it was that many
a footstep was impressed on the damp sod, stealing swiftly
and silently towards our lonely growing-places. Legends,
too, and those of no ordinary interest, linger around our
tribe, whether growing on the rocks of Scandinavia, or
beneath the shade of citrons and myrtles ; and hence the
Eastern poet sang of ferns as emblems of secresy and
friendship.

With the passing on of years faded, as mountain mists
before the dawn, somewhat of the mystery in which old
botanists had enveloped us. Men, in later times, who
loved our tribe and sought them in their native haunts,
discovered a variety of dots or lines on the under-surface of
our leaves, and, with this discovery, a truth came obviously
on the mind. The seeds, they said, are thus arranged
because of the sterile and storm-beaten places on which
ferns often grow. But Legend does not readily relinquish
her strong-hold, and the fancied power of rendering men in-
visible was transferred from the fern-plant to her small seeds.

FERNS. 53

Again the crowned prince of English ferns lifted up his
voice, and spoke concerning his subject ferns. Beautiful
are they (he said), and widely different in their habits from
such as grow around : numerous, too, for the entire number
of their species is calculated at about two thousand, of
which thirty-six are pre-eminent in the British Flora.

Plants in general have their localities, but my subjects
are seen everywhere. You may even find them towards
the summits of thigh mountains, in company with a scanty
and wiry kind of grass, skirting the snow-drifts, which,
descending from still higher regions, have become frozen,
and where those plants alone present the aspect of vegeta-
tion amid scenes of indescribable sterility. Others cling
beside mountain torrents, or else ramble over the surface of
dark rocks, and are seen through the clear veil of falling
waters. Others, again, grow profusely among the spray of
waterfalls, or where small streams, dripping from out some
fissure in the rock, heighten the vivid beauty of contiguous
mosses, and, falling on groups of fern, cover them with

54 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

sparkling drops. The black maiden-hair affects walls and
ruins, moored not unfrequently in the crannies of beetling
rocks, or waving in the stillness of yawning chasms, " where
life and limb would be perilled to obtain her •" frequent also
on old tombs, beneath which have reposed for ages all that
remains of chivalry or beauty. You may not find the
royal polypody on tombs, nor yet in darkling crannies of
stern rocks, but rather on the summit of high mountains,
such as Glyder-war, that hill of tempests, where scarcely
any other plant can vegetate, swept over with resistless fury
by the fierce tempests that contend for mastery ; while his
relative, the hairy polypody, is stationed on a moist black
rock nearly at the top of Clogwyn y Garnedd in the Snowdon
range of hills, facing the north-west, and rising precipitously
above the lower lake. Lingering in the same locality
dwells that hermit-fern the marsh polypody, in a springy
dell at the foot of Snowdon, near Llanberris, with its dark
shadows and dripping rocks. Damp shady woods, or the
side of hills wet with oozing streams, allure the heath

FERNS. 55

polypody : in the one, he thrives most where the shade is
deepest ; in the other, he nestles among stones, cherished
by the vapours that arise from his watery location : in both,
emitting a fragrant scent which often reveals his place of
growth.

The elegant and fragile lady-fern delights, on the
contrary, to grow beside clear streams, where quivering
lights and shadows dance on the green turf.

" Where the copse-wood is the greenest,
Where the fountain glistens sheenest,
Where the morning dew lies longest,
There the lady-fern grows strongest"

That graceful plant owns no companionship with dark sea
caverns or dripping rocks, neither does she display her
slight and feathery fronds where cold winds contend for
mastery, or yawning chasms depress the mind with feelings
of dread and loneliness. Her haunts are sunny banks,
where bright waters well and ripple, and the wild bird
poureth forth his melody.

56 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Would you know something concerning our natural
history? Seek such knowledge, not from books, but in
the places of our growth. Listen to what the winds may
tell you, warm sunbeams, and passing showers, for all
minister alike, and shed a blessing as they pass. Think
not that we are destined merely to embellish the solitudes
of nature. We have each some allotted duty to perform ;
some place in the creation which no other may fill up.
Homes are we, and storehouses, for sustaining insect life ; for
every insect, however humble, is assigned to some fostering
plant, and that insect is essential in the mighty chain of
being, — a small link, perchance, and yet, if broken, occa-
sioning a chasm in creation which man, with all his boasted
powers, could not supply.

Suddenly, and as if with a magic wand bringing hidden
things to light, Chemistry appeared, and, touching the
royal fern, thus spake : —

What see you, Stranger ? A group of ferns waving in

FERNS. 57

the summer breeze, and reflecting the rays of light ; — much,
too, of sylvan beauty, for the spot in which they grow is
wildly picturesque. Men often stop in passing to admire.
" Yonder group of ferns," they say, ' ' are beautiful, thrown
off in light and shadow from the old grey rock ;" and thus
speaking they pass on, unconscious that both the rock and
ferns are mysteriously acted upon, and inseparably asso*
ciated with those mighty agents, on the due equilibrium of
which the weal or woe of the universe depends.

Laboratories are they, wherein chemical operations are
continually carried on, both night and day, into which that
deleterious gas called carbonic acid, and which is breathed
out by men and animals, is mysteriously impelled, and so
acted upon, that, when sent forth again, it renders the
earth beautiful.

Ferns, therefore, in common with every leaf that quivers
in the sunbeams, are small laboratories, in which changes
are produced, and from which results become developed,
that are all-important to mankind. Beautiful are they;

58 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

useful, too, for life could not be sustained without them ;
and without their wondrous chemistry, both men and
animals would be suffocated by that deleterious vapour,
which, although invisible, is continually ascending, or
spreading like a low creeping mist upon the earth. But
millions of small laboratories are stationed on every side, in
leaves or wayside grasses, in ferns or mosses, or even in
crustaceous lichens — throughout every modification of vege-
table life, from the towering cedar to the creeping bramble,
from the magnificent palm to the smallest daisy ; and thus
is atmospheric air rendered fit for respiration by their
united agency.

Another lesson may yet be learned from the harmony
which subsists throughout creation, — from the active minis-
try of air and light, and the dependence of one plant upon
another : a truth thus beautifully shown forth in the
following elegant and original poem : —

" There was fern on the mountain, and moss on the moor ;
The ferns were the rich, and the mosses the poor.

FERNS. 59

And the glad breeze blew gaily, — from heaven it came,
And the fragrance it shed over each was the same ;
And the warm sun shone brightly, and gilded the fern,
And smiled on the lowly-born moss in its turn ;
And the cool dews of night on the mountain-fern fell,
And they glistened upon the green mosses as well.
And the fern loved the mountain, the moss loved the moor :
For the ferns were the rich, and the mosses the poor.

But the keen blast blew bleakly, the sun waxed high :
Oh, the ferns they were broken, and withered, and dry,
And the moss on the moorland grew faded and pale,
And the fern and the moss shrank alike from the gale ;
So the fern on the mountain, the moss on the moor,
Were withered and black, where they flourished before.

Then the fern and the moss they grew wiser in grief,
And each turned to the other for rest and relief ;
And they planned, that wherever the fern-roots shall grow,
There surely the moss must lie sparkling below.

And the keen blast blew bleakly, the sun waxed fierce,
But no wind, and no sun, to their cool roots could pierce ;
For the fern threw her shadow the green moss upon,
Where the dew ever sparkled undried by the sun ;
When the graceful fern trembled before the keen blast,
The moss guarded her roots till the storm- wind had past ;

60 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

So no longer the wind parched the roots of the one,
And the other was safe from the rays of the sun.

And thus, and for ever, where'er the ferns grow,
There surely the mosses lie sparkling below ;
And thus they both flourish where nought grew before,
And both deck the woodland, the mountain, and moor."

CHAPTER IV.

OAK-TBEB.

Quercus Rolur.

" It seems idolatry with some excuse,
Wh'en our forefather Druids in their oaks
Imagined sanctity."

BEHOLD in me, said a stately Oak, one of those vast vege-
table columns which owe their uprising to the quiet yet
unwearied labours of a small sisterhood of lichens and
bright mosses.

The rock from whence I sprang was bare and rugged,
till they came, with loving labours, calling on the elements
to aid them ; and forth from out the atmosphere hastened

62 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

such elements as cause the gradual decomposition of vege-
table mould ; and by their active ministry my acorn cradle,
upborne by winds from out the far-off forest, found a
resting-place prepared for its reception. Next uprose a
gas from off the watery bed of yonder torrent, which flows
now, as then it flowed, when not even the smallest sapling
bent beside its waters, and, acting on the surface of the
rock, began its work. Fissures were thus formed; and
then came frost, garnishing, as with a magic wand, every
shivering blade of grass and fern, till the coarsest herbage
glittered to the wintry sunbeams, as if gemmed with
diamonds ; freezing such drops of water as trickled from
the surface of the rock into its small fissures, and then,
expanding them with giant strength, rent the strong rock
itself asunder. For a mighty power was inherent in those
rain-drops — small though they were, and such as an infant's
hand might have brushed away — causing them to act on the
calcareous and alkaline elements of stone, holding within
them, as men speak, carbonic acid in solution. This came

OAK-TEEE. 63

up abundantly from the river that flows beneath me, col-
lected by rain from out the atmosphere ; and with them
came a friendly gas called oxygen, winning its way into the
sisterhood of lichens and bright mosses, nay, even into the
rock itself; thus gradually destroying its equilibrium, and
rendering fit for soil the hardest aggregate belonging to
the globe.

Hence it happened, that scarcely had my tiny roots
begun to penetrate the small deposit of vegetable mould,
than masses were ruptured by degrees on either side of
the ravine, and chasms opened in the solid rock. Other
trees found in them a place of growth; and far as the
eye can reach, on either side the river, are well-timbered
glens and hollows, with bold masses of projecting rocks
starting from their midst.

Small, therefore, was my origin, nurtured by viewless
elements, — an acorn — a cup for babes to play with ; but
now a monarch of the forest, rising with umbrageous
majesty among my tributary trees.

64 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Consider my outward form, and hear concerning the
inward mechanism by which that form progressed to per-
fection and is still sustained. First is the cuticle, or bark,
smooth in youth, furrowed as years pass on, and furnished
with pores through which both air and light may pass, in
order to perform their active ministry. To this succeeds
a green substance, called the cellular integument; next,
the inner bark ; and, lastly, the wood, diversified with a
variety of concentric circles, each the growth of a single
year, and designating, by consequence, my age.

The internal or true wood is hard, and often darkly
coloured ; the outer differs in appearance, and through this
ascends innumerable vessels, which, becoming spiral in the
leaf-stalks, ramify between the pulpy substance of the
leaves. These vessels act as conduits for the moisture of
the earth, which, being absorbed by the roots, rises through
them into the leaves, and, after undergoing a chemical
change through the agency of air and light, is brought
back by another set of vessels down the leaf-stalks into

OAK-TREE. 65

the wood, where it deposits the principal secretions in
all trees.

Hence it is, that to my bark and roots, my leaves and
acorns, different qualities are assigned; that my wood,
though hard and tough, is flexible, adapted also for wain-
scotting and furniture, and that the highest praise which
can be given to men of dauntless enterprise and valour, is to
say that they have " hearts of oak." Hence, also, the chemist
owes to me oak vinegar, with which to facilitate his ex-
periments ; the dyer, bark for tanning ; the gardener, beds
for producing artificial heat in pineries ; and while every
variety of drab and shade of brown is afforded by my wood
or bark, the scribe derives from such excrescences as grow
upon my leaves, the blackest and most lasting ink.

Observe the dull green shrub that grows beside me,
with its pendulous and lurid purple blossoms and black
berries ; that dull shrub is the deadly nightshade, a plant
haunting, most generally, among old ruins and heaps of
rubbish, in unison with places from which aught of human

F

66 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

gladness has long since departed. The whole plant is
poisonous, inducing convulsions and a deadly stupor, asso-
ciated, in consequence, with an atrocious instance of bar-
baric perfidy. Buchanan tells you, that, when Harold the
Dane invaded England, in the days of Macbeth, and his
brother Sweno made a descent upon Scotland at Fife, a
battle ensued, and the Scottish monarch, after experiencing
a signal defeat, fled to Perth, where grew abundance of the
deadly nightshade. The monarch, having little of martial
energy, entrusted the management of his affairs to his
lieutenants, Banquo and the wily Macbeth ; and while the
former was secretly employed in raising forces, the latter
negotiated a truce, engaging likewise to supply provisions
for the hostile army. But the liquor, instead of being
such as belonged to the land of Ossian, contained a deadly
infusion of the nightshade : of this the invaders drank
without suspicion, and, being quickly overpowered by the
treacherous Scots, a few only escaped with their king.
Atropa, therefore, is the name given to this baneful

OAK-TREE. 67

herb, in allusion to Atropos, one of the Eates, or Parcse,
who was fabled to sever the thread of life.

Men boast of their superior wisdom ; I hear them dis-
puting beneath my branches concerning things which they
cannot understand. But let them consider this wonderful
phenomenon, and explain why it is that such a difference
should exist between two vegetable productions growing
side by side. We are rooted in the same soil, and the
same sun shines upon us ; we are equally refreshed by the
dew of heaven, and by the rains of the vernal season.
And yet the moisture of the earth, received through the
roots of each, becomes changed in its nature, and either
in the bark, or leaves, or fruit, deposits secretions opposite
in their effects ; one exuding a deadly poison, the other
such secretions only as are beneficial in their results.

Consider, for a moment, the variety and beautiful ar-
rangement of the cells and vessels, through which the sap,
productive of such effects, freely circulates ; that, during a
period, perhaps, of many hundred years, moisture is ab-

F 2

68 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

sorbed from the earth, and raised, by an inexplicable pro-
cess, to the topmost boughs of some vast vegetable column,
— becoming diffused through the smallest twigs, and either
in the leaves, or bark, or flowers, preparing nutritious
fruits, or else secretions beneficial to mankind ; imparting,
in its progress, greenness to each leaf, or beauty to each
blossom, and causing even the smallest leaf that shines and
quivers in the sunbeams, to become an organ of respiration
to the parent tree ; absorbing air, and purifying even the most
obnoxious, and then breathing it forth again in a state fit
for respiration. Wondrous, too, is the apparatus by which
this threefold purpose is effected, and most curious is the
mechanism that sustains each leaf in its right place, pre-
senting its upper surface to the influence of air and light,
and causing that gentle quivering in every breath of wind,
and exquisite variety of mingling hues, which heightens the
beauty of woodland scenery.

The prism has many sides, and the rainbow its many
colours. All natural objects have their numerous asso-

OAK-TREE. 69

ciations, and none, it may be, more than forest trees, — the
oak especially, which carries back the thoughts of Britons
to their remotest ancestors.

"When glance they back

To time -corroded chronicles of old ;
When the fierce Briton pierced his winding track,

Through ancient forests, to his nightly fold ; —
And Druid priests from memory's hook unrolled

A portion dire of horrid mysteries ;
Aroused to deadly fray the warriors bold ;

While the dread cry of onset, through the trees,
Full to the adverse band, swell' d, deathful on the breeze.

" There grew, irregular from nature's hand,

Oaks of primeval stateliness, which cast
A thickening round of branches o'er the land ;

And, bending, waved defiance to the blast.
Ages to them were playthings, for they pass'd,

And others found them flourishing ; — man's life
May well be deemed as nothing ; — nations vast,

Arts, dynasties, and language, may grow rife,
And sink, ere they submit to time's o'erwhelming strife.

" Oh, could imagination paint the scene,
Of those gigantic patriarchs of the wood ;

70 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

And how they clustering joined the deer to screen,

Or curved in ranks, or solitary stood ;
Methiuks the prospect should inspire a mood,

To contemplate and worship Him, whose mind
Stirs in the still and night-like solitude,

Or breathes in whispers on the gentle wind,
Though vast cathedral groves — and leaves a calm behind.

Artists divide European trees into four distinct classes : —
the round-topped, as the oak and elm, the chestnut, willow,
ash, and beech ; the spiry-topped, which includes different
species of the fir tribe ; the shaggy-topped, comprehending
those of the pine ; and the slender-formed, as the Lombardy
poplar and the cypress.

I stand foremost among these, — foremost both in dignity
and grandeur ; pre-eminent, like the lion among animals,
or as the eagle among birds. Beauty united with strength
is everywhere developed : my leaves, elegant in their outline,
are strongly ribbed, and firmly attached to the branches,
which, although individually slender and excursive, are bold
and determined in their aggregate; while the abrupt and

OAK-TREE. 71

tortuous irregularity of the massive boughs that start from
my giant trunk are strongly contrasted with the density
and richness of my luxuriant foliage.

Who has not read concerning the oaks of Dodona, — those
ancient trees which encircled a temple dedicated to the
Pagan idol Jupiter, fabled to form words of augury, when
the wind, gently whispering among their branches, caused
the leaves to strike one against another ; — that old wood of
Imarus, with its rushing stream, which, as poets sing, had
power to light the torch that touched its clear waters,
flowing in their fulness at deep midnight, but scant and
low when the sun was high ; where cooing doves answered
from out the trees, and strange responses were heard from
solitary caves ? And thus, throughout all ages, men have
fabled that trees could speak, and thought them worthy of
double honour. But the oak has ever been pre-eminent.
Poets have sung concerning me, from the earliest periods
in this world's history. The Greeks bestowed upon me
appropriate honours, and from the smallest of my twigs were

72 VOICES PROM THE WOODLANDS.

composed the Eoman civic crown. Nuptial processions
were graced with my boughs, and men carried them on
commemorative days as emblems of victory.

Time was when my acorn was impiously placed by
lawless men in the British crown, in order to supersede
the cross, which had presided there for ages. And yet,
though reckless in itself, methinks that strange act seemed
as a presage that the tree which bore such fruit was
destined to shelter England's king from the fury of re-
bellion. Hence it is that my boughs are waved in triumph
on the twenty-first of May.

My leaves are also conspicuous in the order of the Iron
Cross, — an order instituted by the late king of Prussia, to
commemorate the struggles, and oppression, and, at length,
the triumphs of his country; commemorative also of that
noble-hearted woman, whose memory is held dear through-
out its length and breadth.

Three of my largest leaves were placed in the midst of
the iron cross, designed to show, by this arrangement, the

OAK-TREE. 73

necessity of union among all classes; and that, further,
union constituted strength. Three divisions of society were
likewise typified, namely, the productive, the defensive,
and those who rule in church or state ; while the cross,
which all Christians are called manfully to fight under, and
to bear without respect to birth, or fortune, or talent, was
a suitable emblem of an order that embraced every class
of the community.

I have said, that ancient poets, equally with those of
modern times, sang concerning me. The former even at-
tributed to oak-trees, not only a vegetative power, which
imparts eternal duration, but they conjectured, that, in
common with all forest trees, they were indwelt by dryads
and hamadryads. Some such, they sang, loved to haunt
the green- wood shades, and to wander by clear streams, or,
looking tranquilly from their fostering trees, passed a
dreamy existence in listening to the soothing sound of
winds among the leaves. Others, on the contrary, and
such especially as inhabited our stately trunks, imparted to

74 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

us somewhat of their own prescience, with regard to natural
things, and, thus instructed, they fable that we possess a
degree of sagacity or foresight, which resembles instinct in
animals and birds. Hence we discover beforehand the
coming round of seasons; flinging forth our leaves, and
blossoms, and moving our vast branches, according to the
course of winds; stretching them forth, or seeming to
contract them, now lifting them towards heaven, and
again drooping them earthward, as the snow is about to
fall or melt.

Thus have poets fabled; yet not only has the poet
ascribed to us due honour, but the painter selects from
us those tablets on which he embodies his imperishable
thoughts. Listen to one of those wild legends, which
originated in sunny Italy, but which a German enthusiast
has thus recorded.

An aged recluse dwelt in one of the loveliest valleys
among the Apennines. His young days had passed in
foreign lands, and much sorrow had been his lot : he had

OAK-TREE. 75

suffered shipwreck more than once, and fought on battle
fields; and when he at length returned to his native country,
a weary and war-worn man, few remained to welcome him.
It is recorded that he sat down on the wayside, one day,
sorely depressed and weary, taking counsel with himself
concerning the best course he could pursue. At one
moment he half inclined to recommence the wandering
life which he had hitherto led, because of his lonely con-
dition ; at another, he looked over the smiling valley, where
he had played in childhood, and thought that he should
like to rest among his kindred. Thus thinking, he re-
solved to erect a small hut, in a wild spot, where he used
to gather nuts with his young companions, and where
gushed forth one of those impetuous torrents that water
Italy, and render her country fruitful.

The place was beautiful, yet lonely. A noble tree shaded
the dwelling of the recluse, and birds resorted thither at
all seasons. The punctual nightingale came there, singing
when all else were still, and migratory birds, with such as

76 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

remained stationary, made it their haunt or home. The
recluse loved that tree, and bestowed upon it much of his
attention : in sultry weather he often watered its dry
roots from the neighbouring well-head, and in winter he
scattered grain for the small birds which dwelt among the
branches.

" I shall yet hear your songs, and see green leaves on
my fostering tree, thought the recluse," when he fed Iris
feathered friends. "I know your voices; and when you
sing, I seem to hear a chorus of grateful and rejoicing ones,
who hymn the goodness of their Creator. And thou, noble
tree, which hast sprung up to a commanding height, since
I gathered nuts from off the hazels, — I understand the
rustling and whispering of thy boughs ; thou, too, art one
of nature's choristers."

None remained of those who gathered nuts with the old
man in boyhood ; but their sons were grown up, and many
of them would bring their young children in the summer
evenings, to listen to his tales of hair-breath escape, or to

OAK-TREE. 77

receive instruction, — for the recluse was wise and pious,
and well knew how to impart both counsel and consolation
to those who needed.

Among his most frequent visiters was Annette, the little
daughter of a neighbouring vine-dresser, who loved the old
man as if he had been her grandfather, and who often
descended the rugged path that led from her father's
cottage and small vineyard, to the valley where dwelt the
hermit.

Winter among the Apennines is ofttimes terrible ; and
when snow begins to melt, the mountain streams are swollen
till they become raging torrents, which carry everything
before them. Such was the case during one terrific night ;
and when the father of Annette looked in the morning
from his window, he exclaimed, " Alas ! alas ! the hermit
must have perished ; see how furiously the flood is raging
through his valley : it has filled every nook, and in many
places the topmost boughs of tall trees only are visible
above the waters."

78 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Annette cried as if her heart would break,, and she en-
treated her father to go to the aid of the old man. l ' My
child, I would go willingly/'' replied her father ; " but it is
impossible. See you not how the torrent is raging, — how
it whirls that strong tree round and round ? "

But the old man was saved, yet not by human hand.
He was awoke from his sleep by the plaintive voice of one
of those warning birds which had taken shelter in the
branches of his favourite tree, and which utter their loud
cries when storms of winds or tempests are abroad. He
heard the rushing of the flood ; and when he looked from
the hut, he saw, by the clear light of the moon, that his
situation was all but hopeless. Committing himself, there-
fore, to the protection of Heaven, he climbed to the top of
his hut ; and when the waters increased to where he stood,
he caught hold of a drooping oak-branch, and gained the
topmost bough of the friendly tree. Many a tree fell that
night, "loud crashing, thundering down," and was borne
away by the mighty torrents, like a reed broken with the

OAK-TUEE. 79

wind. But the oak stood firm ; and during three days and
nights did the old man cling to its branches, exposed to
the cold, and driving rain, with only a few crusts of bread,
which he had taken with him.

At length, when the sky was clear, and the waters began
to subside, the vine-dresser and his child went forth, to
seek for the old man. " We may not hope, my child/'
said the father, "to find him alive; but I trust that we
may have the consolation of laying him beside his parents.""

The flood had not yet left the valley, but the vine-dresser
knew a path among the woods, which led to the hermit's
glen. He walked warily, for the way was dangerous, verging
occasionally on the edge of deep ravines, and rendered
slippery by the late heavy rains ; he had, in consequence,
sometimes to carry Annette, and always to uphold her with
his strong hand. Thus went on the father and his child, the
one looking carefully to his steps, the other carrying a small
basket, containing a bottle of wine and some bread; for
notwithstanding her father's words, she clung to the hope

80 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

of finding him alive. And they did find him, lying ex-
hausted on the damp muddy ground. When the water
began to abate, he had descended to the roof of his hut ;
and when the earth appeared, he slid down warily, but
his strength failed, and he fell.

The hermit joyfully partook of the refreshing cordial
and the cake which Annette had brought ; and when the
father, having retraced his steps, obtained a boat and strong
rowers, the old man was taken to the cottage of the vine-
dresser, where he spent the remainder of his days.

" Blessed be thou, my child," said the recluse in dying,
" and blessed be thy husband and thy children. Be thou
and they as the firm oak that upheld me, amid the strife
of waters ; may the dew of heaven descend upon you, and
the summer sun visit you, and may the storms of life
never prevail to overthrow you."

The vine-dresser had been long dead, and Annette had
become a wife and mother, when the old man was sum-
moned hence. He loved to look on the noble tree from

OAK-TREE. 81

his chamber window; and though the lord of the soil
had marked that tree in his own mind, he would not allow
it to be cut down while the hermit lived.

At length the tree was felled, and afterwards converted
into wine casks that were purchased by the husband of
Annette.

It chanced that one of the wine casks had been rolled, at
the time of grape-gathering, beside the cottage, and Annette,
having gone forth to enjoy the freshness of the morning,
had seated herself, with her two rosy children, on a rustic
seat, that overlooked her husband's vineyard, fondling the
baby in her arms, while the youngest child gathered flowers
among the grass. The green valley lay in front, and the
hut was still standing in the far-off nook where dwelt the
hermit; while Annette looked towards the spot, her eyes
filled with tears, and gratitude arose within her heart, in
thinking how the old man's blessing was fulfilled.

A stranger passed at the time, apparently absorbed in
a kind of dreamy fancy. An image of the Holy Family

82 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

had long hovered before his mental view, but he had never
been able to embody the beauteous vision ; yet, full of the
engrossing thought, he had set forth in that early morning
ramble to collect his powers. The painter was Raphael, one
of the greatest painters of his own or any other age.

In that mother and her children the artist found a reality
which he had long vainly sought; and wishing, in the
moment of inspiration, to secure the group, he felt for his
sketching tablet, but found only a chalk pencil. Happily,
the full beams of the now risen sun shone brightly on the
smooth end of the cask, and the idea of appropriating it for
the purpose had no sooner arisen, than it was adopted.
Raphael sketched the lovely Annette, and her children ; he
took it out from the cask, and allowed himself no rest till
he had completed his immortal picture of the Holy Family.

Three hundred years have passed over Italy since the
time of Raphael, but the picture still remains, and has been
preserved amid the fall of nations.

The strong oak ceased; and presently another voice

OAK-TREE. 83

sounded feebly from a time-worn and hollow trunk, grey
with pendent lichens.

Centuries have come and gone, the weak voice said, since
a joyous, light-hearted squirrel, bounding in his gladness,
dropped an acorn on this huge mass of stone. The acorn
fell by chance into a fissure, around which had grown crus-
taceous lichens and bright mosses, leaving, in their decay
and renovation, deposits of vegetable mould ; and, thus
nestling, the small acorn, striking his tiny roots downwards,
held up his small leaves to the loving influence of rain and
wind, till I arose from his midst, a sapling, alone upon
the rock. But years passed on, and numerous trees,
upspringing from my acorns, found their homes around me;
and thus, on either side this mighty torrent, huge masses
of granite rock, with their steep hollows of crumbling soil,
are clothed with an aged wood, extending far as the eye
can reach, and sweeping over hill and dale into the adjacent
country. This wood has been a goodly hunting-place :
animals of all kinds resorted hither, — the deer, the elk,

81 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

wild boars, and large white cattle of fierce aspect, ranged
within its covert. The ancient Briton followed them with
bow and arrow, the Saxon with his spear ; men of mingled
races hunted the tall deer in Bluff King Harry's days ; and
often, in the calmness of a summer evening, you might hear
the buck-bell, when all else was still, save the whisper of
wind among the branches and the roaring of the torrent at
my base.

But now, aged and storm-ridden, my day of greatness
has long passed. No longer a majestic tree, but nearly
branchless and grey with lichens, innumerable agents
hasten the work of demolition. Time was, when, standing
in my strength, it would have ill become me to speak of
weakness or decay ; but now the case is different.

" My forest boughs,
That danced unnumbered to the playful breeze,"

the haunt of nameless nations, have fallen to the ground,
mid, borne by peasant children to their cottage homes, have

OAK-TREE. 85

blazed and flickered on the hearth. Filaments of my strong
bark, ingeniously formed into a kind of paper, were of old
constructed into spacious nests by the mason bee; the hornet
perforated my giant boughs, and reared her metropolis
unbidden ; the squirrel brought up her young family be-
neath the shelter of my branches ; and glad birds paid me
the tribute of their joyous songs in return for my protection.
Beautiful round balls were often seen upon my leaves,
resembling expanded rose-buds, — the nests of insects, who
resorted hither, and elegant night butterflies spun their webs
beside them. Time would fail me, were I to speak of the
innumerable tribes that were sheltered within my bark, or
nestled in its interstices ; but now my leaves have faded,
and decay has begun its work. A few storms more, and
this aged frame will lie strewn beneath their might. Yet
pleasant, amid my sadness, is the thought that some one
may thus lament me : —

" Pride of the grove, and art thou down at last?
Oh, could not thy deep-rooted trunk avail

86 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

To stay the fury of the ruthless blast?

Low here thou liest, and I thy fate bewail.
No longer shalt thou brave the wintry gale,

Nor in thy branching arms, and green array,
Shelter the feather'd tribes when foes assail,

Nor strew thy russet honours in our way
At autumn-tide. Methinks I see the day,

When he who mourns thy lot like thee shall fall ;
Nor does the thought his stedfast soul dismay,

Taught by repeated storms to bear it all 1
Thou, prostrate tree, shalt never more rebloom,

But he shall rise in triumph o'er the tomb."

Millhouse.

The weak voice ceased, and another oak told his tale
from the highest point of Great Whitby Hill. I too was an
acorn once, a cup and ball of nature's making ; but I grew
up a lordly tree, shading with my branches men of many
generations, who came to rest beneath me, — woad-dyed
chiefs of Britain, and their Saxon conquerors; polished
Romans, and ruthless men from Denmark ; but long
before the cumbrous vessels of the latter neared the coasts
of "Wales, an aged man, bearing a pastoral staff, and
wearing sacerdotal vestments, sat down beneath my shade.

OAK-TREE. 87

With him were a company of grave and thoughtful men,
strangers from a far-off land, — for they spoke of Rome and
Italy, and concerning the savage people whom they came
to visit. And then was seen another company of priests
from Bangor, that city of holy men, where the faith planted
by St. Paul still flourished, and from whence missionaries
went forth to enlighten those who remained in darkness.
They came to converse with Augustine, — for such was the
stranger's name, — concerning matters of high import, as
regarded their mutual faith ; the one wishing to engraft on
Christianity the observances of paganism, seeking by such
appliances to allure the heathen; the others, making a
firm stand, and determined to uphold, in all its purity,
the faith which they had received from their fathers.

Since then changes passed over Britain. The forest fell
around me ; and where nought had been seen, except a mighty
intermingling of waving branches, the peasant built his hut,
and corn appeared in furrows. Gradually towns and villages
overspread the champaign country, and parks and mansions

88 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

took the place of old baronial castles, with their portcullises
and moats. Churches were erected, and many a small
Saxon edifice, with its bell-tower, was seen among the
trees; and causeways, made over swamps, often led from
one stately dwelling to another, or else rendered some
near towns accessible.

Yonder farmhouse, with its iron-barred door, its wide
porch, and ruined moat, was once a place of no small
consequence. A squire of high degree dwelt there ; and I
remember that his going forth to the meeting of the shire,
on public occasions, was attended with considerable state.
First came his heavy carriage, drawn by six long-tailed
black horses, ponderous as the huge vehicle that slowly
wended after them. They had hard work to draw it up the
hill ; and not unfrequently, stout yeomen, with spades and
mattocks, followed through the deep miry lanes, in order
to extricate the coach if needful. After this same heavy
lumbering vehicle came riders, two and two, in handsome
dresses of green and gold ; for on such state occasions the

OAK-TREE. 89

sons of the neighbouring farmers, who rented under him,
were proud to wear the squire's livery.

Another race succeeded, who began to move quickly
through the world : they caused the making of good roads,
and galloped on them, getting over distances that would
have taken a week to traverse during Squire Eoachle/s
time, in rather more than a long summer day and half the
night.

Next in order of succession came another race, with the
propelling instinct strong within them. Hear you not a
mighty rush, and a loud scream ? Look narrowly, or else
in one moment you will lose the sight. Here it comes, a
huge, panting, fearful-looking monster — a thing of flame
and smoke — an embodying of man's unquiet yearnings,
having winged iron feet and glaring eyes, and seeming
to send forth sparks of fire from its nostrils : a symbol,
methinks, of the hurrying and unquietness of the days
wherein I begin to fail.

Yet still my branches breast the storms of winter, and

90 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

uphold a weight of snow ; and in spring the stock-dove
finds, with his mate, a safe covert among iny light green
leaves, when returning to his ancient haunts.

Salvator Rosa made great use of old trees. He liked
to contrast them with young saplings. Their gnarled
boughs and grey trunks looked well in the wild scenes,
in depicting which he so much excelled. Methinks I
should have been chosen among many, because, although
my youth has long since waned, and somewhat of decay
is visible in the lessening of umbrageous majesty, rather
than in actual decrepitude, my strong arms are grey with
lichens, and my ash-tinted bark is only seen at intervals
among the various mosses that have struck their tiny roots
in the interstices. Observe the bright green velvet moss
that has stationed itself around my roots. Brimstone-
coloured lichens succeed, and extend far up the trunk :
some are smooth and spreading, and seem imbedded in
the bark ; others are rough, and hang in small rich knots
and fringes ; and with these are intermingled a pure white

OAK-TREE. 91

lichen, beautiful in the contrast which it presents, and
yet denoting that the vigour of the tree is about to fail.
Different kinds of mosses also congregate upon the bark :
some dark green, others of a rich brown hue and nearly
black, others of a dingy orange, others inclining to red,
and even to bright yellow, resembling gleams of sunshine,
In this brotherhood of parasitic plants, different species
blend with one another : the knotted brimstone-tinted
lichens cling to an ash-grey species, as the black saucer-
lichen, with its broad fringes, is contiguous to a scarlet
peziza : thus giving to my rough and furrowed trunk a
peculiar character of sylvan beauty.

Old men like to converse with one another. You may
see them in sunny weather, beneath the shelter of some
aged tree which they have climbed in boyhood, talking
of past days, and those, perchance, who are resting beneath
the shadow of the old grey church. Would that the old
memorial oaks of Britain could thus meet together, each
with his word of wisdom or narratives concerning ages,

92 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

of which the great events alone stand forth in dim
obscurity, like blocks of granite among the glens and
undulations of Dartmoor.

Dartmoor has its oaks, old, dwarfish from long years,
bald with dry antiquity, memorials of days long past, tell-
ing their sad tales of forgotten men.

Immense masses of granite lie scattered in all directions,
and in their midst, either growing among them, or else
seeming to spring from out their interstices, arise, wildly
and widely scattered, a grove of dwarf oak-trees. Exposed
to the continual action of bleak winds, which rush past
their sterile growing- places, and, perhaps, deprived of the
stately trees which might have screened them from their
fury, they are very diminutive. Pew, if any, are more than
ten or twelve feet high, but, though stunted in their growth,
their topmost branches spread far and wide, twisted in the
most fantastic manner, and festooned occasionally with ivy
and creeping plants. Their trunks are so thickly covered
with fine velvet-looking moss, that they seem of enormous

OAK-TREE. 93

thickness in proportion to their height ; but such is not

the fact, their apparent size is occasioned merely by the

rich coating that envelopes them. He who looks upon

those stunted trees, in their utter desolation, is impressed

with the thought of extreme age in the vegetable world.

He remembers, too, those groves in stony places, of which

the Scriptures speak, as dedicated to Baal and Asteroth.

An ancient place is that same old wood, preserving the

remembrance of idolatrous rites and observances, and

upon which still seems to rest somewhat of the curse

that was pronounced on such unhallowed places. Serpents

hiss there, the shepherd does not make his fold there,

and the bittern screams amid its desolation. The stranger

who is wearied with the toil of climbing the rocky pathway

that leads to Wistman's Wood — for such is the place

called — may not sit down to rest on the immense masses

of granite around and beneath the trees, cushioned though

they be with the thickest and the softest moss, lest he

should disturb a nest of adders. " 'Tis a wisht old place,

94 VOICES FKOM THE WOODLANDS.

sure enough, and full of adders as can be," said Farmer
Hanniford to Mrs. Bray, the historian of Dartmoor, when
he assisted her to climb the pathway to Wistman's "Wood.
But, though stunted in their growth, and covered with ivy,
turning, too, from the winds that continually assail them,
the old oaks are by no means without foliage ; their leaves
are of the usual size, but the acorns that cover them in
autumn are very minute.

Thus, then, stands Wistman's Wood, alone in its deso-
lation, with its dwarf and misshapen trees, upheld amidst
the rudest storms, and on one of the wildest spots in
Dartmoor; — a relic of the great forest that anciently
covered many of its glens and eminences, and which is
conjectured to have been set on fire in order to displace
the wolves that used to harbour within its covert. But
the haunting birds, the birds of omen, that were held
sacred in the estimation of the Druids, still linger around
the relics of that ancient wood.

Those trees can tell in the ear of reason strange histories

OAK-TREE. 95

of Druidic times, concerning logan stones, and cromlechs,
and small stone huts where dwelt your remotest ancestors,
— that the arch-Druid used to go his rounds, and that on
nights of unhallowed solemnity a white bull was sacrificed, and
misletoe was cut from oaken boughs with a golden sickle.

The Greendale oak, near Welbeck, and his brother of
Cowthorpe, near Weatherby, with the patriarchal tree of
Broomfield Wood, and of Earl Powis's park, near Lud-
low, equally with those of Needwood Forest and Blith-
field Park, of Fredfield and Panshanger, speak concerning
their vast growth, and the bulk of timber they contain.
In Salcey Forest stands that venerable tree which, al-
though no chronicler of past events, worthily demands
respect from all who pass. That tree has sheltered many
generations of confiding birds; it has showered myriads
of acorns from its good green boughs, and some, which
the squirrel has buried for his winter store, and then for-
gotten, have sprung up, and furnished timber for large
ships. Your Saxon ancestors pastured their hogs in.

96 VOICES FKOM THE WOODLANDS.

forests, and fattened them on the acorns ; and in ages
past you might have seen the grunting brotherhood
repairing to the oak of Salcey, as to a storehouse, for
their daily food. Other oaks grew round, but none of
equal magnitude or so rich in acorns, — and this they well
knew ; even now, though the oak is failing fast, and scions
are grouping round, you may see a few of those restless
creatures, when, having left their styes in the neighbouring
farmyards,

" From oak to oak they run with eager haste,
And wrangling share the first delicious taste
Of fallen acorns, yet but thinly found,
Till the strong gale have shook them to the ground.
It comes, and roaring woods obedient wave ;
Their home, well pleased, the joint adventurers leave :
The trudging sow leads forth her numerous young,
Playful, and white, and clean, the briars among,
Till briars and thorns, increasing, fence them round,
"Where last year's mouldering leaves bestrew the ground ;
And o'er their heads, loud lash'd by furious squalls,
Bright from their cups the rattling treasure falls ;
Hot, thirsty food : whence doubly sweet and cool
The welcome margin of some rush-crowned pool."

Bloomfield.

OAK-TREE. 97

Alas for the Abbott's oak at Woburn ! No pleasant
thoughts of sylvan majesty, nor abundance, nor yet of
singing-birds, nor herds of grateful creatures pasturing
beneath its branches, are associated with that lone tree.
Near three hundred years have passed since Eoger Hobbs,
Abbot of "Woburn, together with the Vicar of Paddington,
were hung upon its branches, by order of Henry VIII.,
for refusing to surrender their sacerdotal rights ; yet still
the old oak stands; but few even of the most intrepid
youths will pass thereby when night broods over its
venerable head, and the startling whoop of the solitary
owl is heard from amid its branches.

Who has not heard concerning the Shelton oak, near
Shrewsbury, called the " Grette oak," in 1543, tradi-
tionally believed to have served the "irregular and wild
Glendower " for a post of observation previous to the battle
of Shrewsbury ? — concerning, also, the Queen's oak, at
Huntingdon, beneath the shade of which Queen Elizabeth
is said to have shot a buck with her own hand, while

H

98 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

Lord Hunsdon stood beside her with his gallant array of
huntsmen ? — of Sir Philip Sidney's oak at Penshurst —

" A goodly tree, which stands the sainted mark
Of Sidney's birth j"

and those of giant growth, Gog and Magog, in Yardley
Forest, the one measuring twenty-eight feet at three feet
from the ground, and containing fifty-eight feet of timber ;
the other of still more imposing dimensions, though not
of the same bulk, yet equal in majesty and fulness of
timber to the oak of "Wallace, which stands at Elderslie,
near Paisley, within sight of the parental home of that
patriot hero, and where he first drew breath ?

Other noble trees have gradually disappeared, and form
subjects for history or tradition. Such is the venerable
oak which stood in the Water-walk of Magdalen College,
Oxford, — a notable tree when the college was founded in
the middle of the fifteenth century ; — a magnificent oak,
also, dug out of Hatfield Bog, the largest ever known in

OAK-TEEE. 99

England, and which exceeded in magnitude even the
famous larch, that was brought to Rome in the reign of
Tiberius, as recorded in Pliny's f Natural History / — and
the tree against which the arrow of Tyrrell glanced in the
New Forest. This tree, memorial of the death of Rufus,
which has fallen to decay and is replaced by a stone
monument, presented a remarkable natural phenomenon,
similar to that of the Glastonbury thorn, and the Caden-
ham oak, near Lyndhurst, in the New Forest : namely,
that of being distinguished for more than two centuries
for budding every year in the depth of winter, and,
according to the testimony of the foresters, on old Christ-
mas day, and then only. Notwithstanding the robust
character of this kind of forest tree, and its proverbial
strength, it is materially affected by the different strata
through which the roots penetrate; and on this principle
only can we account for the striking diversity that is
frequently apparent, both in the season of leafing and the
colour of the foliage.

100 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Lastly, among such as have been great in their day of
power, is the Raven oak of "Wolmer Forest.

In one of those wild and secluded spots that verge
on its precincts, stood a grove of oaks of peculiar growth
and great value; they were tall and taper, like firs, but,
standing near together, they had only a little brush,
without any large limbs. Those who knew the value
of this kind of tree, spoke of them as yielding the
finest timber, but, to the eye of the painter or the poet,
there was nothing to admire in the tall and unvaried
columns, One tree, however, grew in the centre of the
little grove, which many resorted to, on account of its
great antiquity, and which, although partaking somewhat
of the character of those who stood around, in its height
and shape, bulged out into a large excrescence about the
middle of the stem.

Ponderous and stately stood the firm old tree,
'Mid that thick grove ; where, ivy-twined and grey,
The brotherhood stood round, with lichen tufts

OAK-TREE. 101

Depending from their boughs, which up and out
Fantastically grew, and made a gloom
E'en at the cheerful hour of bright noonday.

This oak was called the Baven's tree, because a pair
of ravens had fixed their abode there for many years,
dwelling in conscious security on account of the natural
bulwark by which all access to their eyrie was prevented.
School-boys resorted there from one generation to another ;
grandsires told the striplings of the days in which they
lived, how their fathers and their fathers' fathers had sought
to climb the raven tree, in their boyhood's sports, and how
continually they had been foiled ; but such narrations
only served to excite the ardour of those to whom tliey
were addressed. Many attempts were made in consequence :
each was anxious to succeed, and vainly hoped to achieve
the enterprise in which his father had been disappointed.
But when arrived at the huge excrescence, it jutted out
so far beyond their grasp, that the most daring lads con-
fessed the undertaking to be too hazardous. The ravens

102 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

accordingly built on, nest upon nest, in perfect security.
"Wistful looks were turned upon them, and hats were
thrown up to frighten them in the performance of their
duties ; but they heeded neither the one nor the other ;
and it was amusing to see how soon the young birds
hopped upon the branches in equal fearlessness, while
they looked down on the impatient truants beneath. At
length the fatal day arrived, when several workmen were
seen coming towards the wood. They carried hatchets
in their hands, and with them came empty waggons and
strong horses, for the conveyance of timber. The old
bridge at the Toy, near Hampton Court, needed repara-
tion, and for this purpose trees were required fifty feet in
length, without branches, and measuring fifty inches at the
taper end. Such trees the grove contained, and an order
was given in consequence for felling them. The trees
were not yet in leaf, for it was early in February ; but
the hardy raven prefers to build her nest, and to sit, in
this cold month; — -perhaps some peculiar kind of insect

OAK-TREE. 103

food may be plentiful at the time of hatching, or else, not
heeding the rain and pinching wind of the early season,
she wishes to bring up her young in habits of hardihood
and recklessness of cold. The saw was applied to the
oak, and wedges were inserted into the opening; the
forest echoed to the heavy blows of the woodman's
hatchet, and the tree nodded to its fall, but still the dam
sat on. At length a crashing sound was heard, and down
it came, upheaving the earth beneath, and burying its
lofty head in the deep soil. The poor bird was flung
from her nest. She might have escaped at the first, for
no one wished to injure her, and even the rough workmen
pitied her, as they saw the anxious look which she cast
at them from time to time ; but she would not move even
when the tree began to topple amid the din of their heavy
blows. Down, then, it came, with a crash that made the
forest ring, and the poor bird, being struck by the twigs,
was brought to the ground.

104 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

LAMENT FOR THE RAVEN,

" Poor bird, the year's mild cheering dawn
Upon thee shone, a momentary light ;
The gales of spring upbore thee for a day,
And then forsook thee. Thou art fallen now,
And liest among thy hopes and promises —
Beautiful flowers, and freshly springing blades —
Gasping thy life out. Here for thee the grass
Tenderly makes a bed ; and the young buds
In silence open their fair painted folds :
To ease thy pain, the one ; to cheer thee, these ;
For thou art restless, and thy once keen eye
Is dull and sightless now. Just budding boughs,
Needlessly kind, have spread a tent for thee.
Thy mate is calling for thee to the white-piled clouds
And asks for thee. No answer give they back.
As I look up to their bright angel faces,
Intelligent and capable of voice
They seem to me. Their silence to my soul
Comes ominous. The same to thee, doomed bird.
Silence or sound : for thee there is no sound,
No silence. Near thee stands the shadow, Death ;
And now he slowly draws his sable veil
Over thine eyes ; thy senses soft he lulls
Into unconscious slumbers. The airy call

OAK-TREE. 105

Thou'lt hear no longer. 'Neath sun-lighted clouds,
With beating wing, or steady poise aslant,
Thou'lt sail no more.

I needs must mourn for thee ; for I — who have
Nor fields, nor gather into garner — I
Bear thee both thanks and love, nor fear, nor hate.
And now, farewell ! The falling leaves, ere long,
Will give thee decent covering. Till then,
Thine own black plumage, which will now no more
Glance to the sun, nor flash upon my eyes,
Like armour of steeled knight of Palestine,
Must be thy pall."

CHAPTEE V.

BEECH-TKEE.
Fagus sylvatica.

This stately tree grows on the sunny hill's side,
And merry hirds sing round it all the day long.

Oh, the joy of my childhood at evening-tide,
To sit in its shadow and hear the hirds' song !

A STATELY beech, pre-eminent in sylvan majesty, told
concerning her own state and dignity. —

Music breathes from me, she said ; my numerous and
spreading branches, at one time aspiring in airy lightness
above the general mass of foliage, at another, feathering
to the ground, are the haunt of innumerable birds. You

•W.F.del.etlitK

BEECH-TREE. 107

may hear them, in the stillness of a summer evening,
pouring forth their sweet, mellifluous tones, — first one,
then another, — when twilight is on the hills, or as yet the
day has scarcely dawned. Summer winds, too, how nimbly
they come and go, causing that gentle rustling among
the leaves, which sounds in accordance with the rushing
of yonder rivulet ! Nor is the hum of bees wanting in
this lone spot, although no cottage homes are near, nor
yet bee-gardens, with their broad hedges of honeysuckles
and sweet briars. Bees revel in my fragrant flowers, and
their humming sounds, with birds and winds, make one
of nature's concerts.

Every tree has its peculiar characteristics. Majesty is
developed in the oak, gracefulness in the ash, an undefined
sense of beauty in the birch ; mine is cheerfulness. Even
my wood, the favourite lois d'andelle of Paris, produces
a clear and lively fire ; and the maker of musical instru-
ments obtains from my trunk materials for his sounding-
boards.

108 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Those who visit the places of my growth, rarely find
either ferns or grass beneath my shade; but instead of
these, soft moss, with here and there the ladies' slipper-
wort, and that fragrant parasitic plant, the birdVnest
twayblade, which takes root wherever a wandering sun-
beam can make its way. And far as the eye can reach
often extend tall columns, such as have braved the storms
of ages, covered with grey lichens or tufts of moss, in
which the dormouse loves to nestle ; such, on the contrary,
as have sprung up long since those patriarchal trees first
rose from out the earth, beautifully harmonize, in their
smooth and silvery bark, with the splendour and delicacy
of their foliage.

No other bark equally allures the young enthusiast to
carve thereon the name of his beloved. A propitious
emblem, too, it seems, for he sings while thus employed —

" As the letters of our names increase
So may our love."

Enthusiasts in all ages confided their thoughts to trees,

BEECH-TREE. 109

even before Virgil sang, or Shakspeare haunted the wild
wood ; and many a tender thought would have been trans-
mitted to posterity had men possessed the power of em-
bodying them. Customs which naturally originate from
the feelings of the human heart must ever have prevailed,
whether among groves of olive beneath Italian skies, or
in the deep beech-woods of your fatherland. Poetry has,
also, its imperishable associations, and many a lone tree
awakens those deep emotions which are kindled whenever
memory recalls the creations of poetic genius. How
appropriate, therefore, the elegant effusion of one of your
own poets, when, wandering in this ravine, he thus per-
sonified a noble beech, which the wood-ranger had marked
with his axe : —

" Thrice twenty summers I have stood
In bloomless, fruitless solitude,
Since childhood in my pleasant hower
First spent its sweet and sportive hour ;
Since youthful lovers in my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture made,

110 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

And on my trunk's surviving frame
Carved many a long-forgotten name.
Oh ! by the sighs of gentle sound,
First breathed upon this sacred ground ;
By all that love has whisper'd here,
Or beauty heard with ravish'd ear ;
As Love's own altar honour me :
Spare, woodman, spare thebeechen tree."

Campbell.

Men in old time thought it little less than sacrilege to
cut down a tree ; and hence General Spinola commanded
his army not to injure the woods that belonged to the
Prince of Orange, although his enemy; Xerxes, in like
manner, passing through Achera, would not suffer a
tree to be despoiled. But now the case is otherwise.
The woodcutter, even, in this wild spot, with its rushing
waters and majestic foliage, walks leisurely from tree to
tree, measuring their girth, and seeming to consider whether
or not they may remain till another year.

Surely the air of cheerfulness that pervades the family
of beech, and the readiness with which they adapt them-

BEECH -TREE. Ill

selves to the sternest localities, must have occasioned
the wood to be selected for purposes of festivity. "The
beechen bowl, the beechen bowl," has been eulogized by
many a rustic poet, both in ancient and modern times.
Of old, the vasa vmdemiatoria and corbes messoria were
made with the rind ; at the present day you may see young
children on the common that skirts the ravine, gathering
wild strawberries into little pottles wrought in like manner.
All lovers of woodland scenery maintain, that no tree
is more beautiful when standing in parks and pleasure-
grounds, with numerous and spreading branches, either
aspiring in airy lightness above the general mass, or else
gracefully feathering to the ground.. But in woods, as
already noticed, our brotherhood grow clear of branches
to a great height, and hence, as sang the poet, —

There oft the muse, what most delights her, sees,
Long living galleries of aged trees,
Bold sons of earth, that lift their arms so high,
As if once more they would invade the sky.

VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

In such green palaces the first kings reigned,
Slept in their shade, and angels entertained ;
With such old councillors they did advise,
And, by frequenting sacred groves, grew wise."

Waller,

Would you, however, wish to see the beech in its greatest
perfection, visit the Frankley beeches in Worcestershire,
conspicuous for many iniles, and which, when seen from
low ground, exhibit a preternatural magnitude in the
distant horizon, seeming to enlarge upon the eye, and to
stand as martello towers to guard their brethren from
the cold bleak winds of winter. Dry, chalky, or limestone
heights are our favourite resorts ; and hence we attain to
a great size upon the hills of Kent and Surrey, as also
on the steep acclivities of the Cotswold and Stroudwater
hills in Gloucestershire, and on the banks of the Wye in
Herefordshire and Monmouthshire. Strutt speaks of a
noble tree in Knole Park, measuring one hundred and five
feet in height, and twenty-four feet girth at three feet from
the ground, containing four hundred and twenty-eight feet

BEECH-TREE. 113

of solid timber. Linnseus speaks also respecting a majestic
tree, at about our extreme range northward, which was
called the Twelve Apostles, from the trunk having divided
into as many stems. The names of Charles XI. and XII.
of Sweden, and that of Queen Eleanora, were inscribed
on the bark, with those of distinguished persons who had
stood beneath its shade.

I have mentioned that our haunts are often among the
wildest and most romantic scenes. Observe, for instance,
the rich woodland scenery that extends in the New Forest,
from Burley to Boldre-wood, the seat of Lord Delaware.
We grow there in all our pristine beauty; no hatchet
is ever lifted on our thick boughs, and beneath our
shade innumerable living creatures resort to pasture on
our mast.

Gilpin, who delighted in the wildest haunts of the
New Forest, tells concerning the hogs, that find a ready
banquet wherever our branches spread. He mentions
likewise the swineherd, and associates with that ancient

i

114 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

occupation somewhat of poetry and sentiment ; instancing,
moreover, the obedience to which large herds of usually
unmanageable brutes may be reduced, as affording a
striking proof of the power that man still possesses over
the animal creation.

You may see the swineherd busily employed in seeking
out some retired part of the forest, where grows a stately
beech, free of underwood, and within reach of a clear
stream. This found, he proceeds to wattle around the
stem a strong circular fence of the required dimensions,
and, after covering the roof with boughs and sods, he fills
it with abundance of fern and straw. A shelter being thus
prepared, he next proceeds to collect a grunting colony
among the neighbouring farmers, with whom he agrees
for a shilling a head, and generally succeeds in obtaining
at least five or six hundred hogs. Behold him, then,
driving his ungainly flock to their destined habitation,
where he has prepared a plentiful supply of acorns, or
rather beech-mast, agreeing in this respect with Pliny,

BEECH-TREE. 115

who gave them a decided preference. And hark to the
cheerful notes of the swineherd's horn, with which he
enlivens their repast ; and when their little twinkling eyes
begin to close, he conducts them to their shelter for the
night. Scarcely, however, has the sun arisen, and begun
to gild our topmost boughs, than the swineherd summons
his grunting charge. He shows them the pool or clear
stream at which they can either bathe or quench their
thirst, and encourages them to pick up the remnant of
their last evening's repast ; and when our giant trees fling
their long shadows on the grass, he gives them another
plentiful repast beneath our branches, or beneath those of
contiguous oaks, which ofttimes rain acorns upon them
for an hour together at the sound of his horn ; after which
he reconducts them to their hovel for the night.

The next day he generally procures them another meal,
with music playing as before. He then gradually with-
draws, keeping, however, a watchful eye on their evening
hours. But when their appetites are satisfied they rarely

116 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

wander far from their temporary home, and return early
and in good order to their bed.

After this, the stye is left open both day and night, and
the occupants are left to their own resources. The swine-
herd henceforth has little more trouble with them during
the time of their sojourning in the forest. He might study
Yirgil if it so pleased him, or fancy himself the faithful
swineherd who pastured his grunting charge beneath the
oaks of Ithica, when,

" 'Mid cavern' d ways, the shaggy coast along,
With cliffs and nodding forests overhung,
Forth hasted he to tend his bristly care,
Well arm'd and fenced against nocturnal air ;
His weighty falchion o'er his shoulders tied,
His shaggy coat a mountain goat supplied ;
With his hroad spear, the dread of dogs and men,
To seek his lodging in the rocky den ;
There to the tusky herd he bends his way,
Where, screen'd from Boreas, high o'erarch'd they lay."

In calm weather, when scarcely a breeze is stirring, and

BEECH-TREE. 117

mast falls sparingly, the swineherd now and then invites them,
with the music of his horn, to a gratuitous meal, but in
general this is unnecessary ; they speedily seek out the best
laden trees, and such as yield the finest mast or acorns, and
range occasionally to the distance of three or four miles.
Swineherds report, that every herd is conducted by an ex-
perienced leader, who, having led a forest life for perhaps
several seasons, instructs his younger bretheren, and con-
ducts them to his favourite haunts among the woods.

Our grunting dependants have generally been regarded
as obstinate, headstrong, and unmanageable. True it is,
that they have somewhat of self-will, which inclines them to
a degree of positiveness, as regards the will of others ; but
when judiciously instructed, — and for this we have the
authority of Gilpin, — they become both orderly and docile.
Some difficulty at first doubtless consists in enabling them
to comprehend that your intentions are friendly, because
hard usage uniformly excites mistrust; but when this is
effected, you may lead them with a straw.

118 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Nor is the calumniated quadruped without social feelings.
He chooses his associates from among the herd ; and when
ranging through the woods in his forest migration, it is
uniformly observed that he forms, with his companions,
little communities, which keep together, and pasture under
the same tree : nay more, should it happen that they are
again sent forth to lead a wandering life in quest of mast and
acorns, the young pigs of one year, having attained full age
the next, remember their early associates, and range together
as heretofore ; and as they go forth at early dawn, so they
return at night with complacent gruntings, as if discussing
the adventures of the day.

Some of our venerable brethren, observant trees, who
have looked for ages on the actings of men and animals,
incline to the opinion that swine anticipate with pleasure
the period of wood-ranging. Certain it is, that they greatly
enjoy that pleasant mode of life, wandering about at ease,
basking in the sunbeams, or bathing in clear streams, such
as a naiad might affect, and conversing " with one another

BEECH-TREE. 119

in short, pithy, interrupted sentences, which are no doubt
expressive of their enjoyments and friendly feelings."

Other races subsist upon our mast. These are indi-
genous forest hogs, the property of forest-keepers, and
which chiefly depend for their livelihood, during winter,
on the roots of fern. You may see hundreds of these
creatures, labouring with all their might to obtain a scanty
subsistence by turning up the ground, when our noble
branches wave against a wintry sky : and thus the winter
passes, till our boughs are again loaded with plenty, when
their sonorous grunts are heard from amid the forest depths;
and freely do they help themselves, although no stirring
sounds of forest melody cheer them at their daily meals.
Some, also, of the grunting tribe wander at will, without
any settled habitation. They affect the most lonely and
thickly wooded parts, where many a friendly tree affords them
both food and shelter* No care is extended towards them,
if their delving snouts are unable to penetrate the ground
by reason of hard frost ; no kind hand ministers to their

120 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

wants ; no forest-keeper goes forth in quest of them, with
hay or turnips : they must forget the cravings of hunger,
and bury themselves among withered leaves, till better days,
or till they discover some less frozen part covered with
withered ferns.

Listen to the following animated description. It will
bring before your mental view a scene of no ordinary
interest, associated with our New Forest brethren, and
their grunting dependants.

" We well remember," said the narrator,"* " when in one
of our rambles we had thrown ourselves down at the root
of a great beech-tree, whence we looked abroad from under-
neath its wide canopy of foliage on a small streak of sun-
shine, which, penetrating an opening in the wood, and
falling athwart the ground beyond, gave a broader and
deeper effect to the surrounding shadows. Not a breath
of air shook the stationary foliage, not a sound was heard,
and we lay in all that listlessness of dreamy musing which
* Sir Thomas Dick Lauder.

BEECH-TREE, 121

to the idle mind might seem as idleness, but which the
philosopher and moralist well know how to appreciate.
Suddenly, a sound resembling that of warlike music, mel-
lowed somewhat by distance, came upon the ear. We
started from our recumbent posture, so far as to lean
upon one arm, and strained to listen, with some degree
of awe. Tales of childhood were remembered at the moment,
and we almost expected to see some fairy pageant ad-
vancing through the glades ; forgetful that such pageants
belong to the witching hour of deep midnight. The sound
meanwhile increased, and grew louder as it advanced ; and
as it drew yet nearer and nearer, the tramp of what might
have passed for fairy cavalry mingled with that strange,
unearthly sound. Even then we were totally ignorant of
what spectacle awaited us, until the leading boar of a large
herd of forest swine, whose ancestors were brought by
Charles I. from the forest of Germany, came grunting
forward in the sunshine, followed by the musical members
of his harmonious detachment. Perchance, the cheering

122 VOICES FROM THE WQODLANJ)S.

and cherishing effects of the sunbeams, or some savory
herbage on the spot, attracted the troop ; for the grunting
swelled into a louder chorus, snouts were quickly set to
work, ears and tails were kept in joyous and continued
motion, and small eyes seemed to flash back the sunny
rays with unusual eagerness of expression. True it was,
that the company of joyous and excited creatures were
homeless forest swine. Yet still the sight was beautiful
and interesting ; the creatures were in fine condition, their
bristles shone like silver, their bodies were clean as if they
had been duly washed and combed like a lady's lap-dog, and
they seemed so free and happy, that our mind was filled
with the romance of forest recollections. We sprang
up, in order to observe and admire them more closely ; but
the noise alarmed the joyous brotherhood, and off they
galloped in a terrible fright, helter-skelter, with a speed
that none of the porcine races, excepting such as are free
forest-rangers, could possibly exhibit. And long after the
whisk of the last tail was seen disappearing among the

BEECH-TREE. 123

shades, into which they penetrated, their retreating tramp
was heard gradually dying away."

My stately brother, the strong oak, has spoken con-
cerning the abundance of his acorns, and that from year
to year he has scattered millions upon the earth. Methinks
my liberality is equally manifested, and my fruit deserving
of brief notice. Observe the ovate form of the enclosing
calyx, its silkiness, and pliant prickles, and how beautifully
the brown and glossy mast fits within that elegant re-
ceptacle. A botanist will tell you, that the beech-mast
exhibits in its growth a familiar illustration of vegetable
economy. First uprise from out the earth cotyledons, or
seed-lobes, which, like careful nurses, cherish and look well
to the young plant when it begins to expand, and from which
the first leaves are derived; secondly, the corculum, or
heart, placed between the cotyledons, and which exhibits in
its emerging a plumule, or feather-like appearance, which
gradually changes into a tuft of young leaves; thirdly, an
internal scar, called the eye, or hilum; and lastly, the

124 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

arillus, or seed-coat, which falls off spontaneously. All
this the botanist narrates, and a poet thus carries on the
subject : —

Yes, the small beech-mast,
Instinct with life, doth rise from out the ground,
Nursed by soft dews, and sunbeams, and mild winds ;
And those two watchful guardians, whose true office
Doth cease not, till the scion stands alone,
A mimic tree, yet such as dibbling foot
Of fawn might crush, but destined soon to rise
With might of boughs, beneath whose ample shade
Flocks may lie down at noon.

My boughs, though comparatively unpeopled during the
summer months, are resorted to in autumn by vast numbers
of rooks and squirrels. You may see the sable brother-
hood, flying in clouds from yonder row of elms, and then,
alighting with grave and measured steps, they proceed to
gather in their harvest of beech-mast, wliich they secrete
in the ploughed fields, or among ferns or moss, and thus
form convenient granaries for winter. The nimble and
light-hearted squirrel is here also, with his numerous rela-

BEECH-TREE. 125

tives, for they, in like manner, warily lay by a store for winter
consumption. My bark, when rough, affords a kind of ladder,
whereby the active creatures may readily gain the highest
branches; and up and down they go, swiftly and safely,
with their brushy tails spread out like fans, and their quick
eyes glancing in all directions. Many a noble tree owes
its birth to beech-mast, which rooks and squirrels have
dropped in their haste, or perchance forgotten, when care-
fully laid by.

CHAPTER VI.

ASH-TBEE.

Fraxinus excelsior.

" The ash far stretching his umbrageous arm."

Cotvper.

THE ASH, pre-eminent in sylvan elegance, may surely chal-
lenge competition with her brothers of the forest, said a
murmuring voice from among the branches of a graceful
ash. Look upon my smooth grey bark, and the curving
upwards of my lower branches, of which the light and
airy foliage emulates that of the acacia, the tree beloved
of nightingales.

The coming forth of my leaves in spring, informs the

m

!•

*^m

ASH-TREE. 127

gardener that he may venture his green-house plants into
the open air ; in autumn, their sudden fall, when breathed
upon by the slightest frost, warns him to shelter them.
Much, too, of advantage to the farmer is derived from my
roots, as under drains, on the side of ditches or boggy
meadows, by means of which the ground is rendered both
firm and hard. Men owe to me the best handles for their
tools employed in husbandry, for carts also, and wains,
and work pertaining to the wheelwright; and my bark is
available for tanning calf-skin. The chemist, by using a
slight infusion of it, produces a beautiful and curious
transition from one colour to another. The infusion, when
viewed between the eye and light, appears of a pale yellow
colour; but when looked down upon, or placed between
the eye and an opake substance, it becomes blue. This
blueness is destroyed by the addition of an acid, and
alkalies recover it again.

Poets sing concerning the light and airy elegance of my
quivering branches, my smooth rmd? and bright green

128 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

leaves; but who among them have chronicled the noble
ash of Cranock, planted in the sixteenth century by Sir
T. Nicholson, Lord Advocate in the time of James VI.,
when bearded men stood round with peaked hats and stiff
starched ruffs, thinking, it might be, of the Spanish armada,
or their young king's marriage with the Danish princess ;
— a tree which now aspires to the height of ninety feet, and
twenty-one in girth at nine feet from the ground ? Neither
have they sung concerning the goodly ash in Woburn Park,
containing eight hundred and seventy-two cubic feet of
timber; nor of the hollow ash-trunk at Donirey, near Clare,
forty-two feet in circumference. And yet what subject
more worthy of poetic inspiration, than that same hollow
trunk ? — a living cavern, but, in lieu of stones, a rough and
serried bark ; instead of ferns rooted in the interstices, a
few green leaves, showing that life remains ; and within its
ample precincts a little school of peasant children, gathered
from the contiguous cottages, and taught by one of noble
birth, to read in that holy book from which words of love,

ASH-TREE. 129

and peace, and gentle admonition were bodied forth. Trees
cluster round, and from amidst their branches birds sing
merrily, while beside the greensward murmurs a clear
stream, with rushes and wild flowers, which the children
gather on a summer holiday.

" The pastoral cowslips are their little pets,
And daisy stars, whose firmament is green ;
Pansies, and those veiled nuns, meek violets,
Sighing to that warm world from which they screen ;
And golden daffodils plucked for May's queen,
And lonely harebells quaking on the heath ;
And hyacinth, long since a fair youth seen."

Hood.

And often, in the stillness of that lone place, when
nought is heard but the rippling of a clear stream in
unison with birds and winds, sound the voices of young
children from the hollow tree, singing the evening hymn,
that sweetest of all sounds, when as yet the heart is full
of love, and rejoices in the gladness of its being.

Strange fantasies were associated with my leaves and

130 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

twigs in different parts of Britain, and a few still linger
in the principality of Wales. In Wiltshire, also, and in
Devonshire, and all such places, where extensive commons
abound, or rocks and waterfalls, it was once the practice to
pluck an ash-leaf in every case where the leaflets were of
equal number, and to say,

"Even ash, I do thee pluck,
Hoping thus to meet good luck ;
If no luck I get from thee,
Better far be on the tree."

Traditionary reverence is also attached to me, even more
than to any other forest tree ; and in this you may recognize
evident traces of that mythological system, in which the
ash, Yggdrassil, or the world's tree — the greatest and holiest
of all trees, which embraces the universe, and from whose
boughs descend the bee-feeding dew, figured so promi-
nently. Hence, without doubt, originated the strange
custom of passing children through a cleft ash-tree, which
also prevails in India with regard to other trees, when

ASH-TKEE. 131

the father presents the child, and the mother receives it ;
— an old custom, more honoured in the breach than in the
observance, and which is spoken of with just reprehension
in one of the Homilies of the Anglo-Saxon Church, edited
by Mr. Thorpe for the JElfric Society : — " It is not allowed
to any Christian man to fetch his health from any stone,
nor from any tree ; unless it be the holy sign of the Rood,
nor from any place, unless it be the holy house, wherein
the Most High is worshipped." And again, in the ancient
laws and institutes of Britain, tree- worshippings and stone-
worshippings are denounced as "the craft of the Wicked
One, whereby children are drawn through the earth."

Aged trees have told concerning the grey lichens which
cluster on their stems and branches. Some speak proudly
of " evanescent nations " which resort to them ; others, of
birds and animals that find a storehouse and a home
beneath their shelter ; but I shall speak of a small parasitic
fungus that pertains to me exclusively, the Spharia fraxinea,
or ash sphseria, one of the most curious among its brethren,

K 2

132 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

minute, black, roundish, convex, and dotted fungus,
growing in masses, and first discovered on an old ash-tree
by the footway between Thornbury and Alveston, and on
one overhanging the road leading up the first hill between
Queen's- ferry and Edinburgh.

This small and homely fungus is wondrously constructed,
and presents in its interior a number of concentric layers,
composed of minute tubes or threads pointing from the
centre; the seed-vessels are scarcely visible, but when
ripe they emit a large quantity of black powder. Yet,
however unsightly, it forms the garner of an apparently
weak creature, which is nevertheless endowed with sufficient
strength to make its way through a deal board ; and that,
not by softening the hard substance, but by the aid of its
strong teeth : a degree of strength which, if possessed by
the horse or elephant, in accordance with their proportions,
would enable them to uproot the strongest and stateliest
oak that ever breasted the storms of winter.

CHAPTER VII.

WILD PEAB-TBEE. IBON-PEAB.
Pyrus communis.

" Ten ruddy wildings in the wood I found,
And stood on tiptoes, reaching from the ground."

Virgil.

A PHILOSOPHER came one day and sat beneath my branches,
and with him (said a wild pear-tree) was a youth, to whom
he spoke concerning the various uses of such trees as grew
around.

It seems, he said, as if the merciful Creator of the
Universe had given divers textures to different kinds of
wood, that in the passing on of ages, and the developing

134 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

of such arts as pertain to different conditions of society,
men might find materials to their hands. Why, else, does
beech- wood differ from that of ash ? Why to the one is
imparted such firmness of texture that it may be wrought
like a block of stone, were it not required for mill- work or
wheels ; while on the other is bestowed a flexibility and
elasticity like that of steel? — that further, according to
Linnaeus, the wood of the singular and elegant spindle-tree,
if cut when the plant is blossoming, is so tough and diffi-
cult to break that watchmakers use it for cleaning watches,
and musical instrument makers as keys for organs ; and
that the limner prepares from it the best charcoal for
designs ? Lastly, without the box and pear-tree, blocks of
sufficient hardness could hardly be obtained for purposes of
wood-engraving.

Men have found materials to their hands in trees of
which the uses long remained undefined. Dwellers in the
north made their canoes with the bark of giant birch-trees,
but they knew nought concerning the imperishable nature

PEAR-THEE. 135

of its wood, nor the purposes to which its silvery under-
bark could be applied. British and Saxon children gathered
fruit from the wild pear-tree, but their parents had never
heard concerning that dormant art with which the artist,
when aided by its charred wood, conveys to a broad surface
embodyings of his inventive genius, or delineations of what
has been.

The ravine is narrow; and yet trees of all foliage group
on either side, each with its distinctive character and pre-
scribed use. How beautiful the blossoms of this pear-tree !
white as snow-flakes, reflecting the light of heaven from
innumerable little mirrors on the embryo fruit, and yielding
an exquisite variety of lights and shades as the sunbeams
come and go. And yet this tree, with its budding foliage
and beauteous blossoms, the haunt of innumerable bees,
was once enclosed in a kernel.

Let us consider, for a moment, the twofold uses of the
fruit, or rather of the pulp in which the kernel is enclosed.
When attained to full growth, it subserves the purpose of

136 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

perfecting the seed or kernel by means of vessels passing
through the stone; but when the kernel is fully grown,
and the shelly substance becomes hard, the vessels cease
their functions. But the enclosing pulp has still another
purpose to fulfil ; — it was previously designed merely to
perfect the kernel; when that purpose is effected,
the pulp receives and retains the whole of the sun's in-
fluence, and becomes a grateful food to man. The stone,
either planted by his hand, or falling ungathered from
the tree, sinks into the earth beneath, where it will
remain until an appointed season; and then, emerging
from the earth, complete in all its parts, it gradually
becomes a tree.

All this is familiar. to the mind. It is a fact that meets
us at every turn, whether among shrubs or forest trees, or
such as yield fruit or flowers. It is connected with re-
searches which science has gradually led onward to their
full development ; and hence, the emerging of a plant from
out the ground, the circulation of the sap, and the produc-

PEAR-TREE. 137

tion of leaves and fruit, are no longer subjects of unsatis-
factory inquiry.

Life is developed throughout the vegetable world ; but
inert matter has no self-producing quality — no power of
enlargement. That which happens continually in trees,
would in an unhewn stone become a miracle. A magni-
ficent oak, with its spreading branches, rises from an acorn;
but a cathedral owes its existence to the hands of man.
Neither columns, porticoes, fretted windows, nor sculp-
tured doors can unfold from out the rock ; but a vast
vegetable column silently, imperceptibly, goes on from
year to year, till its magnificent proportions become fully
manifested. The same Creative Power which gives life to
the acorn, might have similarly endowed a block of stone,
and, had he thus willed, it would have been nothing to
wonder at. Yet the emerging of an oak from its acorn
cradle, if such a phenomenon had never before occurred,
would excite equal astonishment in the minds of men as if it
had pleased Omnipotence that a cathedral should gradually

138 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

develope in its fair proportions from a block of granite.
" To say that the one has life, the other not, is an answer
that solves nothing — it consists of empty words/'

According to De Theis, the generic name of the wild
pear is derived from the Celtic word perm, whence the
Anglo-Saxon pere, the English pear, and the French poire.
This tall tree, of which the main branches are upright, and
the smaller ones curve downward, grows best in a fertile
soil, and on sloping ground ; but will riot thrive in moist
valleys, where the hawthorn loves to nestle. It braves the
severest winters, and does not injure the herbage that
grows beneath its shade. The wood, when cut, and ready
for the carpenter, is light, compact, and smooth; it is
consequently in much request with turners, and is used for
joiners' tools, and picture-frames to be stained black. The
fruit of the wild tree is harsh, and is relished only by swine
or hedgehogs ; but, when cultivated, is extremely grateful
to the taste, and at least one hundred .varieties have
originated from the native species,

PEAR-TREE. 139

Pear orchards are common in Worcestershire and Here-
fordshire, and their effect in spring is beantiful. In autumn,
too, their ripe fruit looks well, and the branches of many a
widely-spreading tree are upheld by strong supporters,
when ready to break down with the abundance of that
joyous season. The making of perry succeeds to the
gathering of ripe pears, and, among numerous varieties of
perry, the Squash, the Oldneld, and the Barley, are reputed
the best, and are little inferior to wine. British pomonists
would do well to adopt a practice common in Prance,
and which greatly improves the flavour and growth of
pears, and this is, grafting them on a quince stock, which
tends to stunt their growth, and to produce fruit-bearing
branches.

Sugar may be obtained both from pears and apples, which
yield about one ounce of sugar from each pound weight
of fruit.

Pear-trees occasionally attain to a great size. A noble
specimen may be seen near the parsonage-house at Horn

140 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Lacy, a seat of the Duke of Norfolk, in Herefordshire,
which covers nearly a quarter of an acre, and forms an
orchard of itself, having yielded, for many years, from twelve
to sixteen hogsheads of perry. This patriarchal tree has
attained its present size from a succession of layers that
have rooted, and bear fruit.

If the botanist delights in noticing the beautiful forma-
tion of its blossom, not less interesting is the pear-tree to
entomologists. Wingless insects of various kinds, with
butterflies and moths, take shelter among the leaves or bark.
A species of Tinea especially fixes her tent-like dwelling on
the ample surface of its broad leaves; and thus pleas-
ingly have Kirby and Spence described the method by
which this is effected. —

Examine, say they, the leaves of your pear-trees in the
spring, and you will observe several perpendicular, downy,
russet-coloured projections, about a quarter of an inch high.
Beneath them are excavations, formed by a small caterpillar,
which obtains its food by moving its little tent from one

PEAR-TREE. 141

part of the leaf to another, and eating away the spaces
immediately beneath. The case in which the caterpillar
resides, and which is essential to its existence, is composed
of the finest silk ; and as the creature increases in size, it
enlarges its mimic tent by slitting it in two, and introducing
a slip of new material. In order to retain the tent in a
perpendicular posture, the little Arab attaches silken threads
from the base to the surrounding surface of the leaf, and,
lest any violence should overturn its slender dwelling, the
creature forms a vacuum in the protuberance at the base,
and thus as effectually fastens it to the leaf, as if an air-pump
had been employed. This vacuum is produced by the rapid
retreating of the insect, on the least alarm, up its narrow
case, which it completely fills up, and thus leaves the space
below free ; and, as if aware that should the air get admis-
sion from below, a vacuum would be impracticable, and
the strongest bulwark of its fortress be destroyed, the little
philosopher carefully avoids gnawing a hole in the leaf,
contenting itself with the pasturage afforded by the paren-

VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

chyma above the lower epidermis ; and when the produce of
this area is consumed, it gnaws asunder the cords of its
tent, and pitches it again at a short distance. When the
creature attains its full growth, it assumes the pupa state,
and after a while issues out of its confinement, a small
brown moth, with long hind legs, the Pkalcena Tinea ser-
ratella of Linnseus.

CRAB-TREE.

Crab -trees flourish better on declivities, and in shady
places, than in open pastures. Their delicately blended
pink and white blossoms render them more exquisitely
beautiful, either collectively or individually, than the
common apple. And yet the orchards of this country
present a combination of fragrance and of beauty, in the
month of May, that is unrivalled throughout the vegetable
world.

Ascend to the summit of Malvern hill, or some bold

I ,

"W. F . iel et h.th

APPLE-TEEE. 143

eminence in Herefordshire or Devonshire, and look, from
either the one or the other, over the apple orchards of both
counties. Prom Malvern, especially, which rises to an
elevation of one thousand feet above the vale country, the
boundless and richly diversified prospect comprises, in its
nearer landscape, on one side, the pear-trees of "Worcester-
shire ; on the other, the apple-trees of Herefordshire. —

"One boundless blush, one wide empurpled shower,
Of mingled blossoms."

This beauteous show is succeeded, from the end of July
till October, by the gradual ripening of different kinds of
apples, for the dessert, or kitchen use, or cider-making, most
of which improve after being gathered, and some will even
keep good till the next apple-harvest.

Poets have described the joyous season of haymaking,
and the reaper's pleasant toil, when he cuts down the ripe
brown ears, and his wife and children bind the sheaths
together ; but what more suggestive of poetic inspiration
than the gathering of apples in autumn, when delicious

VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

fruits replace the flowers of summer, and the mellow apples,
whose golden hue is often heightened by rich streaks of
carmine, weigh down the branch that bears them ?

Such an orchard stood contiguous to the " old house at
home " where my young days passed. It might be seen at
a considerable distance, for the orchard was extensive, and
lay on the slope of a considerable hill. Pleasant sounds
were there : bees came from far, to gather honey from the
blossoms, and singing birds built their nests among the
branches ; the murmur of rushing waters also came remotely
on the ear, with the cheerful songs of labourers in the
mowing season. That orchard, with its blended white and
pink blossoms, could never be sufficiently admired ; thoughts
of quietness, and beauty, and perfection were awakened in
the minds of many as they passed.

In autumn the scene was animating. Ladders were put
against the trees, and the choicest apples were carefully
gathered, while such as were designed for making cider
were shaken to the ground. Meanwhile, women and

APPLE-TREE. 145

children, with baskets and spread aprons, ran blithely to pick
up such as fell, laughing ever and anon, when a shower of
apples was shaken with merry intent upon them, by some
urchin who concealed himself among the branches. To this
succeeded the carrying of large baskets, filled with apples,
to the mill, where, after being laid awhile in heaps to
mellow, they were crushed and pressed till all their juice was
extracted, which, being fermented, became cider.

Britain was early celebrated for her orchards, and mention
is made of apples in the ancient Saxon rite of coronation,
as recorded in the time of Edgar.

" May the Almighty Lord give thee, O king, from the
dew of heaven, and the fatness of the earth, abundance of
corn, and wine, and oil. Be thou the lord of thy brothers,
and let the sons of thy mother bow down before thee.
Let the people serve thee and the tribes adore thee. May
the Almighty bless thee with the blessings of heaven above,
and the mountains and the valleys, with the blessings of the
deep below, with the blessings of grapes and apples.

L

146 VOICES PROM THE WOODLANDS.

" Bless, 0 Lord, the courage of this prince, and prosper
the work of his hands; and, by thy blessing, may his
land be filled with apples, with the fruit and dew of heaven,
from the top of the ancient mountains, from the apples
of the eternal hills, from the fruits of the earth, and its
fulness."

Superstitions linger around most trees : the apple-tree
especially is honoured with rustic observances, derived
without doubt from the dark ages of Pagan superstition,
when every tree was supposed to be indwelt by some pre-
siding genius.

Yet not in the time of blossoms, when the beauty of each
tree gives an earnest of abundance, nor yet when ripe fruit
is seen upon the branches, is this ancient ceremony
performed. Scarcely have the merry bells ushered in the
morning of Christmas, than a troop of people may be seen
entering the apple-orchard, often when the trees are
powdered with hoar-frost, and snow lies deep upon the
groundi One of the company carries a large flask filled

APPLE-TEEE. 147

with cider, and tastefully decorated with holly branches;
and when every one has advanced about ten paces from the
trunk of the choicest tree, rustic pipes, made from the
hollow boughs of elder, are played upon by young men,
while echo repeats the strain, and it seems as if fairy
musicians responded in low sweet tones from some neigh-
bouring wood or hill, — for this custom is almost peculiar
to the secluded parts of Devonshire and Herefordshire.

Then bursts forth a chorus of loud and sonorous voices,
while the cider-flask is being emptied of its contents around
the tree ; and such are the strains they sing : —

" Here's to thee, old apple-tree,
Long mayest thou grow,
And long mayest thou blow,
And ripen the apples that hang on thy bough.

" This full can of apple wine,

Old tree, be thine:

It will cheer thee and warm thee amid the deep snow,
Till the goldfinch, fond bird,
In the orchard is heard,
Singing blithe 'mid the blossoms that whiten thy bough,"

148 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Mention is also made of apples in a very old ballad,
called the "Jew's Daughter;" and the traveller who jour-
neys through the northern counties may hear, perchance,
a few verses floating through the open lattice of some
wayside cottage.

The writer of an article entitled " Old English Ballads/'
in the 'Athenaeum' for 1839, mentions having heard the
following lines from an Englishwoman, who learned them
from her playmates, and remembered the same wild ditty to
have been sung by her grandmother over her spinning-
wheel.

" It rained, it rained in merry Scotland,

It rained on great and small,
When many a lad, in merry Scotland,
Came out to play at ball.

" Then out there came the Jew's daughter,
And said to one, ' Come in and dine.'
* I will not come in, I cannot come in,
Without my playmates nine.'

" She showed him an apple as green as grass,
She showed him a gay gold ring ;

BLACKTHORN. 149

She showed him a cherry as red as blood,
And with that she 'ticed him in!"

Or, as Percy has given the third stanza, in his ' Reliques/ —

" Sche powd an apple reid and white,

To intice the yong thing in ;
Sche powd an apple white and reid,
And that the sweit hairne did win."

BLACKTHOBN.

The blackthorn, or sloe, is inseparably associated with
the poet Bloomfield. His touching description of the
"poor bird-boy, and his roasted sloes/' will ever be
remembered by the lovers of poetry and nature, when
looking upon this bushy, rigid, and thorny tree, with its
dark-coloured bark and white flowers, blossoming not
unfrequently in frosty March.

Thus sang the author of the ' Farmer's Boy ' : —

" From hungry woodland foes, go, Giles, and guard
The rising wheat : ensure its great reward ;

150 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

A future sustenance, a summer's pride,
Demand thy vigilance : then be it tried ;
Exert thy voice, and wield thy shotless gun :
Go tarry there from morn till setting sun.

" Keen blows the blast, or ceaseless rains descend,
The half-stript hedge a sorry shelter lends.
Oh, for a hovel, e'er so small or low.
Whose roof, repelling winds and early snow,
Might bring home comforts fresh before his eyes !
No sooner thought, than see the structure rise,
In some sequestered nook embanked around,
Sod for its walls, and straw in bundles bound ;
Dried fuel hoarded is his richest store,
And circling smoke obscures his little door :
"Whence creeping forth, to duty's call he yields,
And strolls the Crusoe of the lonely fields.
On whitethorns towering, and the leafless rose,
A frost-nipt feast in bright vermilion glows :
Where clustering sloes in glossy order rise,
He crops the loaded branch : a cumbrous prize ;
And o'er the flame the sputtering fruit he rests,
Placing green sods to seat his coming guests :
His guests by promise ; playmates young and gay ;
But ah ! fresh pastimes lure their steps away.
He sweeps his hearth, and homeward looks in vain,
Till, feeling disappointment's cruel pain,

BLACKTHORN. 151

His fairy revels are exchanged for rage ;
His banquet marred, grown dull his hermitage.
The fields become his prison, till on high,
Benighted birds to shades and coverts fly.

" Look, then, from trivial up to greater woes ;
From the poor bird-boy with his roasted sloes,
To where the dungeoned mourner heaves the sigh ;
"Where not one cheering sunbeam meets his eye.
Though ineifectual pity thine may be,
No wealth, no power to set the captive free ;
Thy slights can make the wretched more forlorn,
And deeper drive affliction's barbed thorn.
Say not, ' I'll come and cheer thy gloomy cell
With news of dearest friends ; how good, how well :
I'll be a joyful herald to thine heart ; '
Then fail, and play the worthless trifler's part."

Think of these lines in connection with the blackthorn,
and the " poor bird-boy and his roasted sloes," whenever
you. are inclined to neglect some one, whom sickness makes
a prisoner, or whose dull hours, confined, perchance, to a
monotonous occupation, are rarely cheered by a friendly
voice or smile.

152 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

The ordinary and neglected little tree which inspired
the muse of Bloomfield, often presents a cheerful appear-
ance when covered with white flowers, amid leafless and
dark associates. Yet those blossoms fall in showers with
the slightest breeze, a peculiarity thus noticed by the poet
Cunningham, as offering a fit emblem of that insidious
complaint, too often observable in

" Youth — the vision of a morn,
^ That flees the coming day -.

It is the blossom of a thorn,
Which rude winds sweep away."

When mellowed by early frost, the fruit of the black-
thorn is so tempered by a blended sweetness and roughness
as not to be unpleasant ; and when bruised and put into
wine, it imparts a beautiful red colour and agreeable sub-acid
roughness, hence it is much in request for making British
port-wine. The juice forms an indelible ink for marking
linen ; and the tender leaves are the best substitute for tea.

W. F. lei etlith

HAWTHORN. 153

HAWTHORN.

The mention of a hawthorn among trees, continued
the philosopher, may perhaps seem strange, and yet this
graceful species not unfrequently attains to a considerable
height. A fine specimen stands near the rustic bridge on
the Belan grounds at Wynnslay, North "Wales, which
measures six feet in girth, and five in height ; and in the
garden court of an old house, once inhabited by the
Regent Murray, stands the tree that was planted by ill-
fated Mary Stuart, while a prisoner.

Philips, who looked upon all trees with a poet's eye,
delighted to eulogize the hawthorn ; the garland of Flora
does not possess, he said, a more charming blossom than
is afforded by its peerless pink or white, nor does the
richest perfume of Araby yield sweeter fragrance.

Associated, likewise, with festive or mournful rites, the
Troglodytes, according to the testimony of Diodorus,
adorned the funereal obsequies of their parents with

154 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

branches of hawthorn, emblematic of their hope, that
death had been to them a gate of life. They were
appropriated, also, to the nuptial chaplet of Athenian
maidens, and composed the festive garlands that were
borne in procession among the Eomans; nor were our
ancestors unmindful of their beauty, when they went forth
to gather branches on May-day.

But whether permitted to live its century in wild luxu-
riance, attaining to the height of twenty to thirty feet, or
whether growing low, in hedgerows, or drooping over old
park palings, the hawthorn equally attracts attention. The
standard tree, both as respects its fragrant blossoms in the
spring, and its rich scarlet berries in autumn, is one of the
most attractive objects that can be introduced into a park
or lawn.

Who does not remember with delight the hawthorns
of his native village, clustering, it may be, on the village
common, or making white the hedges, or displayed in the
glades and glens of extensive woodlands, or blended with

HAWTHORN. 155

park scenery, shedding their rich fragrance in the morning
or at even-tide, when dews began to fall, and all song birds
were hushed ?

Few plants deviate less from their stated time of blos-
soming than the hawthorn; they are neither allured by
mild weather in April, nor materially retarded by storms
in May. Their blossoming is one of nature's indications,
that the swifts and temple-haunting martlets are arrived
on the shores of Britain, and that the primrose and the
violet, the cowslip, harebell, and blue speedwell, herald
their approach.

Yet not alone, in its own perfect beauty, is the common
hawthorn. Botanists speak of three varieties: the great
scarlet hawthorn, with oblong, smooth, and large bright
scarlet berries; the yellow hawthorn, of which the buds,
when first unfolding in the spring, are of the finest yellow,
and the fruit gold-coloured; and the maple-leaved hawthorn,
with large leaves, succeeded by bunches of beautiful shining
red berries. The double-blossomed varieties are especially

156 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

designed for pleasure-gardens; they blossom freely either
as trees or dwarf shrubs, and nothing can be more
attractive than the roseate hue of the pink kind. And
if the admirer of forest trees lingers with delight while
passing a fragrant hawthorn bush in spring, how much
more the botanist, when observing the construction of each
blossom ! Not looking, as the author of ' Sylva Morifera'
has well observed, merely to notice the stigma, or to count
the stamens ; but to observe the shape of the five petals,
whose concave forms protect the pollen, and mature it by
acting as reflectors.

Strange it seems that Gilpin, who loved trees of every
shape and hue, should have cared little for the hawthorn ;
but an historian of woodland scenery, who often sought
out his favourite haunts, has thus ably spoken in its
praise : —

" You may see that picturesque tree," he said, " or
shrub, according to its locality, hanging over rocks, with
deep shadows under its foliage, or else clinging with

HAWTHORN. 157

tenacious grasp to their sides in most fantastic forms,
as if to gaze on its image in some deep pool below.
We have seen it/' he thus writes, " contrasting its tender
green, and its delicate leaves, with the bright and deeper
masses of the holly and the alder ; we have seen it
growing under the shelter, though not the shade, of some
stately oak, embodying the idea of beauty protected by
strength. Our eyes have often caught the motion of the
busy mill-wheel, over which its blossoms were clustering ;
and we have seen it growing grandly on the village
common, the object of general attraction to young
urchins who play about its roots, perhaps the only thing
remaining to be recognized when the school-boy returns
as the man. "We have seen its aged boughs overshadowing
some peaceful cottage, its foliage half-concealing the win-
dow, whence sounds of cheerfulness came forth."

And thus has the natural historian of whom we speak
associated a succession of rural images with the fragrant
hawthorn, — the village hawthorn, the hawthorn that

158 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

flowers beside the cottage door, when the dame brings
forth her spinning-wheel, and the blackbird sings from
his wicker cage : a tree which Chaucer well described, and
connected with the strongholds of Druidism, in Anglesey, the
ancient Mona, as also with an " extensive plaine, whereon
stoode erect huge stones, which men call Stonehenge."

" There fruytless heathes and meadows cladde in greie,
Save where derne hawthornes reare theyr humble heade.
The hungrie traveller upon his waie
Sees a huge desarte all arounde hym spredde.
A wondrous pyle of rugged mountaynes standes
Placed on eche other in a dreare arraie :
It ne could be the worke of human handes,
It ne was reared up hie by men of clai.
There did the Britons adoration paye
To the false God, whom they did Tauran name,
Dightyuge his altarre with greete fyres in Maie,
Burninge their vyctims round aboute the flame."

Pilgrimages are often made, by those who love the
hawthorn, to such as grow in Richmond and Bushy Parks.
Among these are many in their loveliness and youth, and

HAWTHORN. 159

some aged, and time-worn, and fantastically twisted, yet
still throwing out in spring an abundance of white or
pink blossoms. Others of great beauty or antiquity grow
wild in different parts of England ; but the most venerable
and continually resorted to, is an old hawthorn near the
village of Duddingstone, near Edinburgh. At three feet
above the root, this old trunk is nine feet in girth, and a
little higher up twelve feet more.

The hawthorn will root from a truncheon like the poplar
or willow tribes. A large tree now growing at Fountain
Hall, in Haddingtonshire, is stated, on the authority of the
forester, a man of undoubted veracity, to have arisen from
a stake which he had driven into the ground with his own
hand, in making a dead hedge. Great was his astonish-
ment when the next year that same stake put forth branches,
and became a thriving tree. Thus, also,

" Old stakes of olive-trees in plants revive ;
By the same method Paphian myrtles live."

160 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Beautiful is the hawthorn in its youth, and equally
fantastic in old age, when covered with moss and long
pendent lichens. Such was the old tree, in which, ac-
cording to the poet, dwelt a small wood-sprite, whose brief
history is embodied in language equally musical and refined,
and which, while introducing to the young imagination
{e some of the natural poetry by which the world is haunted,
appeals to its human affections ."

" Once on a time, on a summer day,
When mowers were tossing the new-made hay,
A hawthorn-tree that so long had stood,
Its trunk was all gnarled and knotted wood,
And its bark half covered with lichen and moss,
Was cut down to make a new path across
The gentleman's lawn, where it sheltered so long,
The tomtit's nest, and the robin's song :
Woe is me ! Ah, woe is me,
A wood-sprite lived in that hawthorn-tree."

Thus driven from her dwelling-place, the poor little
sprite wandered she knew not where, for her heart was
full of grief, and she thought by wandering to soothe the

HAWTHORN. 161

disquietude of her mind. But all would not do ; and when
night drew on,

" Back the little wood-sprite came,
Weak, and weary, sick, and lame ;
Back she came in the pale moonlight,
And sat there crying and sobbing all night !
Round and round the stump of the tree,
Where her happy home used to be,
She wandered, sorrowful, faint, and forlorn,
Till the sun rose up for another morn.

" Yet she did pretty well till winter came,
For, humble and lowly, she took with shame
Whatever shelter the trees would give,
To help her without a home to live ;
But one wild night, in a cold November,
Oh ! night, whose grief she must aye remember,
When the whistling wind howled cold and loud,
And the moon was hid in a mass of cloud,
And the sudden gusts of the driving rain
Beat like hail on the window-pane :
In that dread night of darkest horror,
The wood-sprite found, with anxious terror,
Every tree was shut and closed ;
And of all the fairies who there reposed,

162 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Not one conld spare her a jot of room ;

They left her, at last, to her dreadful doom !

The strong wind carried her off the ground,

Beat her, and hurled her, and swung her round ;

Lifted her up in the sleety air,

Wafted her here, and drifted her there;

In vain she struggled, with piercing shriek,

The wind was mighty, and she was weak,

Out of the wood, away it bore her,

"Where valley and hill lay stretched before her,

Over the villages, over the towns,

Over the long smooth Devonshire downs,

Many a breathless, terrified mile,

Till past even Weymouth and Portland Isle.

Woe is me ! Ah, woe is me,

The little wood-sprite was blown out to sea."

Friends, however, came to her aid, in the moment of
greatest dread; and the fairy of the hawthorn found a
new home in the hospitable hollow of an old oak, suf-
ficiently large to contain fifty wood-sprites.

" And there she lives ; and if you could know,
The moment, exactly, you ought to go,
And could just get leave to be out at night
You might see them dance in the clear moonlight ;

MOUNTAIN ASH. 163

Where they hop, and leap, and frisk, and spring,

And mark the grass with a fairy-ring.

Now let all gentlemen warning take,

For this poor little wood-sprite's mournful sake,

And when any new paths are marked and planned,

And the woodman comes with his axe in hand,

To cut down some hawthorn that long has stood

And drive its fairy out of the wood,

Let him have strict orders to plant anew,

A young tree near where the old tree grew,

To shelter the sprite from day to day,

That she may not by storms be blown away."

Norton.

MOUNTAIN ASH.

" How clung the rowan to the rock,
And through the foliage showed his head,
With narrow leaves and berries red."

Thus sang the poet when alluding to the rocky habitat
of yonder mountain ash, the quicken or roan-tree,
Pyrus aucuparia ; but though affecting boggy and moun-
tainous situations in Wales, Scotland, and the north of

164 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Ireland, with woods and hedges, it grows best on the sides
of hills, and in fertile soil.

Druidic observances still linger in various parts of
England, and are superstitiously observed by the peasantry,
though they know not why. In the highlands of Scotland,
where the roan-tree is found more frequently than any
other among Druidic circles, small branches are carried by
the natives as spells, whereby the wearer may be shielded
from witchcraft and enchantment. In Scotland also, es-
pecially at Strathspey, sheep and lambs are made to pass,
on May-day, through a hoop of roan-wood ; and the Scotch
dairy-maid will not drive her cattle to the shealings, or
summer pastures, with any other rod than that of the roan-
tree. In Wales, also, this tree is reputed sacred. And as
with us the yew was anciently planted in churchyards, so
is the roan, throughout the northern parts of the Princi-
pality. Evelyn relates, that in his time, and on a certain
memorial day, every Welshman bore a cross made of the
wood, and that branches of the same tree, called by some

MOUNTAIN ASH. 165

authors Fraxinm Cambro-Britannica, were fixed against
houses, or used as walking-staves, because, says old Gerard,
"witches and all evil spirits do abhor that same red-
berried tree. Hence the name Witchen."

These vestiges of ancient superstitions recall to mind
the custom of wearing and suspending amulets around the
necks of cattle, which still partially prevails in the south
of Europe, And in Scotland a very ancient song, called
the Laidley Worm of Spindleston Heughs, refers to the
same observance. —

" Their spells were vain : the hags returned

To the queen in sorrowful mood,

Crying, that witches have no power

Where there is roan-tree wood."

The wood, however, has many qualities which are both
good and true. It is soft, yet tough and solid, and is
excellent for hoops and purposes of archery, and is used
in making chairs and tables, shafts, and the spokes of
wheels. The roots are formed into handles for knives,

166 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

and wooden spoons, and the berries, when dried and re-
duced to powder, make wholesome bread; ale and beer
brewed with them, when ripe, are said by Evelyn to form
an incomparable beverage, and if infused in water, an acid
liquor, somewhat resembling perry, which is drunk by the
poorer people in different parts of Wales. When distilled,
twelve pounds of berries yield two quarts of spirit; the
pulp, after distillation, affords excellent nourishment for
cattle ; and the bark, when collected in autumn, is proved,
by recent experiments, to be better adapted for the tanning
of leather than even that of the oak.

Such are the different uses of the roan-tree ; and how
very picturesque is the tree itself, when seen among its
brethren of the forest, or standing singly in autumn,
against a back screen of grey rocks, with its glowing
vermilion fruit hanging in rich clusters ! Beautifully, too,
is the same wild tree, contrasted in many a lone spot,
among rocks and waterfalls, with the white-beam tree, or
white-leaf tree, characterized by its fine straight stem, and

WILD CHERRY. 167

smooth leafless branches, spotted with white, at the end
of which are buds swelled for the next year's shoot, and
which give to the parent tree a bold and fine appearance.

WILD CHEKBY, ETC.

Observe the beauty of that wild cherry-tree, growing
beside the hawthorn, and which

" hangs her flag
In snowy splendour from the crag," —

flinging alternate shades and sunbeams on the carpet of
green moss that extends beneath. This tree, which affects
a sandy soil and elevated place of growth, often looks down
above a labyrinth of waving branches, when bursting into
leaf, and inviting the wild bee from her nest. Children
gather the gum in spring, climbing the craggy pathway
that leads to their favourite tree : you may hear their merry
voice ringing through the dell, and the hurried steps of
the frightened squirrel, as he bounds from branch to

168 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

branch. Arab children, in like manner, collect gum arabic
on the borders of the deserts, from a species of acacia,
which resembles that of the wild cherry, though differing
in its chemical qualities. This gum, according to the tes-
timony of Hasselquist, sustained more than one hundred
men, during nearly two months, without any other sub-
stance than a small portion taken occasionally, and suffered
gradually to dissolve ; — an effect produced, without doubt,
in a twofold manner : first, by lubricating the coat of the
stomach, and thus preventing it from being acted on by
the gastric juice, as also by its nutritious qualities, ap-
proaching that of animal gluten, of which the benefit has
often been experienced in campaigns. Nor less curious is
the fact that the bark of all such trees as furnish this muci-
laginous substance possess a tanning quality, as, for instance,
that of the gum-producing acacia, which is used in India
for tanning leather.

In France, this beautiful tree is admitted as an ornament
to parks and avenues ; but, though attaining to considerable

WILD PLUM. 169

height, and attractive when in blossom, it is little more
than the beauty of a day. The double-blossomed and red-
flowering varieties are even more conspicuous, — especially
the former, of which the snow-white petals, elevated on
long and slender footstalks, are universally admired.

The wild cherry chiefly affects a sandy soil and elevated
situation, and some of the finest specimens are found in
Hertfordshire.

Wild plum-trees equally delight in a lofty growing-
place, and, when found on commons, are less injurious
to pasturage than many of their brethren. Garden
plums are mostly derived from them ; at first raised from
kernels, and afterwards preserved by budding or grafting
on plum-stocks.

Cotton may be dyed of a rose-colour by the juice of
the wild fruit, combined with muriatic or sulphuric acid ;
and the bark yields a yellow dye.

The medlar, indigenous in Britain, belongs to the same
class and order, and is most frequent in the south of

170 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

England. Ranking as a tree, though humble, and often
of deformed growth, it is furnished, when growing wild,
with shining thorns, which disappear in the cultivated
species.

Such, said the old man, are fruit-producing trees of our
native land. And very curious is the fact, that, in common
with all nutritious fruits, they belong to the class Icos-
andria, which is characterized by the insertion of the
stamens into the calyx. Fruits of such as pertain to the
Pentandria Monogynia are, on the contrary, generally dan-
gerous,— many of them peculiarly fatal. The currant offers
an exception, and this is indicated by the insertion of its
stamens, in which, though not in number, it accords with
Icosandria. With the knowledge of this simple fact, a
traveller in the most unexplored regions might safely
partake of the native fruits.

N'fcCV^ "'-••: '''-W
W

CHAPTER VIII.

ELM.

Ulmus campestris.

" The tall, abounding elm, that grows

In hedgerows up and down ;
In field and forest, copse and park,

And in the peopled town ;

With colonies of noisy rooks,

That nestle on its crown."

Hood.

THE aged man and his young companion went slowly up
the dell, lingering and listening to the song of innumerable
birds, which sang merrily on either side, while the torrent
came dancing over its rocky bed, now in shade, again in

172 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

sunshine, and its mellow voice blended with the pleasant
sound of wind among the branches.

Look at this noble tree, said the philosopher, and let us
consider awhile its uses. None among forest-trees are
more umbrageous than the elm, which rises to a com-
manding height, and flings out its branches on every side.
The timber of such as grow on a stiff and strong soil
is both tough and hard, tenacious also, and not liable to
decay or splinter; hence it is in great request for laying
the keels of ships, and gunwales, and for mill-wheels,
underground pipes and barrels; but when growing in
marshy land, or soil retentive of moisture, the wood
become porous, and is of little worth.

I have seen the elm in great beauty on the side of a
green meadow, which sloped somewhat precipitately from
out the valley, — a spot associated with much of loneliness
and sylvan beauty, with the soothing sound of falling
waters and the song of birds ; for the valley from whence
the green hills rose, was undwelt in by man ; and at the

ELM. 173

furthest termination of the meadow spread an upland
pasture, where sheep grazed ; and further still, an extensive
woodland clothed a rugged acclivity, with its broken bank
and summer flowers. Standing alone in umbrageous ma-
jesty, there was none other like it ; no woodcutter had ever
shortened a single branch, and its stately unlopped head
rose as a beacon in the surrounding country.

That elm-tree was the first to welcome the coming back
of showers and warm sunbeams, with its light and cheerful
green leaves ; and in autumn how beautiful the blended
hues of its bright yellow leaves, when the sun shone bright,
and the shadow of one leaf fell obliquely on another
quivering leaf, till it seemed as if that one bright yellow
hue had a thousand varied changes from yellow to the
deepest brown.

I have seen the noble tree, when stripped of its leaves
by frost and winds, thrown out in bold relief against a
cloudy sky, with its grand proportions fully developed.
How gracefully spread the branches on either side of

174 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

the supporting column, the lower ones forming an ample
circumference, and feathering with their twigs nearly to the
ground ; the second of somewhat shorter growth, the third
forming a smaller circle, and thus gradually each tier of
branches lessened in their growth, till at length the whole
assumed that pyramidal form which renders the elm pre-
eminent among its brethren.

Evelyn conjectures that the elm was introduced into
Britain by the Bomans, in connection with their vineyards.
He founded this idea on the well-known fact that elms are
less prevalent in the northern than in the southern portion
of our island. But the geography of plants had not then
attracted the attention of the botanist ; trees were admired
for their beauty, and said to flourish better in one kind of
soil than another ; but men knew little of that wondrous
law which restricts one plant to a certain locality, and
prohibits it from advancing into another, though separated
only by an imaginary boundary. Thus, among native plants,
that handsome creeper, the lady's seal, or black bryony,

ELM. 175

terminates its long range from as far south as Algiers, on the
north bank of the Eiver Wear, above Sunderland : among
such as pertain to South America, orchideous plants, which
are parasitical on trees, and are generally characteristic of
the tropics, advance to the 38th and 4 2nd degree of south
latitude.

Those who like to visit the ruins of old trees, may find
much to interest them in the celebrated Chequer elm, of
which the trunk, reduced to a perfect shell, forms a cir-
cumference of at least thirty-one feet. This noble tree was
planted in the days of Stephen, contemporary in its origin
with the heroic struggles of Queen Matilda with the
Empress Maude, while her husband remained a prisoner
in the dark holds of Bristol Castle.

Chipstead elm, in Kent, measures fifteen feet in girth ;
and legends tell, that during the troublous times of
Henry V., the neighbouring rustics, unmindful of con-
flicting claims between the Hoses, held their annual fair
beneath its branches. Crawley, also, has its memorial tree,

176 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

rising beneath summer suns and winter skies, to the height
of seventy feet, and measuring thirty-five in girth. And
as the elin of Chipstead spread its ample branches over
the merry doings of men in Henry's days, when primroses
were gathered at Charing Cross, and snowdrops beside the
Eiver Bourne, so at the present time, those of the Crawley
elm shelter May-day gambols, while troups of rustics
celebrate the opening of green leaves and flowers. Yet
not alone beneath its shade, but within the capacious
hollow which time has wrought in the old tree, young
children with their posies, and weak and aged people,
find shelter during the rustic fetes.

The common elm has many brothers, among which the
northern, or smooth-leaved, is perhaps one of the most
conspicuous. This graceful species grows well on rocky
eminences, and produces a very picturesque effect; the
trunk soon divides into long and wide-spreading winged
branches, which droop with a kind of graceful negligence,
suspending their flowers on long footstalks, of which

ELM. 177

the large hop-like clusters are very conspicuous in May
and June.

Adventuring further northward than its more stately
brother, this graceful tree is invaluable to the natives of
cold and windy regions. The wood is preferred by mill-
wrights for every purpose connected with their trade ; and
the bark, which is readily peeled from the trunk and
boughs for many feet without breaking, is used, especially
in Wales, for securing thatch, as likewise for different kinds
of tyings, in consequence of its tough yet flexible nature.

Anacreon, in ancient times, spoke of the coming and
departing of the swallow tribe, as noting the changes of
the season ; the bird of Aristophanes, also, when proclaim-
ing the blessings which are derived by mortals from dif-
ferent species, says, that when the crane flies with her
warning voice into Egypt, she bids the sailor hang up
his rudder and take his rest, and every prudent man to
provide himself with winter garments.

The wych-elm, in like manner, is an unfailing monitor.
N

178 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

One of nature's rarest indications is afforded by that same
tree, in his windy home : it seems as if he heard the stealing
by of frost, before even its magic power was seen in
gemming the rough weeds and lichen-dotted stones ; and
the intimation is no sooner heard than given. Unlike
the common elm, which retains his verdure to a late period,
and, when at length assuming a deep rich colour, con-
tributes to the splendour of autumnal scenery, the foliage
of the wych-elm fails suddenly, his leaves curl up, become
brown, and flutter from their spray. The traveller who
perhaps yesterday took shelter beneath his branches from
a sudden storm, sees only a denuded tree, leafless and
waving in the wind.

A peculiar property, shared it may be by different forest-
trees, but most obvious in the wych-elm, is deserving of
brief mention, namely, that of attracting moisture; and
this not only when the tree is full of foliage, but even
during winter. The power which leaves possess of ab-
sorbing water from the atmosphere by one set of vessels,

ELM. 179

and discharging it by means of another, is well known,
though rarely obvious, except in the case of water plants,
as shown in the white arum. The wych-elm, however,
offers an exception ; and when the leaves or bark have
imbibed a full supply of moisture, the superabundant
quantity becomes gradually exuded on the leaves, till it
forms drops, which distil on the passer-by.

Possessing, therefore, the twofold power of attracting
and rejecting water, this tree occasionally exhibits that
curious phenomenon which is fully developed in the
raining-tree of the Canaries. On the same principle,
currents of air are often felt beneath trees in summer,
when little perhaps is stirring elsewhere. The air, being
arrested in its progress among the foliage, rapidly descends,
and escapes around the trunk, where there are neither
branches nor yet leaves. Hence people often say, How
pleasant is this breeze, how refreshing, how softly it
whispers among the folia,ge, causing it to quiver and cast
dancing lights and shadows on the grass !

N2

180 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

" The chequered earth seems restless as a flood
Brushed by the wind. So sportive is the light
Shot through the boughs : it dances as they dance,
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,
And darkening and enlightening as the leaves
Play wanton, every moment, every spot."

Cowper.

Thus sang the poet, mindful of the many causes which
combine to produce a twofold purpose, — that of refreshing
the weary traveller, and heightening the effect of woodland
scenery.

Men in old times made strong bows from the common elm,
when yew was scarce, as also arrows, before the use of fire-arms
superseded the arrowy sleet of Britain. This appropriation
may probably account for the frequency of elms on village
greens, of which the Crawley elm, growing beside the road
from Brighton to London, furnishes a familiar instance ;
and thus beautifully has an historian of forest-trees spoken
concerning it : —

" This aged tree, in former ages, might have offered a
retreat to some white-robed Druid within its capacious

ELM. 181

hollow ; in later times to a recluse. Lifting its tranquil
head above cottage roofs, which it has sheltered for ages,
Crawley elm affords, in its rough and knotted trunk, a
source of continual interest to the groups of village
children, who cluster around like bees, trying their small
strength and courage in seeking to climb the stem, while
their fathers stand by and recall the memory of similar
attempts.

" Such remembrances invest an aged tree with associa-
tions which no works of art can elicit. It seems to live with
us and for us ; and he who would lift up his hatchet among
its aged boughs, would inflict an injury of no ordinary
kind. Who could endure to see its venerable head brought
low, its still green branches lying in the dust, its giant
roots left bare and desolate ? The old would miss it as
an object on which had rested the affections of days long
past; the young would lament it as a tree beloved the
most ; travellers would seek for it in vain ; and the
wanderer, returning to his long-left home, would scarcely

182 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

know the parental cottage when deprived of the shadowing
branches which he had seen wave even in his cradle."

A forest, spreading over hill and plain, now stooping into
valleys, and now climbing precipitous ascents, and then
away into the far country, is one of the grandest sights in
creation; an insulated tree one of the most beautiful.
He who looks upon an aged tree, in the deep recesses
of a lonely forest, with younger trees grouping round,
regards it with an indescribable feeling of reverence ; but
he who has seen the tree of his own hamlet from infancy
to manhood, feels towards it a degree of tenderness differ-
ent it may be in degree, yet not in kind, from that which
rests on a benefactor.

Yet many such trees have fallen before the rage of modern
improvements. Tor the value of timber is its misfortune,
as wrote Gilpin ; but the hands that fell an oak can plant
an acorn, and this restitution to maternal earth is surely
due from those who despoil her of her noblest and most
ancient ornaments. Sir Robert Walpole planted with his

ELM. 183

own hand many of those magnificent trees that form, the
pride of Houghton. Among the various actions of his
busy life, he speaks of this as having given him the greatest
satisfaction in its performance, and most unsullied pleasure
in the retrospect.

Men, says Evelyn, seldom plant trees till they begin
to grow wise, that is, till they at least attain middle age,
and find by experience its probable advantages. Cicero
speaks of planting as the most delightful occupation of
advanced life ; and doubtless, of all pursuits connected with
the interests of mankind, one of the most disinterested and
truly wise, is that by which a barren waste becomes a scene
of waving beauty, sheltering the country, and delighting
both the botanist and painter.

Superstitions linger around the elm, derived most pro-
bably from remote antiquity, founded, perchance, on truth,
but clouded and obscured as years passed on, till adding
to innumerable instances of mental obliquity.

And yet the wildest legends fall short of the phenomenon

184 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

of living creatures being found deeply embedded in elm-
trees. Such creatures, creeping, perhaps, head foremost
at the approach of winter into some crack or opening in
the bark, and from thence into a hollow in the trunk,
found, on waking from their winter sleep, that there was
no possibility of returning; or else, while nestling in the
bark, and being unable from their position to draw back,
annual growths of liber and alburnum gathered round
them, still the creatures lived on, deriving air and nourish-
ment from the glutinous fluid of the inner bark, which
surrounded their strange dwelling-places.

Foreign substances have been found, in like manner,
deeply sunk into the inner bark, and causing no small
surprise when first discovered. Names deeply cut, in years
long past, have suddenly come to light, and rings and coins
have rebounded from the hatchet of the woodcutter.'

" The woodman's heart is in his work,
His axe is sharp and good,

ELM. 185

With sturdy arm and steady aim
He smites the gaping wood ;
From distant rocks
His lusty knocks
Re-echo many a rood.

1 His axe is keen, his arm is strong :
The muscles serve him well ;

His years have reached an extra span,
The number none can tell j

But still his life-long task has been
The timber-tree to fell.

' Alone he works — his ringing blows
Have banished bird and beast ;

The hind and fawn have cantered off,
A hundred yards at least ;

And on the maple's lofty top
The linnet's song has ceased.

' No eye his labour overlooks,
Or when he takes his rest ;

Except the timid thrush, that peeps
Above her secret nest,

Forbid by love to leave the young
Beneath her speckled breast.

] 86 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

" No rustic song is on his tongue,

No whistle on his lips ;
But with a quiet thoughtfulness,

His trusty tool he grips,
And stroke on stroke keeps hacking out

The bright and flying chips.

" Stroke after stroke, with frequent dint,

He spreads the fatal gash ;

Till lo ! the remnant fibres rend,

With harsh and sudden crash,

And on the dull resounding turf

The jarring branches lash !

" Oh ! now the forest-trees may sigh :

The ash, the poplar tall,
The elm, the birch, the drooping beech,
The aspens — one and all,
With solemn groan,
And hollow moan,
Lament a comrade's fall."

Hood.

,- sj$

""f

W.F.lel.tlith.

CHAPTER IX.

ALDER OB OWLER.

Light quivering on some river brink,
"Where stoops the panting hart to drink,
On rocky hank, in glade, or dale,
The alder tells her simple tale.

MOEALISTS have said tliat all trees have characters analogous
to those of men. Behold in me, said a widely spreading
alder, a vegetable type of one whose facility of disposition
enables him to dwell contentedly wherever he sojourns.
Such am I, an alder, growing either beside a highland
stream, or in quiet hedgerows, in woods, or shading public

188 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

roads. In short, I flourish everywhere, except in chalk
soils ; and although my wood is soft and brittle when first
cut, not even may the oak or elm vie with me in durability ;
and various as the places of my growth, so are the uses to
which I am applied. At one time my timber is in request
for shoe-heels, for ploughmen's clogs, and mill-wheels ; at
another, as piles in swamps or under water, an appropriation
frequent among the ancients, and commended by Yitruvius,
who mentions that the wood of the alder becomes jet black,
and nearly as hard as iron. The Eialto is thus founded ;
and many of the vast dykes in Holland are strengthened
and upheld in a similar manner. Theophrastus notices
the use of my bark in dyeing skins, and the moderns have
availed themselves of its facility for yielding black, or brown,
or red, by the aid of copperas.

Yast forests of my kindred anciently overspread a wide
extent of country ; and, from their imperishable quality, few
trees are more frequently discovered beneath the surface of
the earth. Take, for example, the level of Hatfield Chace, in

ALDER. 189

Yorkshire, a tract of nearly eighteen thousand acres, yearly
overflowed,, but at length reduced to arable and pasture land
by Sir Cornelius Vermusden, a Dutchman. An innumerable
number of prostrate trees were found at a considerable depth
below the surface. The roots remained unmoved, but many
of the trunks were lying on the ground heaped one upon
the other, while a vast number stood erect, broken or
mouldered off about midway. This strange uncovering
of old trees developed their peculiar characteristics. Oaks,
some of which were upwards of thirty yards long, and
which sold for fifteen pounds each, were black as ebony,
uninjured and closely grained. Ash-trees, on the contrary,
were cut to pieces by the workmen's spades, so soft were
they, and, when flung up into the open air, turned to dust.
But willows, which are softer than ash-wood, by some
strange alchemy preserved their substance, and some even
remain to the present day. Patriarchal firs had apparently
vegetated, even after their overthrow, and their scions
became large branches, equal to those of the parent trunk.

190 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

But the alders, who could sufficiently admire them ? Black
as ebony, firm, unchanged, neither striving to vegetate in
such a sepulchral place, nor yet foregoing their true
character, and shrinking from the light of day, but coming
forth unchanged, and bearing a noble testimony to. the
enduring nature of their tribe.

The opening of that wide morass brought to the minds
of some who looked on, historic facts, which had been long
forgotten. Many of the old trees had been evidently burnt,
some quite through, others on one side; several had been
chopped and squared; some were even found to have
been riven with huge wooden wedges ; — marks by which to
substantiate the fact that the vast swamp of Hatfield Chace
was once inhabited : but no one knew whether a sudden
inundation had swept away the traces of human habitation,
or whether the frequent inroads of water had rendered the
place a swamp.

Near the root of an old tree, eight coins, pertaining to
different Roman Emperors, were discovered ; and in some

ALDER. 191

parts considerable ridges and deep furrows indicated that
the morass had been partially cultivated.

Some conjectured that the forest had been felled, and
that the trees, being left unmoved, contributed to the
accumulation of the waters. This is probable, because
whenever the Britons were discomfited, they fled for
refuge to the fastnesses of woods, and miry forests ; from
whence they sallied forth, and fell upon their invaders.
Hence, it was determined that the woods and forests
should be destroyed; and the order was mercilessly obeyed.
Many were set on fire, others cut down, and forests thus
felled, by impeding the draining of water, often turned such
broad streams as flowed through them, into extensive
swamps ; vegetable earth, as already shown, gradually ac-
cumulated, yet soft and watery; and many ancient woods,
in consequence, with the stone huts of the natives, and the
ground which they cultivated, merged in wild swamps, beside
which, it may be, some aged alder stood like a sepulchral
column, the sole memorial of buried homes.

CHAPTER X.

SPANISH CHESTNUT.

Castanea vesca.

" Hail, old patrician tree, so great and good !
Hail, ye plebeian underwood,

Where the poetic birds rejoice,
And for their quiet nests, and plenteous food,

Pay with a grateful voice." — Cowley.

AN old chestnut spoke cheerfully to his young compa-
nions. He told them to rejoice in the days wherein their
lot was cast.

You are but of yesterday, my children, he said, and know
nothing with regard to the olden times. Listen to me,
and my words shall teach you wisdom.

W.F. del etTith.

..B.&. R.imp

SPANISH CHESTNUT, 193

Men call me the old chestnut of Tortworth. That aged
tree, say they, stood there when King John came to the
throne, and must have been at least five hundred and
forty years old. One of their scribes relate that I even
then was called by the name which I now bear, and which
attaches to me, though little more than a venerable ruin.

Some of you, young trees, have been planted within a
comparatively short period; standing singly, or in groups,
you embellish homes which had no existence in my young
days. Far as the eye could reach, extended a wild forest,
or wide common, covered with ferns or rushes ; and deer
came in troops, to feed upon my nuts in autumn. I have
seen the wild boar, with his long tusks and shaggy mane,
ranging where now sheep pasture ; and wild cattle, such
as no one could have met unharmed.

I remember the time when yonder yew first arose
from the earth, a small tufted plant, with nothing that
indicated its future greatness. Some wandering bird
must have brought the berry, which, on account of its

o

194 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

glutinous nature, readily adheres ; or else the wind, rising
in his might, bore it from some distant forest ; for none
grew within sight. I watched the progress of that young
tree, and saw how gradually it advanced from one season to
another, till at length its giant arms were nobly tossed on
high, and valorously resisted the fierce winds of winter.
But now its strength begins to fail, and oaks, beneath which
the Druids walked, are failing also.

Time was, when such noble trees were wrested from
their right uses ; when the osiers that grew beside the
river, were wreathed into hideous baskets, wherein innocent
persons suffered; when trees, rising in umbrageous
majesty, concealed within their deep recesses abhorrent
rites, concerning which no one dared to speak ; when men
saw only in the trees, which God hath planted for beauty
and for use, the abode of mysterious or fearful beings,
demons whom many ignorantly worshipped ; or viewed them
as useful merely for the common purposes of life.

Since then, naturalists have arisen, who have made known

SPANISH CHESTNUT. 195

the properties of vegetable matter ; poets have derived their
choicest inspirations from trees ; and artists have dwelt
beneath them, watchful to transfer to canvas the effect
produced by their foliage, or their graceful and magnificent
proportions.

But the chestnut, as wrote one who loved our tribe, is
the most stately of European trees, exceeding the oak in
height, and equalling it in bulk. The foliage exhibits
a more decided character : it is glossy and formed into
clusters, which are peculiarly elegant when surrounded with
florescent catkins. This is the tree which graces the
landscapes of Salvator Rosa. He studied it among the
mountains of Calabria in every form and attitude, breaking
and disposing it in a thousand different shapes, as the
exigences of his compositions required. And truly no
other tree affords such continual variety: — at one time
rising in all its leafy majesty, in some shady recess or
rock-encircled nook, safe from the war of winds; at
another, broken and distorted on some high rock, or half-

196 VOICES FKOM THE WOODLANDS.

way down a steep and rugged declivity, beneath which
might roll an impetuous torrent ; for my wood is naturally
brittle, and liable to be shattered by fierce winds.

Some have ascribed to me the honour of being indigenous
to Britain ; others maintain that Csesar transported chestnut-
trees from Sardis into Italy, on account of the excellence
of their nuts, from whence they passed into Prance and
Britain. True it is, that none of our tribe ever prevailed in
North Britain, nor have they been observed in the southern
portion of the island, except in parks, and avenues leading
to country mansions ; but those who visit the banks of the
Tamar, in Cornwall, may find the chestnut in many a lone
spot, as also in the woods and hedges of Kent and Surrey.
Anglesey is another of our favourite habitats ; and chestnuts
were so numerous at one time in the forest of Dean, that
Henry II. gave the tithe of all their fruits to Elaxley Abbey.
Those noble trees were, doubtless, planted and protected in
that royal preserve.

Naturalists have sternly contended the point of our being

SPANISH CHESTNUT. 197

aboriginal or exotic ; but no doubt is now entertained on
the subject. The great profit which arises from the wood
when cut into hop-poles, sufficiently accounts for the dis-
appearance of large trees from their growing-places. Nor
less striking is the fact, as proving that the chestnut was
more common formerly than at present, that many of the
oldest houses in London are floored or wainscoted with the
wood. The beautiful roof of Westminster Abbey is also
constructed of the same material; nor is this surprising,
for, according to Fitz-Stephen, noble forests of chestnuts
extended round the north side of the metropolis.

Yirgil describes my nuts as acceptable with milk and
cheese; and still in Italy, as in the north of Europe,
they are roasted on small stoves in the streets by fruit-
women, who sell them to the passengers. Evelyn also
speaks much of them, as equally grateful and nutritious : he
says that bread made from the flour is very strengthening,
and greatly improves the complexion. He adds, that in
Italy it is used in making fritters, which are wetted with

198 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

rose-water, and which, when sprinkled with grated Parme-
san, are fried in fresh butter.

Time was when my nuts accompanied the wassail-bowl
at Christmas festivities ; and Milton, when deploring the
death of his friend Diodati, and lamenting the few resources
of his lonely dwelling, whereby

"to cheat the lonely night,"
alludes to their most ordinary domestic uses. —

" While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear,
And hlackening chestnuts start and crackle there."

I have spoken of my great age. My girth, at the height
of six feet from the ground, was forty-six feet and six inches,
about one hundred years since. In the time of ruthless
John, I measured eleven yards in circumference, towering
above my tributary trees, and commanding a vast panoramic
view from my topmost boughs.

Strutt speaks of a brother chestnut, growing in Cobham
Park, which measures thirty-three feet at twelve from the

SPANISH CHESTNUT. 199

the ground, and forty 'where the trunk divides. He speaks,
too, concerning the beauty of our foliage both in spring and
autumn ; in the first, grandly umbrageous, and presenting a
fine clear green in its spear-shaped leaves ; in the second, and
when falling into

"the sear, the golden leaf,"

gorgeously contributing to the rich and varying tints of
woodland scenery.

Mount ^Etna is celebrated for enormous chestnuts. Our
tribe grow nobly there ; their roots are warmed by its
immense furnace, and hence such trees as are scattered over
the mountain are probably the largest in the known world.
The Castagna di Cento Cavalli, which derives a name from
being sufficiently large to shelter one hundred horsemen, is
hollow within, and contains a dwelling-house, with a con-
tiguous oven for drying chestnuts and almonds.

Though not aspiring to such dimensions, because of
northern growth, and chilled, doubtless by the cold of a

200 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

iiorthern climate, I can offer a safe retreat to innocent
sheep, which lie down within my hollow trunk, and which
have taken the place of wild boars and ravening wolves.
I first uprose from the earth in the reign of Egbert, the
first king of England, and last of the Saxon Heptarchy.
Terrible conflicts were carried on around me, while yet a
sapling, between the Britons and fierce Danes, and wonder-
ful it seems to me, in looking back, that I was never trodden
to the earth.

Upwards of a thousand years have rolled over my green
head. Generations — even whole nations have been swept
from the face of the earth since my first emerging to the
light ; yet still I remain unscathed, and from one winter
to another have defied the howling blast, with my leafless
branches. Springs returned, waking up the primrose at my
roots and the snowdrop beside yon rushing stream, reclothing
me with leaves, and bidding the summer sun to ripen my
rich brown fruit. My tranquil existence, unlike that of
men, who are troubled ofttimes, though enjoined to dwell in

SPANISH CHESTNUT. 201

peace, shaded by nought of evil, and unchequered by the
viscissitudes of time, is thus perpetually renewed, and
around me have spread branches in wild and joyous pro-
fusion. But a change is passing over me, and my day's
work is nearly done ; yet I am not solitary in my old age :
my venerable roots are nearly hidden by a glad progeny of
bright green mosses, birds still build their nests among my
branches, and I hear the glad voices of such as recall to
my remembrance the warbling chorus that used to re-
sound from the midst of my widely spreading foliage in the
days of Egbert.

Would you contemplate the height, and breadth, and
magnificent proportions of our tribe, visit the wildest
portions of the Apennines, and roam among their rocks
and dingles, beneath the shade of innumerable chestnuts,
— through forests, such as your fatherland may not boast,
now rapidly ascending almost perpendicular heights, which
the most reckless traveller night scruple to attempt, and
now pressing on through a vast brotherhood of enormous

202 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

trees, which, in shady grandeur, form overarching canopies
of mingling boughs.

A recent traveller relates, that having; penetrated that
extensive forest which covers the Yallombrosan Apennines
for nearly five miles, he came unexpectedly upon those
festive scenes which are not unfrequent among the chestnut
range. It was a holiday ; and a group of peasants, dressed
in the gay and picturesque attire of the neighbourhood of the
Arno, were dancing in an open and level space, covered
with smooth turf, and surrounded with magnificent chest-
nuts, while the inmost recesses of the forest resounded
with their mirth and minstrelsy. Some beat down the
chestnuts with sticks, and filled baskets with them, which
they replenished from time to time; others, stretched
listlessly upon the turf, picked out the contents of the
bristling capsules in which the kernels were intrenched,
for these, when newly gathered, are equally sweet and nutri-
tious; others again, and especially young peasant girls,
pelted their companions with the fruit. It was a joyous

SPANISH CHESTNUT. 203

scene, and one which carried back the imagination to those
fabled regions,

" Where loaded trees their various fruits produce,
And clustering grapes afford a grateful juice,
Where rains and kindly dews refresh the field,
And rising springs eternal verdure yield.
Nor want nor famine the glad natives know,
Nor sink by sickness to the shades below."

CHAPTER XI.

V B I B C H.

Betula alba.

" On the green slope
Of a romantic glade we sat us down,
Amid the fragrance of the yellow broom,
While o'er our head the weeping birch-tree streams
Its branches, arching like a mountain shower."

Wikon.

I HAVE stood for ages, said a very old birch-tree, that clung
with her strong roots to a rugged bank, overlooking the
vale country near Dudcombe. My usual haunts are rocks
and waterfalls, though affecting at times moist hedges and
damp woods. You can hear a little stream rippling through

BIRCH. 205

the grass, and laving the bank whereon I grow : my long
flexuous roots derive refreshment from its waters, and
hence I am unaffected by the dryness of my sterile growing-
place.

Time was when I grew in the depth of a wild forest that
overshadowed the greater part of Gloucestershire ; but a
clearing was made at length, and I remained an isolated
tree, right and left of which extended a denuded tract,
while the remnant of the forest to which I had pertained
served as a back- screen to the settlement. That clearing
was the work of one Eoger de Lacie, who gave to the few
acres which he cultivated the name of Wicke, signifying a
dairy farm. .For this purpose it was well adapted, being
screened from the cold east wind by a rising hill on which
the Romans had encamped. It was also well watered by
a clear , stream, that abounded with fish, and which flowed
on through the deep forest, till, being swelled by several
tributary rills, it entered the Severn at the termination of
the vale country. About fifty houses were built on the

206 VOICES PROM THE WOODLANDS.

sloping side of a gradual ascent from the valley that lay in
front ; they were dwelt in by men who worked on the farm,
or looked after the cattle when led out to pasture on the
hills where free of wood. The thane, De Lacie, who had
the privilege of going where he pleased, lived there, as also
a priest.

This wild and secluded spot formed one of a series of
valleys that opened towards the river, and which had evi-
dently been hollowed out by the receding waters of the
deluge. Some of these valleys were filled with trees, and
it was difficult to penetrate them ; others resembled long
and narrow dingles, their precipitous sides being covered
either with underwood, or with a small and fragrant wild
thyme that grew about the ant-hills ; others, again, were
free from timber in their depth, but, here and there, noble
groups of beech-trees still lingered in all the pomp of
sylvan majesty. It was evident that Caesar never penetrated
into these beautiful valleys, for he wrote in his Commentaries
that the beech is not among the native forest-trees of

BIRCH. 207

Britain ; but the beech grew there profusely, no other kind
of timber-tree was seen, except by chance, when, in a sunny
glade, amid the surrounding forest, an oak, or ash, or elm
sprang up from some acorn or mast which the wind had
planted. As the hills and vales were then, so are they now,
wild, solitary, and yet cheerful, with here and there a
cottage in the depth of a lone glen, for men began to fix
their habitations where heretofore there were no traces of
industry, and green meadows and fields of corn occasionally
met the eye.

A church was built about the same time near the settle-
ment at Wicke, for the people to assemble in, or rather a
stone building of the simplest construction. It stood on
the only level portion of the clearing, and commanded an
extensive view of the wild and wooded district in the centre
of which the town was built. A piece of ground was also
appropriated for a burying-place, and when death had
entered the settlement, the dead were laid there. Their
friends liked to inter them on the south side of the sacred

£08 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

edifice, that they might have the benefit of aves and paters,
for such was the fond hope that many entertained. There
was something very affecting in the sight of these simple
mounds, rising in the midst of a wild country, with a few
houses clustering near, and, far as the eye could reach, a
dense forest clothing both hill and dale. Men had not
learned to minister to the vanity of the living by splendid
monumental eulogiums, neither did they raise aught upon
their graves, excepting a small mound of earth, or, perhaps,
a simple stone, to distinguish the resting-place of the thane
or of his family. Yet the practice of interring in separate
graves indicated an improving condition of society, more
especially as the persons who lay beside the church had
been humble while living, — working-men, who wrought in
the fields, and whose wives and children were employed
upon the farm. In former times, monuments, even of the
plainest description, such as an unhewn stone or a mound
of earth, rather indicated a warrior's resting-place than the
low couch of one who had faithfully served his Maker in

BIRCH. 209

fulfilling the duties of his allotted station,- — although that
station was less than nothing in the eyes of his fellow-men.
And so distinctive were the mounds of earth that marked
the burying-places of the dead, that he who visited the
then cultivated parts of Britain, might readily distinguish,
in such as met his view, the different periods of interment.
But the mounds of earth in the neat churchyard be-
tokened that the days of Paganism had passed by ; for the
blessings attendant on the introduction of Christianity
were not confined solely to the living. Christianity broke
down the altars of false deities, and put a stop to human
sacrifices, and raised homes for men to dwell in, where the
names of husband and of wife, of parents and of children,
were recognized and held in honour. Such were its foun-
dation acts, and from these, as from a common centre,
emanated all those virtues and comforts which minister to
the well-being of society. The dead were respected as
having held communion with the living ; and hence ori-
ginated the solemn burial service, and the habit of interring

p

210 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

them, not as heretofore in wild and desert places, or alone
in the far-off wilderness, but in consecrated ground and
with religious rites, which bade the mourners not to sorrow
as those who have no hope. Yet still that quiet place
where the villagers laid their dead to rest, with its green
mounds and primitive-looking church, was at best but a
sad and solemn spot, even when the cheerful beams of a
summer sun shone bright upon it. How lone and awful,
when, at the witching hour of deep midnight, the solitary
church stood forth in its sepulchral whiteness, and not a
sound was heard except the rushing of the stream, the
murmur of the wind among the forest trees, or the startling
whoop of the solitary owl ! It was a spot reclaimed from
the forest ; for excepting the few acres which the Thane de
Lacie cleared, eastward and westward, as far as the eye
could reach, northward and southward too, extended one
vast sweep of woodland, with breaks of lawn and thicket,
and occasional spaces of common land which had evidently
been denuded, at remote periods, by Saxons, Picts, or

BIRCH. 211

Danes. Here, then, all those who had successively in-
habited the contiguous dwellings were laid side by side in
their undistinguished graves ; and, since the father of the
thane cleared that lone spot and gathered his vassals
round him, it was sorrowful to think how quickly those
mounds had risen. Here they lay, and the moon shone
cold and clear upon them, and it shone also upon other
places where the dead were lying; for, throughout this
wild and lonely region, barrows and tumuli abounded — the
Briton and the Roman, the Saxon and the Dane, had laid
them down in by-gone days, as generations appeared and
vanished. Westward of the village a considerable mound
of earth might still be seen : dead men were there; — fierce
Saxons in their days of pride, — war-chiefs who came in their
pirate vessels up the river, and carried death and desolation
on either side. Further on, arose a considerable tumulus,
where the Danes interred, in after years, many of their
companions who fell during an encounter with the Saxons.
This tumulus was beside the brook Afonig, at that part

212 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

where it enters the vale country. No rites that breathed
of hope and peace to the survivor attended their interment.
Their chief was buried, according to the custom of his
country,, with all his ornaments and arms, his horse, and
even his wealth and plunder ; his men lay round him, each
with his sword and spear, and above them a huge mound
of earth was cast up, surmounted with a stone. Northward
of the village, and under the west side of a ridge of hills
which separated the vale from the hill country, and near
a small brook shaded with willow-trees, was seen also
another tumulus or barrow containing a stone sepulchre.
It was opened, in after years, by some labourers when
digging for stone, and found to contain a perfect skeleton.
The bones were fresh and firm, and the teeth white as
ivory ; over the head hung a helmet so corroded by rust as
to fall to pieces on exposure to the air. No other trace
remained, excepting some rude characters which designated
the year 1000 : the year, most probably, when the spirit
which inhabited that unsightly skeleton ceased from among

BIRCH. 213

the living. This period answers to the twenty-first year
of King Ethelred the Unready, when the piratical Danes
made a great inroad upon the country : they sailed up to
the mouth of the Severn, and were fiercely repulsed by the
thanes who resided along its banks and in the hill country.
The skeleton which lay within the tumulus was, therefore,
most probably that of one of the thanes who were slain
about the time.

Thus largely discoursed the old birch, for age is some-
times garrulous, and takes pleasure in recounting past
events. Then went on the same tree to speak concerning
his many uses, and the places of his resort.

Growing at one time beside gleaming waterfalls, that
flash and sparkle in their downward course, and wind
joyfully through meadows gay with flowers, over which the
citron and the myrtle bend in mingled beauty ; at another,
on the summit of windy mountains, or in cold and frost-
bound regions, — I shed blessings on the peasant who dwells
beside me.

214 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

My leaves afford a yellow dye, and, in spring, are covered
with a glutinous liquor, which concretes into a kind of
manna. My boughs, when strewed upon the fields and
exposed in autumn to the frosts, make excellent manure ;
and my wood yields a cheerful red for dyeing — with the
addition of copperas, deep black — and also brown, which
is used in dyeing thread for the nets of fishermen. And
my bark, how many are its uses ! Thrifty men, who sit
beside the blazing hearth when my branches throw up a
clear bright flame, and follow the example of their fathers
in making their own shoes and those of their families, tan
the hides with my bark. Kamtschadales construct from
it both hats and vessels for holding milk ; and the Swedish
fisherman his shoes. The Norwegian, also, covers with it
his low -roofed hut, and spreads upon the surface layers of
moss, at least three or four inches thick, and, having
twisted long strips together, he obtains excellent torches,
with which to cheer the darkness of his long nights.
Fishermen, in like manner, make great use of them, in

BIRCH. 215

alluring their finny prey. For this purpose they fix a
portion of blazing birch in a cleft stick, and spear the fish
when attracted by its flickering light.

If a hole is bored into my trunk when the sap begins to
rise, a sweet liquor freely distils, and this, when fermented,
yields a pleasant beverage. Tour or five punctures thus
made in a large tree produce nearly its own weight in sap,
without any material injury. When the season changes,
this vegetable fountain gradually decreases, but again flows
forth in spring. Thus does my friendly trunk yield to the
northern peasant both light and fuel, a pleasant beverage,
with cans for holding milk ; torches formed from my bark
enable him to entrap his finny prey, and render cheerful
his otherwise dark dwelling. Finland mothers form of the
dried leaves soft elastic beds for their children ; and from
me is prepared the mona, their sole medicine in all diseases.
My buds in spring exhale a delicious fragrance after
showers, and the bark, when burnt, serves to purify the
air in confined dwellings.

216 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

In countries where ptarmigans abound, my seeds mostly
furnish their winter fare. Who has not read concerning
that wonderful bird, — clothed in summer with pale brown
or ash feathers, in winter becoming of the purest white,
and scarcely to be distinguished among her snowy haunts ;
which braves the severest cold, and is found in the northern
parts of Europe, even as far as Greenland ; which avoids
the heat of summer, and prefers the sharp frosts and wind
on mountain tops, ascending their sides when the snow
begins to melt, till, having gained the highest elevation, he
burrows in the snow ?

On the borders of those vast lakes and swift rivers that
flow over stony beds in the north of Europe, grow those
gigantic trees among my kindred, the bark of which suffices
to form a large canoe. And so indestructible is its quality,
that traders who visit Lapland in search of bark often find
large trees lying prostrate, from which the wood has
gradually mouldered away, while the bark remains like a
hollow cone without the slightest change.

BIRCH. 217

Such giant trees are found in the wildest solitudes among
primeval forests, where the sound of the woodman's axe is
never heard. Linnaeus spoke of those vast forests as ex-
tending to the base of the Lapland Alps, and that, as-
cending their bleak sides, they went on to within two
thousand feet below the line of perpetual snow, although
diminishing in growth the higher they advanced; below
which point even such of the hardiest forest-trees that had
accompanied them went no further, and our kindred be-
came dwarf and stunted, with short thick stems and stiff
and widely-spreading branches, prepared to resist the strong
winds from the north. And yet, as if unwilling to relin-
quish their ancient empire, they still proceeded, becoming
even more stunted, till their topmost boughs might be
surveyed from a slight elevation. Here, then, is their
utmost boundary, and at this, also, the dwarf crimson
bramble and common heath cease to diversify the sterile
soil, although alpine coltsfoot and the Pedicularis sylvatica
accompany our tribe to its utmost boundary.

218 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Elegant varieties among my kindred may be seen in the
romantic vale of the Lugwy, near Bettws, North Wales ;
and on the margins of lakes in Westmoreland and Cum-
berland are trees that equal, in size and beauty, those of
Norway and of Sweden. The rocks of Aberfeldy are also
varied with magnificent birch-trees; they aspire to the
interest of classic ground, and thus beautifully has the
Scottish bard sung concerning them : —

" Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come let us spend the lightsome days

In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonny lassie, will ye go

To the birks of Aberfeldy ?

" "While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
And little birdies blithely sing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

" The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

BIRCH.

219

" Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish from me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy."

The pre-eminent beauty and utility of my silver bark has
originated the same name, with little variation, throughout
Europe. Derived from Urka, or birJce, it aptly recalls to
mind peculiarities which pertain to me ; for who has not
read concerning its beautiful laminse used by the ancients,
like papyrus, for writing-tablets, before the invention of
paper, and on which the works composed by Numa were
discovered in his tomb in a legible state, four hundred
years after his interment, according to the testimony of
Plutarch and of Pliny ?

The latter historian makes allusion also to the fasces, or
bundles of birchen rods, that were carried by the Lictors
before Roman magistrates, with an axe bound up in their
middle and appearing on the top.

I have spoken concerning my origin and the gradual
changes which time produced in the surrounding country ;

220 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

that the wide forests yielded to pasturage for sheep and
cattle, and that the dwellings of civilized men uprose where
the savage had roamed with his bow and arrow. My
branches, gently waving in the wind, awakened in those
days no feelings of dread with truant urchins, for all might
be truants then, if so it pleased them. But at length a
scribe arose, who thus wrote concerning my ductile twigs :
"The civill uses whereunto the birch serveth are many,
as for the punishment of children both at home and abroad;
for it hath an admirable influence upon them, to quiet them
when they wax unruly, and, therefore, some call the tree
Make-peace."

Alas ! since then how many looks askance have been
turned towards my branches by those who have felt their
influence ; the more especially when growing on a village
green, or beside one of those small dwellings where sat, in
olden times, a matron of no small importance, eyeing her
urchin throng and turning round her spinning-wheel.

BIRCH.

" A matron old, whom men school-mistress name,
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame ;

They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent,
Awed by the power of this relentless dame,

And, ofttimes, on vagaries idly bent,
For unkempt hair, or task unconned, are sorely shent.

" And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree,

Which learning near her little dome did stowe ;
Whilom a twig of small regard to see,

Though now so wide its waving branches flow,
And work the simple vassals mickle woe.

For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew,
But their limbs shuddered, and their pulse beat low ;

And as they looked they found their horror grew,
And shaped it into rods, and tingled at the view."

With others of my kindred no such sad thoughts are
blended. The weeping birch, of taller and more rapid
growth, is seen most frequently in parks and pleasure-
grounds ; and the elegant dwarf-birch grows on mountains
and wet heaths, far from the village-school. Verging, also,
on the line of perpetual snow, he is noticed by Linnaeus, in
his Lapland tour, and affords a striking illustration of the

222 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

fact, that such among our tribes as grow on mountains are
rarely found elsewhere, except in marshes ; the clouds that
rest on mountain tops keeping the air in a moist state, as
fogs in meadows and marshy places.

The Laplander owes to this fragrant tree fuel for the
fire, which he is obliged, even in summer, to keep within
his hut, in order to defend him from the mosquitoes ; and
the twigs, covered with reindeer skins, form his bed.

And thus, wherever growing, whether beside gleaming
waterfalls, on rocks, by rivers, or in those stern inhospitable
regions where there is darkness during half the year, the
birch is equally pre-eminent for beauty and utility.

CHAPTER XII.

WAYFABING-TBEE, OB MEALY GUELDEK-BOSE.
Viburnum Lantana.

" Throwing up into the darkest gloom
Of neighbouring holly, or more sable yew,
Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf,
That the wind severs from the broken wave."

MINE is a cheerful growing-place, and pleasant is the work
assigned me, said a guelder-rose. Listen to the rippling
of the stream that laves my roots, and to the singing of
birds among my branches ; listen, also, to the humming of
the bee, and the chirp of grasshoppers. We are quiet here,
yet cheerful; and far and wide among the coppice-wood
and sapling trees that clothe the steep descent into the

224 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

valley, are many of my brethren, — each in his right place,
and having his daily work assigned him.

Observe my finely serrated oval leaves, and radiated
down, each filament consisting of several rays diverging
from a point, and my white blossoms cloven half-way, that
form in their aggregate numerous globes of pale scented
petals. Beside me often grows a mountain ash, with his
bright clusters of scarlet berries ; but those who pass this
way more generally stop to admire the wayfaring-tree.
Perhaps in autumn the rich crimson hue of my leaves
attracts their notice ; in spring my appearance is very un-
pretending : and yet thus beautifully has a nameless poet
sung concerning me : —

" "Wayfaring-tree ! what ancient claim
Hast thou to that right pleasant name ?
Was it that some faint pilgrim came,

Unhopedly to thee,
In the brown desert's weary way,
'Midst thirst, and toil's consuming sway ;
And there, as 'neath thy shade he lay,
Blessed the wayfaring-tree ?

TCAYFAEING-TREE. 225

" Or is it that thou lovest to show
Thy coronals of fragrant snow,
Like life's spontaneous joys that flow,

In paths by thousands beat ?
Whate'er it be, I love it well,
A name, methinks, that surely fell
From poet in some evening dell,

Wandering with fancies sweet.

" A. name, given in those olden days,
When 'midst the wild wood's vernal sprays
The merle and mavis poured their lays

In the lone listener's ear ;
Like songs of an enchanted land,
Sung sweetly to some fairy band,
Leaning with doffed helms in hand,

In some green hollow near."

CHAPTER XIII.

LIME OK LINDEN-TREE.

Tilia Europcea.

" The stately lime, smooth, gentle, straight, and fair,
"With which no other dryad can compare,
With verdant locks and fragrant blossoms deckt,
Doth a large, even, odorate shade project."

Cowley,

HEAR you not what the poet sang concerning me, mind-
ful of my stateliness and sylvan beauty, my fragrant
blossoms and pleasant shade? Hear, also, one of your
oldest botanists. The lime, or linden-tree, saith Gerard,
"waxeth very grate, and thicke, spreading forth his
branches wide and far abroad, being a tree which yeeldeth

LIME OR LINDEN-TREE. 227

a most pleasant shadow, under and within whose boughes
may be made brave summer-houses and banketting arbors/'
And lastly, the just eulogium of Evelyn, when he says, " Is
there a more ravishing or delightful object, than to behold
some entire streets and whole towns planted with linden-
trees, in even lines before their doors, so as that they seem
like cities in a wood ? This is extremely fresh, and pleasant to
the eye, of admirable effect against the epilepsy, for which
the delicately-scented blossoms are held prevalent, and screen
the houses both from wind, and sun, and dust, than which
there be nothing more desirable, where streets are much
frequented "

Thus has my tribe been justly eulogized from one
generation to another, said a noble lime-tree, whose waving
branches swept the walls of an old baronial mansion — Moor
Park in Herefordshire.

I have seen one generation after another occupy the old
house ; the young bride and bridegroom, in their youth and
beauty, passing across the threshold with music and at-

Q2

228 VOICES PROM THE WOODLANDS.

tendants, and guests to welcome them; and I have seen
the same young bride and bridegroom repass that threshold
in after years, yet not with light and joyous steps, but
borne separately, with nodding plumes and palls, and mutes,
and mourners following two and two. My old branches
have waved over many such, from the days of Elizabeth
to the present time; many a bridal party and many a
funeral has passed beside me, and I have noted the won-
drous changes that years have wrought.

Yet still I stand in my umbrageous majesty, rising to
an elevation of one hundred feet, and containing eight
hundred and seventy-five feet of timber in my solid bulk ;
nineteen horizontal branches, from sixty to seventy feet
long, form a magnificent canopy of waving boughs ; and
the straight and taper column, by which they are sus-
tained, measures seventeen feet at three feet above the
ground.

My leaves support a great variety of evanescent insects,
such as moths and butterflies, with others that find a

LIME OR LINDEN-TREE. 229

shelter among the interstices of my bark. Nor is this sur-
prising ; for my leaves drop honey, and hence the humble-
bee is my constant visitor, humming at her work, and making
cheerful the loneliest places. And why ? because my tiny
friends have in general large families to support. A single
female aphis is often the mother of one hundred young
ones. She has therefore a pointed kind of proboscis, with
which to pierce the under surface of my leaves, and thus
to obtain nutriment for their support. The sweet and
viscous juice which exudes, in consequence, is also
attractive to winged insects, such as wasps and flies ; and
the plodding ant, who constructs her nests among my
roots, often ascends the trunk, in company with her rela-
tives, to share in the genial banquet ; but, though free to
all, the common bee uniformly wings her way to the frag-
rant flowers, — she prefers extracting from them the sweet
juice, whereby to replenish her honey-bag.

Listen to the author of the Georgics, when speaking of
his bees. He well knew how much they delighted in my

230 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

blossoms, and how excellent the honey produced by such
as frequented them.

" I chanced an old Corycian swain to know,
Lord of few acres, and those barren too,
Yet, labouring well his little spot of ground,
Some scattered potherbs here and there he found :
He, therefore, first among the swains was found,
To reap the product of his laboured ground,
And squeeze the combs with golden liquor crowned ;
His limes were first in flower, his lofty pines
"With friendly shade secured his tender vines."

Travellers relate that the famous Kowno honey is made
exclusively from my flowers. Pallas will tell you, that the
lipezy or genuine linden-honey, which is of a greenish colour
and delicious taste, flows from the same vegetable fountain,
and is taken from the hive immediately after the neigh-
bouring lindens have been in blossom. Nor is this all;
the Swiss make a favourite beverage from them, and in the
south of France an infusion is used for cough and hoarse-
ness; at Nismes also, active boys climb to my topmost

LIME OR LINDEN -TREE. 231

boughs, and eagerly gather the fragrant blossoms, which
their mothers catch in their aprons, for the same purpose.
China may boast concerning her fragrant beverage ; but tea
produced from my blossoms is soft, well-flavoured, and
saccharine, in taste resembling liquorice; and Missa, the
French physician, obtained from my fruit a substance
not unlike chocolate. This experiment was repeated by
Margraff with equal success ; and probably some of our
American brethren may yield a produce more completely
similar. Hoffmann recommends an infusion of my blossoms
for inveterate epilepsy, and Dr. Swediaur as an antispasmodic.
Nor less various are the benefits conferred by my bark
and wood. Sannagaro distinguished me by the epithet in-
corruptible, " La tiglia incorruptibile" in allusion to the
imperishable nature of my papyraceous coating. Hence
many valuable works were committed to my charge. You
may see a work of Cicero written on my inner bark,
in the library at Venice; and from the outer, Carniolan
peasants prepare a kind of coarse stun0. When macerated

232 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

in water, the filaments make excellent ropes and fishing-nets,
and the inner bark is manufactured into Bussia matting,
for protecting fruit-trees and for packing. My wood —
how soft and light — how smooth and close-grained — how
privileged in never being worm-eaten ! It forms a choice
material for elegant Tunbridge ware; and from it the
celebrated sculptor Gibbons, the English Lysippus, carved
his fruits and flowers, of which exquisite specimens are seen
in the choir of St. PauPs Cathedral.

" Smooth linden best obeys
The carver's chisel ; best his carious work
Displays in nicest touches."

Artists, also, find my charcoaHnvaluable for sketching; and
with regard to the humbler uses of my wood, I may briefly
state, that it is preferred for leather-cutter's boards, and
turning. Nay, so numerous are the valuable purposes to
which my bark and wood, my leaves and blossoms are
applied, that far back as the days of Pliny I was called
the tree of a thousand uses.

LIME OR LINDEN-TREE. 233

And with equal justice may be applied to the stately
and almost imperishable linden, the observation of one who
loved our tribe., — that we stand as houses not built with
hands, proclaiming to the viewless winds and passing
clouds, to birds and animals, and swiftly-revolving sea-
sons, the mutual dependence that subsists throughout
creation ; to the heart of man, the love and wisdom
and sustaining power of his Creator, who first called us
into being, and who has ordained that we should exist
for ages.

Thus, perchance, men thought when they planted us
in the spacious areas of English towns, and such, doubt-
less, was the opinion of Evelyn, who caused us to be
arranged in St. James's Park, after the manner so much
admired throughout Holland and Inlanders . He preferred
us before many of our forest brethren; our taper and
straight columns, and beautifully branching cones, es-
pecially delighted him, when standing either singly or
in groups. That distinguished naturalist, our historian,

234 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

sought out noble trees, with the enthusiasm of a pilgrim
in quest of some distant shrine, and when found, he did
not lightly pass them by. The old linden-tree of Soleure,
in Switzerland, said he, " is right noble and wondrous to
behold. A bower composed of its branches is capable of
holding three hundred persons sitting at ease ; it has also
a fountain, set about with many tables, formed solely of
the boughs, to which men ascend by steps ; and all is kept
so accurately and thick, that the sun never looks into it."

And yet, however wonderful is the old linden of So-
leure, it falls short of the magnificent tilia of Neustadt,
in the Duchy of Wirtemberg, from which the city derives
a name, being called Neustadt of the great tree. The
trunk is twenty feet, and the extent of its branches four
hundred and three, spreading from north to south one
hundred and forty-five feet, and from east to west one
hundred and nineteen. Eighty-two stone columns still
remain, which princes and noble persons have set up,
either as memorials of their visits, or to uphold the vene-

LIME OR LINDEN-TREE. 235

rable branches of this patriarchal tree. Time and war
overthrew many such, and some, that were elaborately
ornamented, have been greatly injured, or else lie pros-
trate, memorials of foreign invasion and civil discord,
when rude soldiers bivouacked under the branches of the
old lime of Neustadt.

But neither intestine broils, nor yet foreign aggressions,
have marred the noble lime-tree which grew on the small
patrimonial farm that pertained to the ancestors of Linnseus,
beneath the shade of which he played in childhood, and
from which they derived the surnames of Lindelius, Tili-
ander, and Linnaeus. That noble tree still blossoms from
year to year, beautiful in every change of season ; its leaves
in spring of a yellowish green ; its bark always smooth ;
its blossoms small and yellowish-white, shedding the most
delicious fragrance, and spreading a ready banquet for the
industrious bee. A passer-by might fancy that her relatives,
in swarming, had settled among the branches; but the
sound is merely the grateful hum of innumerable labourers
who have flown from the adjacent gardens.

236 VOICES PROM THE WOODLANDS.

Who has not felt the power of such associations, as
connected with the lime ? And thus vividly has one of our
historians brought them before the mind. " How often/'
said he, "in early youth have I stretched myself on the
turf beneath its impenetrable shade, and listened to the
mingled ham of myriads of bees when busily collecting
honey among its fragrant flowers, when no other sound
was heard in the summer air, except the occasional, though
rare, twitter of the skimming swallow, or the distant
cooing of the ring-dove : when all was silent on earth,
save the gentle cropping of the nibbling sheep, or the
lowing of kine from the shallows of the river, whence the
raging heat had driven them/'

CHAPTEE XIV.

P O P L A B.

Populus.

No tree in all the grove but has its charm,
Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some,
And of a wannish grey : the willow such
And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf."

" LOOK at that formal row of poplars : what have they to
recommend them?" Thus men speak, — said a stately
poplar. I often hear those ungracious speeches; and
yet classic poets celebrate our family, and Homer compared
the fall of Simoisius to the overthrow of a noble tree.

238 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

" Fair Simoisius, whom his mother bore
Amid the flocks on silver Simois' shore ;
Short was his fate ! By dreadful Ajax slain,
He falls, and renders all their cares in vain !
So falls a poplar, that in watery ground
Raised high the head with stately branches crowned,
(Felled by some artist with his shining steel,
To shape the circle of the bending wheel.)
Cut down it lies, tall, smooth, and largely spread,
With all its beauteous honours on its head ;
There, left a subject to the wind and rain,
And scorched by suns, it withers on the plain.
Thus pierced by Ajax, Simoisius lies,
Stretched on the shore, and thus neglected dies."

This description alludes, most probably, to our brother
the aspiring Lombardy or Po poplar, which rises to an
astonishing height on the plains of Italy, and rivals the
far-famed cypress in its majestic simplicity. This tree was
deemed sacred to Hercules, ' ' populus Alcidse gratissima,"
and was considered as an emblem of courage, according
to the legend which assigns to Hercules the vanquishing
of his enemy in a poplar grove, but more probably because
he destroyed the monster with a massive poplar trunk —

POPLAR. 239

fit baton for one endowed with superhuman strength.
Certain it is, that strong men, who conquered in feats of
wrestling, or who pertained to the altars which superstition
erected to the memory of Hercules, were decked with
chaplets, entwined from our kindred twigs ; and that the
altars were adorned in like manner.

" A double wreath Evander twined.
And poplars black and white his temples bind."

Virgil.

Beautiful is the effect produced by different members
of our family, when growing in fertile soils on river banks, —

" Tall poplars trembling o'er the silver flood," —

especially when contrasted in our singleness and beauty
with the umbrageous majesty of the oak, the beech, or
elm, or of woodlands, that form a background to the river
and its trees. In moist places our services are frequently
invaluable ; and the vast extension of our roots, with an

240 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

inherent property for imbibing water, have caused many
bogs in the level parts of England to become drained in
a considerable degree, and also superficially improved by
the vegetable mould produced by our fallen leaves. We
grow, also, in dry places, on waste lands especially, and
such as are unfit for tillage ; and our wood, not being liable
to take fire, is consequently desirable for cottages and
stables. A red-hot poker, falling on a board of poplar, would
burn its way without causing more combustion than the
hole through which it passed ; the timber, if kept dry, is
also durable, and the poles may be used for spars. Care
must, however, be taken to remove the bark : or otherwise,
it is appropriated by insects, which ultimately destroy the
timber.

Our buds, when beginning to unfold in spring, yield
a balsamic resinous substance on the slightest pressure 7
and this, when extracted by spirits of wine, smells like
storax. Prom these, in common with the buds of the fir
and birch, industrious bees provide the gummy material

POPLAR. 241

called propolis, which they employ not only in finishing
the combs, but in rendering every chink or orifice
impervious to the weather, or to the insidious attacks of
their enemies.

Insect tribes resort to poplars of different species, and
become identified with their favourite trees. Among these,
the nocturnal Phalana gemma prepares for herself a nest
in October, when about to undergo a transformation, by
enclosing herself between two leaves, having previously
united the edges by means of numerous threads. A
delicately effused white web may also be observed on our
leaves in spring and summer. This web is produced by
the Erysiphe adunca before arriving at maturity, — considered
as the most beautiful of the genus, and resembling little
sparkling stars, when examined under a pocket magnifier.

Our small family contains only three members, the
black, the white, and the trembling.

The first, of tall growth, with smooth bark, affects rivers
and wet shady places, equally with woods and plantations

242 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

where the soil is moist. Every part of this valuable tree
answers some important purpose, or is associated with
an interesting fact in natural history. The bark, being
light, like cork, serves to support the nets of fishermen ;
the inner bark is used by the Kamtschadales as a ma-
terial for bread ; and the roots, which readily dissolve into
a gelatinous substance, and becomes speedily coated over
with a tubular crustaceous spar, was formerly employed
to promote the joining of fractured bones. The boards
afford durable and neat-looking floors for rooms, though
liable, from the softness of their nature, readily to take
impressions. Brooms are made from the twigs, and paper
is manufactured from the cottony down of the seeds. In
Flanders an incredible number of clogs are made from
poplar-wood. Horses, cows, and sheep browze readily
upon this valuable tree, and numerous insects resort for
protection to its bark, or raise their small citadels upon
the leaves. The red substances resembling berries upon the
leaf-stalks, large as a cherry, gibbous on one side, gaping

POPLAE. 243

on the other, are occasioned by an insect called Aphis
bursarm, which inhabits these angular dwellings.

The black poplar attains a considerable size on the banks
of the ancient Eridanus, and there perpetually distils its
amber tears. Hence has this tree been identified with the
hapless Heliades, who, while inconsolable for the loss of
their brother Phaeton, were, as poets tell, metamorphosed
into trees ; but of what kind, the poet has not thought fit-
to mention, though most probably the black poplar, which
reflects its stately image in the classic waters of the Po,
and derives its cognomen from that country.

Those who stand beside a running stream in autumn,
where grow black poplars, may observe, when a random
wind is hurrying in and out among the branches and
scattering the seeds in all directions, how wonderfully
each seed is adapted for dispersion, either through the
air or on water. The wind, in its autumn ministry,
readily propels it, by means of a spherical body, resembling
a small bullet, and having a long tail affixed, from the

ft 2

244 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

extremity of which descends obliquely an appendage of
considerable length. When, therefore, a strong breeze
detaches the seed from its parent tree, it is readily upborne,
and proceeds through the air, spinning round and round,
till falling either on the earth or into water : in the one
it becomes stationary, and is drawn into the earth by the
agency of rain or earth-worms ; in the other, it still moves
onward, in quest of a resting-place, the appendage sinking
about an inch in the water, and serving as a ballast to the
tail and bullet-shaped body, which answer the purpose
of a mast and rudder.

One of the finest specimens of black poplar may be
seen at Bury St. Edmund's, rivalling even those of Italy,
and, according to the testimony of Strutt, attaining to an
elevation of ninety feet, being in girth fifteen feet, and
containing five hundred and fifty-one feet of solid timber.

Aquatic trees are soon affected by atmospheric changes,
and occasionally present bright hues. Such, especially, is
the case with some kinds of our foreign kindred, which

POPLAR. 245

become of a brilliant yellow ; but more generally they do
not contribute to the beauty of autumnal hues. Moralists
in all ages have spoken of the sere and autumn leaf, as
emblematic of all changing forms of material existence.
Leaves scattered by the wind, say they, offer in their
desolation a salutary admonition to the children of mor-
tality ; for thus do their pleasures and pursuits change
with years ; youth and beauty, even fortune and in-
tellect, resemble the dull poplar leaf, and waste and wither
on the ground. Silent but impressive monitors are they,
which warn of coming winter, even the winter of life,
when the daughters of music shall be brought low, like
warbling birds on trees, that pass away when their branches
become leafless, or the pitcher is broken at the fountain
because of the hard and frozen soil.

Such are the words which moralists have spoken, em-
bodying sad thoughts, and associating them with fallen
leaves. They forget, methinks, that our leaves have an
important ministry to perform ; — that when fallen from their

246 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

high growing-places, they lie soft and thick upon the
ground, not with a heavy pressure, to crush the feeblest
insect, or to bruise the tenderest seed, but light and warm,
and yielding a ready covering for everything that requires
shelter ; and that when high winds begin to dry the
earth in spring, insects come forth from beneath those
parental leaves, which have carefully treasured whatever
has been consigned to their care ; and that early flowers,
peeping forth from their friendly covering, seem to welcome
the return of genial weather, at which time winds are
abroad, and the leaves, being no longer needed, become
vegetable mould.

Our venerable brother, the white poplar, or abele-tree,
produces a beautiful effect in woodland scenery, especially
when growing high on rocky banks, among trees of deep
foliage. The leaves are smooth and of a dark green on
the upper surface, with a white dense cotton underneath ;
the bark is of a greenish grey, blended with darker shades ;
and hence the tout ensemble of the abele-tree — which

POPLAR. 247

derives a name from the Low Dutch word abeel, de-
scriptive of its hoary or aged colour — is extremely pic-
turesque.

Evelyn relates that the wood of the white poplar is
sought for by the sculptor ; and history informs us, that
in old times swords and bucklers were made of the same
material. Evelyn also mentions " that in three years
abeles attain incredible altitude, that in twelve they become
as big as a man's body, and that in eighteen or twenty
they arrive at full perfection ; for which celerity," he adds,
" we may recommend them to such late builders as seat
their houses in naked and unsheltered places, and that
would put a guise of antiquity upon any new enclosure,
since by these, whilst a man is on a voyage of no con-
tinuance, his house and lands may be so covered as to be
hardly known at his return."

One of the finest specimens may be seen beside a lane
which bounds the pleasure-grounds of Brockhall, in
Northamptonshire. That tree has stood there for many

248 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

years, beautifully contrasted by his silvery quivering leaves,
with such, trees as group around.

This, our brother, grows best in woods and hedges, and
near brooks ; he thrives, also, on the coast, and is remark-
able for withstanding the north-east winds, so detrimental
to vegetation on the coasts of Northumberland and
Durham. Assigned to a watery location, with obvious
reference to its disadvantages, the bark is used for curing
intermittent fevers, which are most prevalent in wet
countries ; and hence this tree, as already noticed, abounds
in moist woods and marshy places. The bark will tan
leather ; and the wood, being soft, and white, and stringy,
and little subject either to swell or shrink, is admirably
adapted for wainscoting and turning.

A variety pertains to the abele, with smaller leaves, and
grey underneath.

Moist woods and boggy grounds, where grow the rush
and the forget-me-not, are the favourite haunts of our third
brother, the aspen, or trembling poplar, although equally

POPLAR, 249

affecting the most dissimilar soils and situations. But
wherever found, it must be confessed that he somewhat
impoverishes the land ; his leaves, also, when fallen, destroy
the grass, and his widely ramified roots spread so near
the surface of the earth, that neither shrubs nor herbage
can find support. The wood is light and smooth, soft,
and durable, and the bark yields excellent torches. In
countries where trembling aspens grow contiguous to beaver
villages, they prefer the bark to any other kind of food.

Who that delights to visit the growing-places of differ-
ent kinds of forest-trees, and to observe their distinctive
peculiarities, has failed to remark the incessant agitation
of aspen leaves ? —

" When rustling turn the many twinkling leaves
Of aspens tall."

This peculiarity is said to result from the plane of the
leaf-stalk being at the right angle to that of the leaves,
which consequently allows of a much freer motion than

250 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

could have taken place had the leaves been parallel ; and
hence the address of the poet : —

" Why tremble so, broad aspen-tree ?
At rest thou never seem'st to be ;

For when the air is still and clear,
Or when the nipping gale, increasing,

Shakes from thy bough soft twilight's tear,
Thou tremblest still, broad aspen-tree,
And never tranquil seem'st to be."
"*~\

Legends of no ordinary interest linger around this tree.
Ask the Italian peasant, who pastures his sheep beside a
grove of arbele, why the leaves of those trees are always
trembling in even the hottest weather, when not a breeze
is stirring, and he will tell you that the wood of the
trembling poplar formed the cross on which our Saviour
suffered.

The tremulousness began, as legends tell,

"When He, the Meek One, bowed his head to death,

E'en on an aspen cross ; when some near dell
Was visited by men, whose every breath

POPLAR. 251

That sufferer gave them. Hastening to the wood —

The wood of aspens — they, with ruffian power,
Did hew the fair pale tree, which trembling stood,

As if awe-struck : and from that fearful hour
Aspens have quivered, as with conscious dread
Of that foul crime which bowed the meek Redeemer's head.

Far distant from those days. Oh, let not man,

Boastful of reason, check with scornful speech
Those legends pure ; for who the heart may scan,

Or say what hallowed thoughts such legends teach
To those who may, perchance, their scant flocks keep,

On hill or plain ; to whom the quivering tree
Hinteth a thought, which, holy, solemn, deep,

Sinks in the heart, bidding their spirits flee
All thoughts of vice, that dread and hateful thing,
Which troubleth of each joy the pure and gushing spring ?

CHAPTEE XV.

MAPLE.

Acer Pseudo-plat anus.

" Nor unnoted pass
The sycamore, capricious in attire,
Now green, now tawny, and ere autumn yet
Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright."

MY name Acer, sharp or hard, was given in old times with
reference to my wood having been used for javelins. Those
days have passed; and now I stand with others of my
brethren, in open places or sandy grounds, and often by
the sea, in company with saUow thorns. Martello towers
are we in the vegetable world, thriving best beside the

MAPLE, 253

roar of ocean, and defending all shrubs, and herbage, and
lesser trees, from the winds and the salt spray.

My history is somewhat brief, yet it breathes of peace,
associated with useful arts and details of husbandry. In
spring my bloom is beautiful and fragrant j bees come from
all parts to revel in my sweets, and happy is the cottager
who has a plantation of sycamores beside his bee-garden.
If planted judiciously, we serve also to keep off the wind ; for
our branches form a dense mass of foliage, and look well
in the distance, presenting, ofttimes, strong contrasts of
light and shade, when the sun throws a bright gleam across
our growing-place, and some dark mass of rock is in deep
shadow. My bark has not the furrowed roughness of the
oak, but is extremely picturesque, smooth, yet peeling off
in large flakes, and leaving patches of different hues, and
seams and cracks, which the artist readily transfers to his
canvas. In spring the delicate hue of my luxuriant
foliage beautifully harmonizes with green meadows, my
frequent habitat ; and beneath my shade both sheep and

254 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

oxen find abundance of herbage whereon to lie down ; for,,
unlike that of the ash and beech, my shadow has no in-
jurious quality, and grass flourishes around my roots.

" Take care of that young tree/' said Farmer Eobinson
to his labourer, who was diligently employed in clearing
away a rambling company of brambles, which had grown
unmolested during the time of the last tenant ; " the soil
is good, and in a very few years we shall have pasturage
for our bees, and plenty of maple wine."

The farmer spoke true : before his young labourer had
attained middle age, the sapling had grown into a fine tree.
Its branches spread wide and high, and bees came from
all parts to gather their honey harvests among the flowers .
beneath its shade lambkins were wont in spring to sleep
beside their dams, and when the time of shearing came,
and the sheep were disburdened from their fleeces, you
might see them hastening to the sycamore-tree for shelter.

A kind of rustic festival was held about the same time,
in honour of the maple wine. Hither came the farmer

MAPLE, 255

and his dame, with their children and young neighbours,
each carrying bunches of flowers. Older people came
in their holiday dresses, some with baskets containing
cakes, others tea and sugar, with which the farmer and
his wife had plentifully supplied them, and joyfully did
they rest awhile on the greensward, while young men
gathered sticks, and a bright fire having been kindled,
the kettle sent up its bubbling steam.

When this was ended, and few of the piled-up cakes
remained; when, also, the young children had emptied
their cans, and rinsed them at the old stone trough, into
which rushed a full stream, tiny hands joyfully held up the
small cans, and bright eyes looked anxiously to the stem
of the tall tree, while the farmer warily cut an incision in
the bark.

What joy, when a sweet watery juice began to trickle,
and the farmer filled one small cup, then another, till all
were satisfied, and a portion sent to the older people, who
were contentedly looking on from the grassy slope where

256 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

they had seated themselves ! The hole sufficed to furnish
sufficient juice to fill a considerable vessel, which the
labourer, who first told his master of the young sycamore,,
was privileged to carry to the farmhouse, from which, in
due time, a household wine was made by the farmer's wife,
and offered to her guests when they again met at Christmas,
beside the yule log.

The dame knew nought concerning the process for ob-
taining sugar, or else she might have sweetened her
children's puddings from the watery liquor yielded by the
sycamore, or greater maple : an art well known to the
aboriginal tribes of North America.

There is much in my natural history to excite attention,
both as regards the insect tribes that resort to my bark
and leaves, and the wonderful construction of my seeds.
The Scarabaus Melontha is one of my frequent visitors ;
and if my pollen, which frequently covers, as with light
yellow powder, the hairy coat of the industrious bee, and
which appears globular in the microscope, is slightly

MAPLE. 257

moistened, it bursts open with four valves, which assume
the form of a cross. In the seed, if soaked in warm
water, and then carefully examined, you may discover the
roots and long radicle-leaves of the future plant, folded
up with the utmost care; as also minute leaves, destined
to succeed them : these small leaves are beautifully green,
a fact not readily explained, as light is excluded by three
coatings and a woolly wrapper. Thus wondrously is the
wisdom and beneficence of the Creator manifested in the
provision appointed for the preservation of even a small
seed.

Though growing freely in my adopted country, time was
when the sycamore had neither a name nor place among
indigenous forest-trees. Naturalists relate that my an-
cestor was originally exotic, the native of a sunny clime,
and introduced into Britain for ornament and shade.
Turner and Evelyn hold this opinion, and Parkinson, the
herbalist, relates, that in his time my tribe ' ' was no where
found wilde, or naturall in our lande, as he could learne,

s

258 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

but only planted in orchards or walkes for the shadowe
sake/' Chaucer speaks of us as " rare exotics " in the four-
teenth century, and Gerard, as strangers in England,
growing "only in the walkes and places of pleasure of
noblemen, making a beautiful appearance in bloome, and
affording much pabulum for bees, smelling, also, strongly
of honey."

Doubtless we are noble trees. Our spring tints are
rich, glowing, and harmonious. In summer our deep
green accords well with our grand and massive foliage ;
and the brown and somewhat dingy red of our autumnal
foliage contrasts with the deeper and glowing tints of the
poplar and the beech, the oak and the elm, and not uiifre-
quently heightens their effect.

We grow well in Scotland, and receive wherever growing
a just meed of approbation. You may find us uniformly
beside old aristocratic residences, having been much planted
in former times, when the long peace that subsisted between
France and Scotland occasioned our introduction from the

COMMON MAPLE. 259

continent. Associated, therefore, with the memory of
Scotland's ill-fated queen, many an aged sycamore still
lifts his venerable head beside old walls, now roofless
and deserted, yet great in their day of power, and bringing
to mind the lament of the poet Burns.

COMMON MAPLE.

Acer campestre.

I am a wayside tree,

Of little worth, some think, who rashly judge,
And yet my place nor towering oak might fill,
Nor stately pine.

Hear me also, said the common maple, when his elder
brother had finished speaking; I have somewhat to relate
concerning myself, with which some of my hearers may
probably not be well acquainted. My wood, still used
for many light articles, was formerly in great request for

260 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

all kinds of cabinet-work, until superseded by mahogany.
The knobs or excrescences of ancient trees, produced either
by time or accident, afforded beautiful and richly variegated
specimens, which often represented, in their natural con-
tortions, either birds or animals, and, when darkly veined
or spotted, were greatly valued by the Romans, and
purchased at enormous prices, chiefly for making tables.
Hence the proverbial saying, ' ' to turn the tables " upon
another, has been conjectured to owe its origin to this
extravagant taste, which afforded the Roman ladies an
opportunity of retaliation, when their husbands remon-
strated against the costliness of their jewels and attire.
Of such knobs and excrescences, which Pliny eulogized
and Ovid sang, were composed the celebrated Tigrine and
Pantherine tables ; and some in the possession of Cicero,,
Asinius Gallus, King Juba, and the Mauritanian Ptolemy,
are said to have been worth their weight in gold. Maple -
wood was also deemed suitable for purposes of state : —

COMMON MAPLE. 261

" A maple throne, raised higher than the ground,
Received the Trojan chief."

Though considerably smaller than my brother, who is
called by distinction the greater maple, chief of our house,
and growing on sub-alpine regions in Cumberland and
Westmoreland, and high mountainous sheep pastures, while
my lowly birth-place is in thickets and hedges, I have
yet some important purposes to fulfil. I make excellent
gun-stocks, and screws for cider-presses; turners greatly
estimate my wood, and vessels are produced, by their craft,
so thin as to transmit light. Nor is it to my reproach
that I am somewhat of a dwarf, for rarely does the farmer
admit of my rising higher than brushwood ; yet when
allowed to grow freely, as at Knowle, in Kent, one of my
brethren measured twelve or fourteen feet in height. But
why, you may perhaps wish to know, are we thus restricted
from attaining our natural altitude? Because we form
rapidly a close hedge, and afford plenty of firewood to the
farmer.

262 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Yet still somewhat of sylvan beauty is associated with
the unassuming maple. In autumn our foliage presents
a peculiarly rich and mellow tint; in spring our leaves
are the resort of many defenceless insects, some of which
erect upon them their numerous red-coloured and tent-like
domiciles, and in summer they present a white cottony
appearance. True it is that our young shoots are singu-
larly rugged ; and yet, if cut through horizontally, a thin
slice will present a beautiful and curious object for the
microscope, exhibiting the different channels and variously
constructed tubes, through which sap flows and air cir-
culates for the supply of our various requirements. And
thus has a naturalist, when speaking of our family, well
observed : — "It is good and delightful to contemplate
the wondrous mechanism which has been appointed by its
Creator for the well-being and the beautifying of this
humble hedge-row tree, this dwarf among its statelier
brethren, whom the artist never lingers to pourtray, nor
yet the poet to describe." But over the tomb of one who

COMMON MAPLE. 263

loved our depressed family, bends the maple in Boldre
churchyard, grateful, it would seem, for the many good
words spoken concerning us by the exemplary Gilpin, and
watching the place of his long rest.

CHAPTER XVI.

HOUSE- CHESTNUT.

Msculus Hippocaslanum.

A pyramid of verdure,

Rising high, with much of sylvan beauty, — grandeur, too,
And power to raise the thoughts from earth to heaven.

MAY I not take my place among the aristocracy of forest-
trees indigenous to Britain ? said a magnificent horse-
chestnut. The tone in which he spoke was calm and
moderate, yet betokening somewhat of offended dignity;
and thus he made good his claim : —

True it is that none of my ancestors were hewn and

HORSE-CHESTNUT. 265

lopped in the days of William the Norman, because they
had not then settled on the shores of Britain ; but Gerard
told concerning us in his time; Tradescant, also, when Queen
Elizabeth installed him as her gardener. Evelyn spoke of
our ancestors with unqualified admiration, when he thus
wrote in his ' History of Forest-trees ' : — " I wish we did
more readily propagate the horse-chestnut, which, being
easily increased from layers, grows into a goodly standard,
and bears most glorious flowers, even in our cold country.
This tree is now all the mode for avenues in the country
palaces of Prance, as appears by the late superintendent's
planting at Vaux."

Surely there ought to be no appeal from such authority
as Evelyn's ; and yet we have been described as heavy-
looking and ungraceful, formal too, and hardly to be
tolerated, unless when required to form a background for
trees of more pleasing character.

Observe my place of growth — a wild secluded knoll,
rising somewhat precipitously on the verge of a deep

VOICES PROM THE WOODLANDS.

valley, thickly timbered, with breaks of lawn and thicket.
A space extends on either side, covered with short herbage,
and right and left are forest-trees, the oak, the ash, and
elm, with here and there beautiful specimens of birch;
but whoever passes, looks solely at my pyramid of foliage.
Many who come this way, when the sun is setting over
yonder hill, linger with delight to observe the broad masses
of light and shade that are thrown over half the landscape,
by the noble mass of foliage, which, although with nought
of airiness and lightness, preserves its own calm dignity,
and is peculiar to our race. Methinks few objects within
the limited range of British forest-trees are more beautiful
to behold ; and who among our sylvan brethren may com-
pete with us in the pyramidal form of our foliage and
our flowers ? The chestnut, when growing unharmed, and
permitted to rise into the dignity of his natural growth,
forms a perfect pyramid ; the flowers, too, present
mimic pyramids of delicately white, pink-tinted blossoms,
among which the goldfinch and the linnet, the blackcap

HORSE-CHESTNUT. 267

and the laverock, sing blithely, and bees come humming
to gather their honey harvests. Find, if you can,
among streams and glens, or rocky headlands — for
such are our favourite haunts — any tree more worthy of
regard than a magnificent chestnut, the growth of ages,
clothed in all the richness of his deep green foliage, and
spangled with innumerable flowers, from the lowest to the
highest branch ? Who among the lovers of forest scenery
can look unmoved upon such a goodly tree, planted by the
hand of his Creator, and eminently adapted to fill the mind
with gratitude and admiration ?

CHAPTEE XVII.

WILLOW.

Salix.

" Willows to panting shepherds shade dispense,
To bees their honey, and to corn defence." — Virgil.

METHINKS I am suggestive of calm thoughts, said a
willow, drooping in its beauty beside the margin of an
inland lake. My light green pendent branches are in
unison with secluded spots and the sweet warbling note of
the small wren that bears my name. The botanist who has
made his way through reeds, ofttimes ankle-deep in a damp
soil, while seeking water-plants, listens with delight to the

WILLOW. 269

somewhat low, yet sweetly varied song of this small bird,
when he rises singing from among my branches, near
which his mate sits patiently on her nest within some
hollow, which time or else the burrowing rabbit has formed
in a neighbouring bank.

" Upon a tuft of willow trees,
That twinkled to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perched in ecstasies,
Yet seeming still to hover ;

" There, where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover them all over.

" While thus before my eyes he gleams,
A brother of the leaves he seems,
When in a moment forth he teems
His little song in gushes ;

" As if it pleased Mm to disdain
The voiceless form he chose to feign,
While he was dancing with the train
Of leaves among the bushes."

270 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Another of my companions, the least willow-wren, warbles
in like manner his little simple song, where all else is still,
except the rushing sound of waters flowing swiftly ; and his
brother, the common willow-wren, may be seen running up
and down my stem and branches in search of insects. Of
these, at least fifty-three different species find their homes
among my bark; and hence ladybirds abound in vast
numbers among willow-beds, where they confer incalculable
benefits by destroying innumerable aphides. Each insect
has her own brief history, and wonderful are the natural
phenomena concerning which an entomologist could speak.
But passing over such, I shall only notice that the Phalana
putta, a nocturnal moth, accompanies the evening star;
emerging from out her dwelling among my roots, when
that star arises, and feeding among the leaves till morning ;
and that when day begins to break she retires to her sub-
terraneous abode, in order to avoid her inveterate enemy the
ichneumon; lastly, that the Ptinus tessellatus, or death-watch^
much affects my branches, and that the Phalana cossus

WILLOW. 271

undermines, with her companions, even the finest growing
trees, till they become utterly powerless to resist the gales
of winter.

And yet, though suggestive of calm thoughts, much of
historic interest is associated with my name. Who, in
remembering the sanguinary purposes to which my pliant
branches were applied in Druidic times, does not feel
thankful that his lot is cast in far different days ? The
willow grew then, as now, beside clear streams, in glens
such as poetic fancy might delight to feign ; but instead of
being regarded as an object of especial interest to the
botanist and entomologist, savage men went forth to collect
the boughs and twigs, which having brought within the
precincts of gloomy and unhallowed woods, they constructed
with them huge images, for the immolation of prisoners
either taken in war, or about to be sacrificed.

My tribe was, doubtless, more important to the ancient
Britons than any of their sylvan brethren. Those half-
civilized barbarians were so skilful in the art of weaving

272 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

baskets and vessels for domestic purposes, that they excited
the admiration of even the polished Romans. Their shields
also, which often presented an impregnable barrier to the
attacks of their enemies, were woven with similar materials,
and covered with hides ; and of nearly the same construction
were the boats of your remote ancestors, as described by
Csesar, Pliny, and Lucan. Solinus likewise makes mention
of wattled boats as common to the Scotch and Irish ; in
such the heroes of Ossian rowed across their blue lakes.

In later times, and when the descendants of the
ancient Britons had taken a high standing among nations,
one of my kindred became associated with the name of
Sophia, Queen of Prussia. If a passing traveller, recalling to
mind a scene of domestic happiness in the life of that dis-
tinguished woman, should pass through the shaded avenue
of trees at Neugarten, and sit down beneath the old willow
on the margin of the lake, where its long spreading
boughs bend towards the earth, and a glorious view extends
over Weisen and the Peacock Island, let him remain quietly

WILLOW. 273

and think that a king and queen meditated beneath the
old boughs which encircled and concealed them,, and that,
while religion was to them the first and purest source of
happiness, it became their consolation amid the disasters
by which they were overwhelmed.

Beneath the shade of that old willow the Queen of
Prussia had spent many happy hours in the commencement
of her married life ; in after years she loved to read there
her favourite authors, and to watch the sports of her
children ; and on the same spot she spent nearly her last
day of happiness, before the bursting of that fearful storm
which shook the throne of Prussia to its centre. The
queen, as writes her biographer,* did not wish on that day to
leave Paretz till the latest moment, and she requested the
king to order the carriage round to another entrance, that
she might walk through the long avenue of trees; the
king readily acceded, and they walked for a long time, arm
in arm, in the calm moonlight.

* Mrs. Charles Richardson.
T

274 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

When the overwhelming miseries inflicted by Napoleon
had broken the heart of Prussia's queen, — the mother of
her country, as she was universally termed, — the King
caused the way which she took for the last time to be
turfed, and bordered with flowers. The gate through
which she passed was never again opened, but an inscription,
bearing the date of the twentieth of May, 1810, with the
initial of Louisa, was placed over it, and in the grotto,
shaded by the willow of which I have spoken, was inscribed
in gold letters, on the iron table, " Remember the absent,"
that her children might ever be reminded of their mother.

And as Prussia's queen loved the willow among kin-
dred trees, because of its sylvan beauty and associations with
domestic happiness, so was this tree selected as a symbol
of sorrow for her untimely death ; and nowhere, perhaps,
is the association of the willow with funereal architecture
more affecting than at the mausoleum of Charlottenburg.

The mausoleum is approached by a long avenue of pine-
trees, leading to a grove of black firs, blended with cypress

WILLOW. 275

and Babylonian willows, and bordered with white roses,
lilies, and hortensias ; the favourite flowers of that beloved
queen, beauteous yet melancholy contrasts to the hallowed
temple of Brandenburg granite, beneath which repose the
mortal remains, in a sarcophagus of lead, weighing eighteen
hundredweight, and supported by eight lions, upon which
is graven this simple inscription : —

" Louisa Augusta Wilhelmina Amelia, Queen of Prussia,
Princess of Mecklenburg Strelitz, born 10th of March,
1776, died at Hohenzieritz, 19th of July, 1810."

Poets in all ages have spoken of the willow : some with
reference to mournful, others to festive occasions ; some
even with regard to religious observances. Thus the poet
Googe : —

" And willow branches hallow, that they palmes do use to call/'

But more generally we are connected with melancholy
associations, though men hardly know why. True it is
that formal rows of pollard willows are often seen

276 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

standing disconsolately in low, flat, or inundated meadows,
or else by the side of ditches, over which they have no
branches left to bend ; but with such the poet never
concerns himself. He thinks only of the weeping
willow when drooping in natural luxuriance above some
clear or sparkling stream ; the wavy tips just rippling the
surface of the gliding waters, which reflect their image for
a moment, and then pass on. Thus beautiful in its assigned
locality, — cheerful, too, on account of its light and silvery
foliage and pendent branches, breathing rather of placid
cheerfulness than enduring grief, the willow has yet been
selected in all ages as an emblem of disappointed love.

" In love, the sad forsaken wight
The willow garland weaveth."

Every one who has read Shakespeare remembers that
portion of an old ballad, which is sung by Desdemona on
the eve of her death, with its plaintive termination of
" O willow, willow ": —

WILLOW. 277

" My mother had a maid called Barbara ;
She was in love ; and he she loved proved mad,
And did forsake her : she had a song of ' willow,'
An old thing 'twas, but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it : That song, to-night,
Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do,
But to go hang my head all at one side,
And sing it, like poor Barbara."

No mention is made concerning poor Barbara's pale fact,
nor yet her lack-lustre eye, nor melancholy voice ; we know
only that the old song expressed her fortune, that she hung
her head, and went about her household work singing it; yet
who can read this pathetic passage without the vision of
poor Barbara ?

The plaintive ballad which Barbara sang was old in the
time of Shakspeare, and thus the descant ran : —

" A poor soul sat singing by a sycamore- tree,

O willow ! willow ! willow !
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee,

0 willow ! willow ! willow !
Sing 0, the green willow must be my garland.

278 VOICES FKOM THE WOODLANDS.

" He sighed in his singing, and after each groan

Came willow ;

I am dead to all pleasure, my true love is gone ;
Sing 0, the green willow.

" The mute birds sat by him, made tame by his moans ;

O willow ;

The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones,
Sing 0, the green willow.

" Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,

O willow;

He that complains of his false love, mine's falser than she.
Sing 0, the green willow."

A small black-letter collection of ancient poetry, entitled
the ' Golden Garland of Princely Delights/ contains an old
pastoral dialogue, which has also reference to the willow.

" Witty. — How now, shepherde, what meanes that ?
Why that willow in thy hat ?
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe
Turned to branches of green willowe ?

" Cuddy.—- They are changed, and so am I,
Sorrowes live, but pleasures die ;
Phillis hath forsaken mee ;
Which makes me wear the willowe-tree."

WILLOW. 279

In old times those who sat down by the waters of Babylon,
and who wept when they remembered Zion, hanged their
harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. And still
beside the majestic stream of the Euphrates, wandering in
its solitary course, like an exiled monarch amid the silent
ruins of his desolated kingdom, grow grey osier willows,
on banks hoary with reeds, or amid ruined embankments,
divided and subdivided again and again, over the apparently
interminable expanse of wide-spreading morasses, ancient
foundations, and chains of undulating heaps.

To the eye, therefore, of the historian, three historic
epochs are inscribed on the bark of the willow. The first
has respect to the carrying away of the captive Jews to
Babylon, when their daughters refused to sing the songs of
their fatherland to those who had made their cities waste
and brought their sanctuaries into desolation ; the second
is associated with the ancient Britons, when woad-dyed
chieftains presided over your barbaric ancestors, and Druidic
superstitions held sway in the minds of men ; and lastly,

280 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

it brings to mind the sad history of Prussia, when her
throne was about to be overturned by a lawless usurper.

Somewhat of sadness, therefore, is associated with the
willow in the mind of the historian. It is otherwise
with the Persian and Arabian, who love the willow, and
cultivate it with great care ; the one, because its fragrant
catkins yield their celebrated febrifuge water, or caleef of
their poets ; the other, because a costly perfume is obtained
from the flowers.

The English farmer, also, sees in most of our brethren
trees of considerable value, such as are available for the
occupation of marshy ground, otherwise useless ; and hence,
as already noticed, his low grounds broken by formal rows
of pollard willows ; the carpenter, in like manner, selects
our wood for making clogs, and ladders, truncheons, pill-
boxes, cricket-bats, and hop-poles, for knife-boards, which
give an edge like stone; and the charcoal-makers obtain
from us the finest charcoal.

Such are our chief characteristics in a collective capacity ;

WILLOW. 281

but certain peculiarities which pertain to different members
are deserving of brief notice.

The bitter purple willow, for example, delights in marshes
and river- sides, where it rises to the height of three or four
feet. Eemove this plant to upland pastures, where grow
the juniper and dwarf birch, and its distinctive character
would utterly disappear ; the rich purple of its branches, and
the somewhat deeper hue of its leaves, would cease to excite
attention. But when growing in favourable localities, the
effect is beautiful, and the basket- maker readily discovers
his favourite shrubs ; for none among the willow tribe are
more valuable for fine basket-work, or for plaiting into low
close fences, to keep out hares and rabbits. The leaves and
bark are so intensely bitter that no animal will touch them,
and the twigs are so long and tough, yet flexible, that they
may be interwoven into almost every shape.

The rose-willow, of which osier-beds are mostly con-
structed, is used also for all sorts of twig- work. The black-
bird cage, which is seen with its jet black warbling occu-

282 VOICES FKOM THE WOODLANDS.

pant, beside the cottage door, is made of its slender shoots ;
the cradle, too, in which a sleeping infant is rocked,
often within the same cottage, and the large family basket,
which older children bear forth with pride into the adjacent
orchard during the time of apple-gathering, are each con-
structed from the shoots of the rose-willow.

This species, on account of its long and pliant branches,
was probably used for making bee-hives in the days of
Virgil.

" Whether thou build the palace of thy bees
With twisted osiers, or with bark of trees,
Make but a narrow mouth ; for as the cold
Congeals into a lump the solid gold,
So 'tis again dissolved with summer heat,
And the sweet labours both extremes defeat ;
And therefore, not in vain the industrious hind
With dauby wax and flowers the chinks hath lined,
And with their stores of gathered glue, contrive
To stop the vents and crannies of their hive."

Nor less available are the pliant branches of the fine-
basket osier, with those of the red willow, for different

WILLOW. 283

kinds of basket-work, whether useful or ornamental ; while
those of the broad-leaved monadelphous willow, of which
the true locality is the banks of subalpine rivers in the
north of England, is utterly valueless as an osier.

Narrow-leaved osiers, somewhat unrestricted in their
growing-places, and frequenting alike both woods and
hedges, with the banks of rivers and osier-grounds, come
more generally under the appellation of tree osiers ; and
among such, the smooth willow is one of the most valuable.
This graceful species, when not molested, often rises to the
height of thirty feet, and casts its bark, which cracks
angularly, like that of the plane-tree, in autumn. It is
principally cultivated for white basket-work, and produces
rods of eight or nine feet long, which are tough and pliant,
and very durable. Men are appointed to cut them down
every year ; and when the willow-beds are surrounded on
all sides with water, and those who are thus about to be
employed go in boats, with their wives and children, the
scene is both novel and animating.

284 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

The Bedford willow, which is found throughout the
midland and southern counties, in marshes and willow-beds,
and is nowhere more abundant than in Northumberland,
derives its name from the late and present Dukes of Bed-
ford, who first ascertained and brought into notice the
valuable properties of the bark for tanning. This interest-
ing species, which grows equally in the vicinity of London
and in the wildest solitudes in the north of England, is
associated with the mention of a time-worn castle in the
vale of Tyne.

" That castle rises on the steep

Of the green vale of Tyne,
While far below, as low they creep,
From pool to eddy, dark and deep,
Where alders bend and willows weep,

Yon hear her stream repine."

Eew trees are equally distinguished for rapid growth,
and extraordinary bulk in proportion to their size. In less
than thirty years, the trunks afford considerable quantities
of useful board, for hop- poles and hurdle-bars, and are

WILLOW. 285

consequently in great request in counties where large flocks
of sheep are depastured upon turnip-fields. The finest
specimen of this kind of willow occurs in the celebrated
tree near Lichfield, known by the name of the Johnson
willow, because that great moralist delighted to rest under
its shade. The trunk, at six feet above ground, measures
thirty-one feet in girth, and rises twenty feet in height
before dividing into enormous ramifications. The whole
trunk, which comprises 130 feet of solid timber, continues
perfectly sound, and the widely spreading branches are
extremely vigorous. The effect produced by this giant
willow, when seen from an opposite point, across the
meadows, is extremely beautiful.

Another specimen of equal grandeur belongs to the
ancient monastery of St. Edmund, at Bury, standing in
its loneliness and beauty, and bearing the name of the
Abbot's tree. It is conjectured to have been contemporary
with that far-famed and splendid monastery, when in the
zenith of its power.

£86 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Different species of the Salix tribe pass in review, each
with a distinctive character ; but, however interesting, T
shall briefly mention only such among our brethren as are
most conspicuous. First, then, is the sweet bay-leaved
willow, which affects moist woods and hedges, especially
in the north of England. The branches are cut to make
shingles, and the leaves, when dried, afford a yellow dye ;
the long sprouts, also, are much used in Yorkshire for
large baskets ; and the down of the species is employed
as a substitute for cotton in stuffing mattrasses and cushions,
and, when mixed with a third part of cotton, makes good
candle wicks. Next is the yellow, or golden osier, abundant
in rough low pastures and stream-sides. Of this, the
wood is white and tough, and the shoots are much used
by crate and basket-makers. Tew trees are more orna-
mental ; its golden-tinted branches look well when growing
beside water, with a dark background of pines, even in
the midst of winter ; and hence the yellow osier is planted
by fancy gardeners in pleasure-grounds, where it enlivens

WILLOW. 287

their cheerless aspect. Useful, also, is this favourite shrub ;
for, like the water sallow, of which the bark is manufactured
into coarse paper and pasteboard, it also may be converted
to the use of the paper-maker. At Turin, especially, the
fabrication of paper, both for writing, printing, and
wrapping, made from the thin bark of willow and poplar
trees, has been fully approved and sanctioned by the
Academy of Sciences.

Growing ofttimes amid the wildest solitudes, by Swedish
waterfalls and rocks, where not a sound, excepting that of
headlong torrents, interrupts their awful stillness, the crack-
willow, equally indigenous in Britain, is much sought for
by the natives. Young men go forth, armed with hatchets
and strong iron-spiked poles, whereby to assist them in
climbing rocks or passing over a slippery surface ; and loud
is the huzza which announces that the most adventurous
have gained the high growing-place of this wild shrub.
Others follow in succession ; and when the whole are
assembled, they begin with much ceremony to cut down

288 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

the crack-willow, in order to obtain the roots, which are
used for staining the Easter eggs of a purple colour : an
ancient custom, which likewise prevails in Scotland. Well
might the lonely traveller turn with instinctive dread when
meeting a company of wild-looking men, armed with
hatchets, and having red hands, as if returning from some
mortal fray. But he need not fear. That terrifying colour
is caused by having bruised the Aphis Salicis, which par-
ticularly infests this kind of willow, and is filled with a
deep red fluid, resembling blood ; hence persons employed
either in felling the crack-willow, or stripping the branches,
have their hands of 'the same ensanguined hue.

Those sterile growing-places, which in Sweden the crack-
willow especially affects, are also cheered by the round-
eared sallow, which in this country prefers woods and
hedges, and dry mountainous heaths. Young people
look for them in the thawing months, hopeful to see that
the flower-buds have begun to open. This tree is one of
nature's surest monitors, a beacon shrub, concerning which

WILLOW. 289

a Calendar of Mora, made in Sweden during the year 1755,
thus notes : —

March XIX. — Mowers of the round-leaved or eared sallow open on the
19th of March, the thawing-month, which commences from
the first melting of the snow to the floating of ice down the
rivers.

Eaves of houses drop towards the noontide sun.
XX. — Snow melts against walls.

Larks begin to sing.
XXII.— Water flows by the walls.
XXV. — Roads very dirty and full of water.

The same naturalist has inserted in his calendar, that
when the willow, concerning which we speak, begins to
leaf, migratory birds return in Sweden to their accustomed
haunts.

April IV. — Upright fir-moss sheds its dust.

Stones are loosened from the ice.
VI. — Hills begin to appear, the snow being melted.
Serpents come out of their holes.
Water-spiders frisk about ; the fly creeps forth.
Black game and lapwing reappear.
VII. — Nettle butterflies are numerous.

U

290 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

Tame ducks begin to sit.

Wild ducks in abundance.

Swans and daker-hens.

Rivers are unbound and ice floats down.

And so unvarying are the natural phenomena of the month,
that the rivers of Upsal were never frozen beyond the
19th of April, according to the observations of 0. Celsius-
sen, during the course of seventy years.

Linnaeus, who traversed the wildest parts of Lapland
in quest of plants, found the round-eared sallow on the
verge of perpetual snow, the favourite resort of ptarmigans.
These birds are believed to feed upon the leaves, and hence,
according to the testimony of Wahlenberg, the plant is
called the ptarmigan leaf.

COMMON OSIER.

Proper osiers are distinguished from sallows, equally by
their long, straight, flexible, and mostly tough twigs, and
generally sessile germens, with elongated styles and stigmas.

COMMON OSIER. 291

Among these, the common osier is the largest of our
tribe in England : its branches make excellent hoops and
baskets of the larger sort, as in the days of Virgil.

" But when cold weather and continued rain,
The lab'ring husband in his house restrain,
Let him forecast his work with timely care,
Which else is huddled when the skies are fair ;
Or sharpen stakes, or head the forks, or twine
The sallow twigs to tie the straggling vine ;
Or wicker baskets weave."

The common osier is often seen in willow-beds, and
is planted not unfrequently along the banks of rivers,
to preserve them from being washed away by the force
of the current ; the same tree forms hedges of rapid
growth, which serve as screens to protect plantations
from the wind. Among aquatic trees, the osier stands
foremost as a coppice wood, whether it is cut annually
for basket-makers, or suffered to stand for some years, in
order that the stems and branches may be available for

u 2

292 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

hurdles and rake-handles, or stakes and poles of great
length.

Who, in passing, does not admire the willow-beds that
diversify the Thames near London ? One such, at Eichmond,
was devoted for charitable purposes many years since :
flannel is purchased from its proceeds, and poor and aged
persons are thus made comfortable during the winter
months. Nor is the gift a slight one ; for when the osier
has attained its full growth, it increases in quantity and
value, till the profits are almost incredible. The author
of a ' Treatise on Planting and Ornamental Gardening'
even states that in favourable situations, and in counties
where the twigs are in demand, osier-grounds have been
known to pay an annual rent of ten pounds per acre.

The wood of the common white willow is preferred
for making milk-pails and butter-firkins, on account of
its whiteness, and for the same reason the chips are used
for willow-bonnets ; it is also in request for flooring, and
for chests and boxes, being equally tough and pliable. The

COMMON OSIER. 293

bark is valuable for tanning leather, and a decoction will
dye yarn of a cinnamon-colour; it possesses, also, great
efficacy in curing intermittent fevers, according to the
testimony of the Eev. Mr. Stone, in the 'Philosophical
Transactions' (liii. p. 195). Hence the tree grows
naturally in places where intermittents are most prevalent ;
a merciful provision, which causes the antidote to flourish
beside the marsh that renders its proximity needful.

Bees delight in the flowers. You may hear their welcome
hum as they come and go among the willow branches ;
and, perhaps, when the lover of nature first goes abroad
into the fields in spring, no object is more pleasing
than a wayside willow, covered with yellow catkins and
humming bees.

" Behold, that bordering fence of sallow-trees
Is fraught with flowers — the flowers are fraught with bees ;
The busy bees, with a soft murmuring strain,
Invite to gentle sleep the lab'ring swain :
While from the neighb'ring rock, with rural songs,
The pruner's voice the pleasing dream prolongs."

294- VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

White willows are found growing in the fifth zone of
plants into which Linnaeus divided the Lapland Alps,
though rarely more than two feet high ; and with them is
their relative the green whortle-leaved willow, of still more
humble growth. At this point, the hills are rather brown
than green, being covered with creeping azaleas ; and a
few solitary flowers occupy such sheltered spaces, among
the rocks, as lie open to the sun and are screened from
the utmost extremity of cold ; but the only berries which
ripen at this degree of elevation are those of the black-
berried heath. The utmost boundary of this inhospitable
region is eight hundred feet below the verge of perpetual
snow ; beyond it the migratory Laplanders rarely fix their
dwellings, even during the summer months, as the rein-
deer lichen ceases to vegetate.

CHAPTEE XVIII.

A SMALL GBOUP OP TBEES.

We are small, and we grow low,
Where the rippling streamlets flow ;
Or on crags with moss o'ergrown,
Or on moors 'mid heath and stone,
Or where quivering boughs wave lightly,
And the wood-lark singeth blithely.
Yet not sweeter singeth she,
Than our blended voice of glee.
And ofttimes the wind his ride
Stoppeth where we love to bide ;
Gathering fragrance from each flower,
In this blithe and gladsome hour.

METHOUGHT I heard sweet voices in a glen, very musical,
yet quiet, and such as the listening ear might readily forego,

296 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

should a bustling breeze sport with some leafy branch in
passing, or a prattling stream rush tumultuously over
its pebbly bed. At one moment it seemed as if fairies
were singing quietly among themselves, with a kind of
dreamy melody, that brought to mind many a strange
legend beloved in childhood ; at another, it was like
a very distant echo of church-bells, such as I once
heard responding from a wood, in the stillness of a
summer evening. Presently, however, the song ceased;
and one sweet voice, then another, sang by turns, each
one embodying her own history, in accents not louder
than the low sweet plaint of the smallest willow-wren,
but clear and audible; and thus the friendly contention
ran : —

When I look upon my distinguished sisters, and yonder
noble brotherhood of elms, the theme of poets and his-
torians, I might surely feel somewhat discouraged, said
a wild cornel-tree. And yet I feel, strong within me, a
consciousness of utility, and that, rightly filling up my

WILD CORNEL-TREE. 297

appointed place, I am subserving the purpose of my
Creator. True it is that my berries are extremely bitter,
but they yield lamp-oil and a purple dye ; and my firm
hard wood, which gave to me a name derived from cornu,
horn, is in great request for many important purposes.
My unpretending branches yield leaves that are acceptable
to sheep and goats ; and in spring, lambs, when tired with
their gambols, lie down in peace beneath my shade. But
who may pass the cornel-tree unnoticed, at that dull season,
when a poet, looking over the fading landscape, asks
complainingly —

" Where is the pride of summer — the green prime,
The many, many leaves all twinkling ? Three,
On the mossed elm, — three on the naked lime,
Trembling, — and one upon the old oak-tree !"

Then it is that the cornel stands forth in all her pride ;
— her foliage deep red, her boughs of the same rich hue,
her leaves rustling in the fresh breeze of autumn, and
brilliantly contrasted with many a denuded brother, throwing

298 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

wide his leafless branches, and unable to offer the least
shelter to even a small wayfaring bird or shivering field-
mouse.

Hence it happens that I am frequently removed from
my solitary growing-place to parks and shrubberies, and
admired by great ones as they pass. My dwarf brother
occasionally grows beside me, but more generally on Alpine
pastures among rocks and waterfalls, where his red berries
are eagerly sought after by the weary Highlander.

Behold, said the gatteridge, or spindle-tree, in my four-
celled capsules and purple seeds a beautiful example of
that inherent power which causes the outer covering to
expand at an appointed time. My petals are greenish-
white ; they have nothing of outward beauty to commend
them ; and yet none among the brightest or the loveliest
of spring flowers are more simply obedient to the laws of
nature. I open to April's showers, and her wandering
sunbeams, when first the primrose and the harebell, the
violet and herb-Bobert, welcome back the cuckoo and

"

^ \

-^ -vij>

SPINDLE-TREE. 299

her attendant the wry-neck. The linnet, in passing, often
lingers to pour forth his little song among my branches,
and the early butterfly opens her gaily-tinted wings upon
my petals.

My wood, if cut at the time of flowering, is tough
and not easily broken. The watchmaker uses it for
cleaning watches, and musical instrument makers for organ-
keys. Many a pealing organ, therefore, owes much to
my unobtrusive ministry, and the humble spindle-tree
aids in perfecting that solemn part of divine service, when
warbling voices and strains of music unite in ascribing
praise to her Creator.

Surely I may boast a little of my pedigree, said the
hazel-nut. Child am I, collaterally, of a sunny clime : my
relatives colonized the neighbourhood of Avellano in Italy,
to which they were originally introduced from Pontus,
whose name they bore, till changed to Nux Avellana, and
afterwards to Corylus Avellana.

Who does not look with pleasure on the beauteous

300 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

appearance of my vivid crimson styles in March ? My
sister has spoken of her oneness with birds and butterflies,,
and such flowers as come up in April ; but I herald the
coltsfoot and vernal speedwell, and call forth the slumber-
ing bee from out her hive.

My frequent growing-place is a hedge or coppice-wood,
because my wood is in great request for charcoal. It is
used also for fishing-rods and walking-sticks, for crates
and barrel-hoops, and my shoots are preferred for springles
to fasten thatch on cottage-roofs or ricks. In Kent and
Surrey, and many southern parts of England, where sheep-
walks extend for miles, my tribe supply the farmer with
folding hurdles, and my roots are preferred for inlaying
and staining. My chips, even, are used in Italy for clearing
turbid wine ; and in countries where yeast is scarce, my
twigs, slightly twisted together, and steeped in ale during
its fermentation, and then hung up to dry, become a sub-
stitute for yeast. Painters and engravers well know my
value : they prepare from me coals for delineating their

HAZEL-TREE. 301

designs ; and this is their method of proceeding : — they
take pieces of hazel, about the thickness of a man's arm,
and four or five inches long, which, having cleaved into a
proper shape and well dried, they place in a large pot
filled with sand, and cover the top with clay ; — this done,
the whole is put into a potter's oven, or any other sufficient
degree of heat ; and when cooled again, the sticks are
found converted into charcoal, which sketches freely, and
easily rubs out.

Who among you, my sisters, can vie with me in diffusing
gladness, when brown October is on his way, and when

" Old Autumn, in the misty morn,
Stands shadowless, like Silence listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing

Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,

Nor lowly hedge, nor solitary thorn ;
Shaking his languid locks, all dewy bright,
With tangled gossamer, that fell by night,

Pearling his coronet of golden corn " ?

Boys may then be seen clambering up the banks, where

302 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

grow my brethren, plucking the ripe nuts, and filling their
pockets, as they run from bush to bush, or shaking them
from out the husks, and, alas for us, frequently crushing
down some of our finest branches. Our nuts, also, furnish
winter stores to the light-hearted squirrel, who comes
bounding from his nest in a hollow tree, to select the
largest and the best ; the field-mouse, in like manner,
searches warily among the herbage for such as have fallen
unobserved. You may see her, stealing with timid steps
from her small nest, listening as if half afraid, and ready
to run back on the slightest noise. Yet neither the mouse
nor squirrel venture to visit our growing-places, while boys
are within sight or hearing, nor yet the shy and solitary
nut-hatch, who lays her eggs in hollows that have been
deserted by the woodpecker. They each prefer my nuts
to either beech-mast or acorns, and gather them for their
winter hoards ; and very curious it is to observe their differ-
ent methods of opening them in accordance with their
respective instincts.

HAZEL-TREE. 303

The squirrel,

" Who wants no other shade,
Than what by his own spreading tail is made,
Doth cull the soundest, dextrously picks out
The kernels sweet, and throws the shells ahout."

This he effects by rasping off the small end, and then
splitting the shell in two with his long fore teeth, as
readily as a school-boy with his knife. The field-mouse
nibbles a hole, round as if drilled with a wimble, and yet
so small, that it seems strange how the kernel can be
extracted ; and the nut-hatch picks an irregular hole with
her bill. She has no hands wherewith to hold the nut
while thus employed, and therefore she fixes it, like an
adroit workman, in a vice of Nature's making — some cleft
or chink in a tree ; and taking her stand a little above, she
either perforates the stubborn shell, or else, striking it with
all her strength, she breaks it asunder, and readily obtains
the kernel.

Painters owe to my ripe brown nuts an expressed oil,

304 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

and in former days they were worn as amulets. Even now,
in remote villages, the simple peasantry occasionally regard
them with some degree of veneration, as mentioned in an
old calendar, published at least two hundred years since : —

" Observe when first the hazel 'gins to bloom :
Go to her haunt, and bend a branch ; if this
Proves fruitful, such shall be thy corn's increase,
And in great heat huge harvests shall be found ;
But if with leaves alone the branch abound,
Then shalt thou thrash a chaffy stalk in vain."

Different kinds of insects find in me a friend that never
deserts them. The brindle spider and December moths
are always welcome ; and that very uncommon insect, the
Apion ruficorne, dwells contentedly upon my leaves. Many
a time have I grieved to see the merciless collector come
with his net and basket, and entrap the unsuspicious
creature, when calmly resting in her green citadel. Eleven
different kinds of insects, also, find a home and food within
my kernels; they, too, are welcome, for my hospitable
table is widely spread.

HAZEL-TREE. 305

The farmer looks at me in passing, and says to the
trudging urchin who runs beside him, " You'll have a fine
nutting season, my boy." Artists, too, who come into this
woody neighbourhood purposely to sketch trees, make
drawings of me, partly on account of my wild growing-place,
and the rushing stream that leaps from out the hollow tree,
which serves as a trough, and partly on account of my
own picturesque appearance ; but no one thinks concerning
the curious instincts of such confiding creatures as resort
to my leaves and nuts. Even when the fierce east wind,
or unthinking boys in their haste and eagerness, have
broken off some of my branches and laid them prostrate,
they become the growing-place of a minute parasitic fungus,
which is resorted to by an insect equally minute ; and this
fungus, originating upon the inner bark, makes her way
through the outer, and throws wide her powdery seeds.
Beside her may be seen her tawny saffron-coloured sister,
the wasp-nest Trichia, rose-red when young, but afterwards
assuming a deeper hue, and of which the capsule resembles

*

306 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

the nest of the insect whose name she bears. Their mutual
office is that of piercing the wood with innumerable roots,
resembling the finest hair, which act like wedges, and de-
stroy the adhesion of the fibres ; the bough in consequence
soon becomes vegetable mould, serving thereby to enrich
the parent tree, and to promote the growth of grass and
flowers.

Thus, as I once heard a naturalist remark to his com-
panion, it is the office of vegetable life to transform dead
matter into organized living bodies. Such is the simple
and beautiful circle of nature — ever changing, ever new.
Everything lives, flourishes, and decays ; even the noblest
tree must fail, — but nothing is lost : the great principle of
life only changes its form, the destruction of one genera-
tion is the vivification of another.

Behold in me a plain and homely personage, responded
a calm, decided voice, from out an elder bush. I know
nothing either of pedigree or romance, and no poet has
ever thought me deserving even of a ditty; neither do I

MWJ

E.. B. *: R. imp.

ELDER-TREE. 307

comprehend aught concerning organized living beings, or
the beautiful circle of nature, to which my sister has so
learnedly referred. I have inhabited my present site for
many years ; and the farmer's wife duly sends her blooming
dairymaids, with the cowboy, to gather my ripe berries in
autumn. My small services are always cheerfully rendered
in time of need, and therefore I am in some request.
Those who sit down to rest beneath my flowering branches
soon forget their sorrows or their weariness ; and he whose
granary is troubled with mice, or with moles his garden,
comes to me for leaves wherewith to drive them away. A
jelly prepared from my fruit is in great repute for colds ;
and who has not heard respecting the excellence of elder
wine ? Water distilled from my flowers is used as a lotion ;
an infusion of my leaves readily destroys such insects as
infect delicate plants, — they make also a cooling ointment ;
and if cabbages and fruit-trees be well rubbed with iny
green leaves and branches, no insect will attack them : they
are used externally, when dry, as a fomentation to ease pain

308 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

and to abate inflammation ; and the shepherd well knows my
value, — he drives his sheep to pasture on my twigs and
leaves when afflicted with the disorder to which they
become subjected when remaining too long in watery pas-
tures, and they soon recover.

My wood is hard and yellow, and is valuable for skewers,
and the tops of angling rods, and needles for making large
nets. Children delight in my pith, and form balls for
playing with ; and if one of my twigs is partially cut, then
cautiously broken, and the divided parts carefully drawn
asunder, corkscrew-looking vessels become apparent, by
means of which my life is sustained. I, too, have my
numerous dependants, who exclusively look to me for
support. The orange-striped butterfly flies in and out
among my branches; and those who pass in a summer
evening may often hear the shrill cry of that gigantic
moth, the Sphinx atropos.

Such are my homely uses ; and although neither sung
by poets nor eulogized by painters, I find a dwelling-place

ARBUTUS-TREE. 309

in almost every farmyard. The cottager greatly values me,
and hence I flourish with my kindred beside many a rustic
home, ministering to the necessities of its inhabitants, and
supplying their simple luxuries.

My two brothers, the dwarf or Banewort, and the
parsley-leaved, live far remote. The first prefers to dwell
amid ruins or on heaps of rubbish, though occasionally
found in hedgerows ; the second is said to be a native of
Salisbury Plain, though found occasionally in the midland
and northern counties.

A melodious voice was next heard. It came from a
young arbutus-tree, who spoke with a slight Irish accent,
and told concerning her distant home. I came, she said,
from Ireland : my parent grew beside the waters of Killarney,
fit emblem of perpetual spring :

" Green all the year ; and fruits and blossoms blushed
In social sweetness on the selfsame bough."

The farmer's son planted me while a sapling, an intruder,
and yet welcome, and he charged his sister to take care

310 VOICES FKOM THE WOODLANDS.

of me. " That tree," he said, •' will remind you of your
brother when he is gone, for there is no other like it in the
county. I have often nutted on the bank, and gathered
water-cresses from beside the stream, and I shall like to
know that my arbutus is growing there." Therefore it is,
that the sisters bring their work to this lone spot, and sit
beside the bank whereon I grow, and that, when my
crimson berries first ripened, they carried the small bunch
with exceeding delight to their mother.

Observe my pitcher-shaped blossoms: they contain a sweet
juice. The bee cannot avail herself of their contents
because of their narrow necks, but all such insects as have
long trunks find in them a delicious repast. My blos-
soms, therefore, are the resort of many beautifully-attired
butterflies, — gorgeous creatures that open and close their
wings in brilliant contrast to my dark-green leaves. The
bee, as I have already mentioned, rarely visits me : she
prefers my sister, the hospitable elder, or the hazel, profuse
of flowers.

ARBUTUS-TREE. 311

I look well in winter, when hoar-frost has gemmed my
leaves, and all other trees that grow around are leafless.
My fruit requires twelve months in coming to maturity,
at which time I exhibit simultaneously, and often in the
depth of winter, the singular phenomenon of bright-green
leaves, with elegant white or pink-tinted blossoms, and
brilliant fruit.

Though growing beside the Lake of Killarney, and richly
embellishing her tributary islands, thriving on barren lime-
stone rocks in the west of Ireland, and on dry mountains
in Scotland and the Western Isles, I am seen on the
shores of the Levant, and in many a classic vale, where the
Italian peasant pastures his flocks, rising often to the
height of twenty feet, and casting a grateful shade on the
sward beneath. Poets in all ages have sung concerning me.
Virgil alludes to my young branches as winter food for
goats. Horace wrote and sought repose beneath my
shade ; and the old Italian poet records in his ' Arcadia/
that my classic branches were employed by the Koman

312 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

shepherds to decorate their flocks on occasions of rustic
festivity. And yet,,

" Arbutus, that with scarlet grain
Doth richly crowii Irene's plain,"

is found in the most dissimilar localities : at one time,
beneath a glowing sky ; at another, amid the sternness of
the Lapland Alps, in company with the solitary mountain
willow, beside cold rivulets, and on the margin of dismal
bogs, where even the hardy birch refuses to vegetate.
Linnseus reports, that my tribe covered the ground, pre-
senting oases of verdure amid the sterility of those stern
regions, and that nestling beneath our shelter were seen
the rich blue Alpine veronica and the two-flowered violet,
sister flowers, and the loveliest of Flora's offspring.

With this the friendly contention ended; and then a matron
beech took up her strain, and said — You, my children, have
spoken well and wisely concerning the good gifts which
your Creator has assigned you. To one he has imparted

ARBUTUS-TREE. 313

large means of usefulness; to another, a kindly heart whereby
to aid in smaller things ; a third embellishes her growing-
place ; whilst her sisters afford shelter to many wayfaring
and homeless ones, and teach benevolence to nature's pil-
grims. Eejoice in such possessions, whereby to glorify
your Creator ; and let not the sister who possesses much
look uncomplacently upon the one who has but little ; rather
confess, that to each a gift is imparted suited to her place
and station, and designed for universal benefit.

CHAPTER XIX.

BOX-TBEE.

Buxus sempervirens.

How beautiful, in this my growing-place,
Am I, a lone box-tree, with snowy mantle
Thrown gracefully above my vest of green.

MEN, in the time of Charles the Second, used to regard my
family with respect ; but now, said an old box-tree, we
are considered of small worth. Then it was that, being
held in honour, your forefathers were wont to replace the
Christmas evergreens with sprigs of our branches on Can-
dlemas-day, and afterwards with a succession of flowers,
and that children, being trained up with equal respect for

•W.!1. 4*'. efhtti

BOX-TREE. 315

us, used to sing while employed in displacing the boughs
of holly : —

" Down with the rosemary and bays,

Down with the misletoe ;
Instead of holly now upraise
The greener box for show.

" The holly hitherto did sway,

Let box now domineer,

Until the dancing Easter-day,

Or Easter eve appear."

Herrick.

Who has not read concerning the appropriation of our
boughs for the internal decorations of churches at Christ-
mas ; and that in the north of England attendant mourners
cast our sprigs into the grave, emblems of affection in
their greenness and enduring qualities — a simple rite, yet
appealing much to the heart ?

My name, associated with the plane and bay, is immor-
talized by the natural historian Pliny. He selected us
from among all forest-trees, however flowering and um-

316

VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

brageous, with which to adorn the garden of his Tuscan
villa.

" In front of my house/' said he, " lies a spacious hip-
podrome, or open space, encompassed on every side with
plane-trees, entwined by ivy, which, spreading from one
tree to another, forms a chain of verdure, and gracefully
festoons the trunks and branches. Between each of these
are placed box- trees, and behind them are bay-trees, which
blend their shade with that of planes. This plantation,
forming a straight boundary on both sides of the hippo-
drome, bends at the further end into a semicircle, set
round and sheltered with cypresses that cast a deeper and
more solemn shade; while numerous walks or winding
alleys, lying open to the sun, are full of roses. Having
passed through them, you enter a straight walk, breaking
out into a variety of others, that are divided by box hedges.
At one point a little meadow lies before you in its green-
ness ; at another you come upon a company of box-trees,
cut into a thousand different forms, sometimes into letters,

BOX-TREE. 317

expressing the name of the master or that of the artificer ;
again, little obelisks are seen intermingled with fruit-trees ;
and suddenly in the midst of this elegant regularity you
are surprised by a judicious blending of natural scenery,
encompassing a spot surrounded with dwarf plane-trees."
Fountains and marble basins, into which rushed clear
streams, that as quickly rushed forth again, with marble
seats and alcoves of exquisite workmanship, were dispersed
about the garden, shaded ofttirnes with planes and box-
trees ; and everywhere was heard the pleasant sound of mur-
muring rills, that watered different spots of verdure, and in
their progress refreshed the whole garden.

And truly, till the present degenerate age, not only in
this country, but in foreign parts, was the box-tree highly
estimated. Even now in southern Europe members of
our family are cultivated in flower-pots, with as much
attention as you bestow on myrtles. Time was, according
to Evelyn, when " rare natural bowers, cabinets, and shady
walks in the box copses were much admired, and men
sought for them both wide and far/'

318 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Our wood was considered valuable ; even now it is in great
request; and one cutting of the timber has been sold for
more than the fee-simple of the land whereon it grew.
Being hard and smooth, yellowish, and not apt to warp or
split, it is equally required for the turner's use, as in the
time of Yirgil : —

" Nor box nor lime without their use are made,
Smooth-grained, and proper for the turner's trade."

The wood-engraver well knows how to estimate its value,
as also the maker of mathematical instruments. Such are
the inherent qualities contained in every box-tree.

Let him who desires to appreciate our actual beauty
visit the Surrey hills, when snow lies deep upon the
ground. He will see a brotherhood of friendly trees,
growing thick together, and affording a ready shelter to
birds and animals. You might imagine that in the depth
of winter, when not a blade of grass lifts her green head
above the snow, sheep and cattle would pasture upon the

BOX-TREE. 31 9

leaves ; but from this their intense bitter effectually secures
them. And not only on the Surrey hills, but at Box-hill,
near Dorking ; and at Boxwell, and Boxley, in Gloucester-
shire and Kent; and on the chalk hills near Dunstable,
grow numerous box-trees.

I stand, continued an old box, which had attained the
height of twenty feet, on the Surrey hills, the sole survivor
of a patriarchal wood. Young trees grow round, but their
heads are covered with the snow that fell last night, and I
remain alone, dense and compact — a vegetable column,
conspicuous as far as the eye can reach. Not a footstep
may be seen on the pure white dazzling surface, neither
of men nor animals ; not a tree lifts up its head, nor a
branch reveals the many that are hidden from sight ; but
should any one rashly attempt to reach my growing-place,
he would meet a barrier of intermingling boughs, and many
a strong trunk to impede his way. Nature is enwrapped
as with a winding-sheet, elaborately worked, and sparkling
with crystals; yet still a winding-sheet. But look how

320 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

beautiful the pure white mantle, that is gracefully thrown
over me, concealing in one part, in another revealing, my
shining foliage — a drapery of snow, which no art of man
can emulate.

You know not how many peaceful ones are sheltered
among my branches : — small birds, that sing merrily to
repay my care of them when the frozen streamlet is un-
bound and primroses are seen beside her margin ; the
rabbit has made her burrow among my roots, and the hare
crouches beneath the sheltering branches of my tributary
box-trees; dormice are sleeping here, curled up in their
soft warm nests; and partridges and pheasants are here
also. Look around; the whole country is covered with
snow ; here and there may be seen cottage-roofs, white as
the dazzling fields, with icicles depending from the eaves, but
they afford no shelter to weary or timid ones ; neither can
single trees, which stand with their bare branches against
a wintry sky ; nor yet yonder wood, which presents in its
aggregate innumerable dark-coloured columns fringed with

BOX-TREE. 321

snow, and upholding branches covered and glittering with
icy particles. But the box retains her greenness where
all else is desolate, the home of such as need protection ;
cheering the passer-by, and suggesting, amid the sternness
of winter, thoughts of thankfulness and hope.

CHAPTER XX.

SCOTCH FIR.

Pinus sylvestris.

" The aspiring fir

Wears his undying green, but the strong oak
Like smitten giant casts his honours down,
Strewing brown earth with emerald and gold."

Mrs. Sigourney.

" DOST thou not behold, Malvina, a rock with its head of
heath ? Three aged firs bend from its summit, and green
is the narrow plain at its feet."

Thus sang the Celtic bard, when describing the tomb of
a fallen warrior upon the western shore of Caledonia ; and

SCOTCH FIR. 323

such is not unfrequently the wild sojourn of many among
my tribe.

Grandly picturesque in our appointed habitats, and in
unison with rocks and torrents, who can pass us by
unnoticed? said the fir of Basilsleigh. Mine is a lonely
dwelling-place, far from any of my alpine brethren. I have
watched beside this deserted mansion, till grey lichens have
grown upon my branches, and made hoary my tall stem ;
yet still I watch, and the cross-bill would sorely lament for
me, if I were to fail.

Would you, however, Stranger, wish to see my clan in
all its pride of numbers, go to the mountains of Invercauld
or Glenmour, which seem as if divided by innumerable firs,
presenting in their aggregate a oneness of shape and hue
which has no parallel among forest-trees. The scene is
indescribably solemn, and carries back the mind to those far-
off days when wide fir forests went onward in their might,
stooping into untrodden valleys and .ascending the rugged
sides of mountains, even to the verge of perpetual winter.

y 2

324 VOICES FEOM THE WOODLANDS.

The old fir-woods of Inglismaldie in Kincardineshire, with
those of Craibstoue, are associated in like manner with
many stirring recollections. Beneath them grows the two-
flowered Linnasa, or Linn<za borealis, a humble Lapland
plant, emitting at night the sweetest fragrance, and first
discovered in this country, beneath their shade, by Prof. S.
Beattie; a plant thus named by Gronovius, in allusion to
the unobtrusive habits of the great Linnaeus.

Men affect to despise our tribe ; but are not our rami-
fications irregular and beautiful, and picturesque the colour
of our leaves and mode of growth, resembling the stone
pine in the easy sweep of our slender stems, and in the
colour of our bark, which assumes a rich deep brown?
Yet some there are who think otherwise ; and the old woods
of Invercauld have rejoiced to see around them sixteen
millions of stripling firs. The veterans of those woods !
how magnificent were they, many of them above one
hundred feet high, branchless nearly to the top, because of
their great age, and grey with lichens. Many such have

SCOTCH FIR. 325

fallen; they saw their younger brethren sink before the
blows of the wood-cutter, and lost in them those natural
guardians which broke the force of the wind when assailing
their aged trunks ; but the friendly trees were down, and
the wind came in his might and power, howling over the
denuded tract ; and those who looked towards the old pine-
wood, next morning, saw that its noblest trees had fallen.

Adversity is said occasionally to strengthen the human
character, to call forth hidden qualities, and to make men
act. So it is with us : our bleak dwelling-places render
us superior in texture and enduring qualities to such as
grow more rapidly, perhaps even more luxuriantly, in the
English lowlands. Pliny remarked this, when speaking of
the pines of Italy : he said that timber which grew in moist
and sheltered places was less compact and durable than
such as grew on hills. Homer, also, assigns for the same
reason a spear to Agamemnon formed from a pine that
had braved the fury of the tempest.

Our tribe, therefore, are seen in all their magnificent

326 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

proportions among the highlands of North Britain. There
we grow wild, differing as much from the formal ornament
of the pleasure-ground, as a hardy mountaineer from the
sedentary mechanic of a crowded city. Tar back as either
history or legend has preserved the origin of heraldic cogni-
zances, flowers blossoming beside the road, or favourite trees,
have formed the badge of respective chieftains. As such,
our mountain tribe was anciently appropriated to the clan
Alpine.

" Hail to the chief, who in triumph advances,
Honoured and hlessed he the evergreen pine ;
Long may the tree in his banner that glances
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line."

I have said, that our favourite haunts are wild and
mountainous regions. A poor and sandy soil well contents
us ; we neither require depth nor richness, nor yet clear
streams, with which to lave our roots. Hence the most
sterile lands of Scotland have been rendered valuable by-
extensive fir plantations ; and yet, though loving the wild
blast and storms of winter, we disdain not to flourish in

SCOTCH FIR. 327

lowland tracts, when the soil is sandy, and neither stagnant
waters, nor yet streamlets oozing from the ground, intrude
upon our habitats. Take for instance the fir-wood of
Crooksbury Heath in Surrey, including twelve acres in the
midst of a wide unprofitable waste. Carts were seen one
morning, coming across the common, filled with Scotch firs
about four years old, and these, being carefully removed,
were planted at the distance of four feet apart without any
preparation of the ground. The plants attained the height
of fourteen feet in twelve years, and, being thinned, pro-
duced eight pounds per acre : the thinnings were sold for
hop-poles, and the branches made into bavins for burning
lime. This done, the trees were left unmolested for another
six years, when, having grown to the height of forty feet,
a second thinning took place, and fine growing firs fell
before the hatchet of the woodman, and were turned into
scantlings and rafters. Upwards of eighteen thousand
still remained upon the twelve acres, and their value
was estimated at five hundred and seventy-three pounds.

328 VOICES FKOM THE WOODLANDS.

Many a wild and disforested tract of land in the
Highlands of Scotland, equally with such in England, were
anciently covered with vast fir-woods. Forests of such
have been found imbedded in the mosses of the north,
forming a substratum to Eoman roads. This is the case in
the isle of Anglesey. On sinking the outlet of a lake called
Llwydiat, in Pontraeth, venerable remains of patriarchal
trees were thrown open to the light of day ; and though
men have sought to invalidate our claim as aboriginal in
Britain and its dependencies, the question is set at rest by
such discoveries in mosses, antecedent to the settling of the
Eomans ; moreover, among the many names given by those
conquerors as belonging to our tribe, three are purely and
absolutely British.

Subterraneous strata of bog-fir also pertain to Ireland.
The bogs of Glancullen alone supply Dublin with fuel, and
the wood, beaten into strings, and combed and spun, is
manufactured into ropes, which are capable of resisting the
weather much longer than those made of hemp. The

SCOTCH FIR. 329

fishermen of Loch Broom, in Ross-shire, convert the bark
to similar purposes. Travellers who visit the high moor-
lands at the head of the Derwent, between Blaikland and
Wolsingham, on the river Wear, may see the roots and
trunks of noble fir-trees protruding from the black peat
moss, in consequence of the water being drained off, and
the peat left dry, though the trees are no longer indigenous.
Such is also the case on the mountains of Cross Pell, at an
elevation of nearly three hundred feet. But though planted
and protected on a lower level, our tribe never attain the
size of those ancient pines. A few, of considerable dimen-
sions, maintain somewhat of our ancient dignity by the
Eden at Corby, in Cumberland, but on moorland soils, once
nobly guarded and embellished with giant trees; those of
the present day seldom thrive after thirty or forty years
of age; their strong central roots no longer pierce the
rough soils, and, descending far downwards, grapple the firm
rocks, but seem impeded in their course, and the horizontal
roots, spreading according to their custom very near the

330 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

surface of the earth, yield no anchorage to the parent trees.
The first high winds consequently lay low the degenerate
race, which have neither the strength nor dignity of their
forefathers.

Our wood affords the best red or yellow deal, being
smooth and light and easily cloven. Dwellers in the
northern regions make bread from our bark, resembling
the cassava, and by no means unpalatable when flavoured
with pine jam. They choose a tree whose trunk is even,
for these contain the least resin, and strip off the bark in
spring, when it separates most readily. This is dried gently
in the shade, then in a greater heat, and afterwards reduced
to powder. With this they mix a small quantity of corn-
meal, and knead it into bread. Children are fond of the
fresh bark, when either rasped or shaved with a knife.
Our topmost branches are mixed with oats for horses, and
the young shoots when distilled afford a fragrant essential
oil ; the bark is used for tanning ; and an infusion of the
buds is valuable as an antiscorbutic, as also the fresh cones

SCOTCH FIR. 331

when boiled, and these are a principal ingredient in spruce
beer. Tar is moreover extracted from our roots, in a
manner similar to that practised by the ancient Greeks ;
the juice being received in earthen trenches, and afterwards
freed from all impurities by drainage through wicker baskets.
Our resinous roots are divided into small splinters, and used
instead of candles; and this custom, which prevails in
the northern regions, is equally prevalent at Bedowas in
Turkey. Pishermen make ropes of the inner bark, and
our trunks and branches yield also turpentine and resin. —

" The firre that oftentimes doth rosin drop."

Our tribe, therefore, affords materials for erecting both
houses and bridges, with every requisite for household
furniture; to those who live far north we are especially
valuable for constructing sledges, carts, and boats, besides
yielding fuel, and ashes for manure. Nor is man alone
profited by us. The bark in which our fruit is enwrapped
is the principal food of the Loxia curvirostra, or Cross-bill,

332 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

and by her ministry innumerable seeds are committed to
the earth. Different kinds of winged and creeping insects
derive nourishment from the bark, or leaves, or flowers ; and
the Aphis Pini converts the buds or young shoots into a
beautiful gall, somewhat resembling a fir-cone or pine-apple
in miniature. A species of Chermes occasionally pro-
duces an enormous scaly protuberance at the summit of the
branches, and formed by the extravasations of the juices,
in consequence of punctures made for the deposition of
her eggs. The magnificent and rare Adonestis Pini feeds
upon our boughs; and entomologists conjecture that ten
different species are sheltered and sustained by the hos-
pitable pine.

But who may number the homeless creatures that take
refuge beneath our shade in the cold regions of the furthest
north ? — Bears and arctic foxes, squirrels and ermines, hares
and sables, are sheltered by those gigantic firs, whose giant
arms uphold a load of snow, and prevent it from falling to
the ground. The ground, too, is covered with soft moss

SCOTCH PIE. 333

and dry leaves that fall at the approach of winter ; while
the same bounteous hand, which has so abundantly
provided for the otherwise homeless creatures, has, according
to St. Pierre, dispersed along the margin of the forests vast
numbers of the scarlet-berried service-tree. The sparkling
clusters of bright fruit are vividly contrasted with the
whiteness of the snow, inviting all birds to an asylum ; and
thither quickly repair the partridge and moor-cock, the
snow bunting and ptarmigan, to find both food and shelter
among those beacon trees.

Forest-trees shed their leaves in winter, but ours continue
clothed with verdure. Eesinous juices, that abound within
the trunks and branches, defy the rigour of frost ; the sap,
therefore, remains uncongealed ; whilst our close, compact
branches resist the impetuosity of the winds that rage
around our stern and rugged sites. And further, being de-
signed by our Creator as representatives of eternal summer,
though shrouded half the year with snow, our slender strap-
shaped leaves, yet smooth and rigid, are so constructed as

334 VOICES FllOM THE WOODLANDS.

to reverberate the heat in a manner similar to the hair
of animals. They also afford wholesome nourishment to
sheep and cattle, which is all-important in mountainous
countries where snow often lies deep upon the ground for
months together.

Thus wonderfully constructed for the sternest growing-
places, we abound towards the frozen north, extending with
our brethren in congregated myriads from Breslau in
Silesia to the shores of the Arctic Ocean, and from Norway
to Kamtschatka, covering also great part of Finland, Ingria,
and Esthonia, with an immense sweep of country between
Petersburg and Moscow. And thus we stand, with power
to repel the cold, and strength to bear up an enormous
weight of snow ; protecting, cherishing, and blessing every
living creature, whether gentle or rapacious, — whether the
savage inhabitant of our native regions, clothed in thick fur
and growling defiance as he passes, or whether the timid
and light-hearted squirrel: all dwell in peace together,
unconscious sleepers, slumbering in hollow trees or caverns,

SCOTCH FIR. 335

or nestling among the soft dry leaves till the coining
back of spring and the waking of nature from her long
winter sleep. Beautiful is that waking up, even in the
sternest regions. The air is rendered fragrant by our balmy
exhalations, and even the most aged and solemn-looking
of our tribe no longer present a dark, glaucous, unvaried
hue, but suddenly become enlivened with light terminal
green buds; some even present the appearance of vast
pyramids of verdure, tastefully adorned with golden-coloured
tufts of anthers.

Our boundary terminates on the Lapland Alps, at
two thousand eight hundred feet below the line of per-
petual snow. Even there our ministry is beneficial to the
occupiers of small farms, who chiefly support themselves
by fishing, with the addition of turnips and potatoes ; for
such are cultivated even higher up the mountains, although
barley ceases to ripen, and the elegant smooth speed-
well is the only small flower that braves the severity of
the cold.

336 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

The Highlands of Scotland are, doubtless, our native
haunts, as far as Britain is concerned ; but we are citizens
of the vegetable world, and no other forest-tree is, per-
haps, so extensively diffused. Our brethren, as already
mentioned, spread over that part of Europe which ex-
tends beyond the 55th degree of latitude. They are found,
also, in central parts, among the Pyrenean and Tyrolian,
the Swiss and Yosgean mountains, as also in North
America. Perchance those exquisite lines refer to them
which describe the landing of the pilgrim fathers : —

" The breaking waves dashed high, on a stern and rock -hound coast ;
And the woods against a stormy sky their giant branches tossed,
And the heavy night hung dark, the hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark on a wild New England shore.

" Amidst the storm they sang, and the stars heard, and the sea ;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang, to the anthem of the free.
The ocean-eagle soared from his nest by the white waves' foam ;
And the rocking pines of the forest roared. This was their welcome home ! "

Hemans.

Remains of the great Eannoch forest still linger on the

SCOTCH PIE. 337

confines of the counties of Perth, Inverness, and Argyle.
Tangled roots, and solitary time-riven trees, even groups,
are seen here and there, in places nearly inaccessible, and
which denote that the Eannoch forest stretched across
the country, forming a vast sweep of mingled boughs
and columns, now ascending heights that were nearly
perpendicular, now stooping into valleys, and again cover-
ing vast plains, mingling as they went on with ancient
fir-woods, of which traces still remain, on the rivers Ness
and Beauly, the Findhorn, Dee, and Spey, and forming
a wide brotherhood with those of Glen-morna-albin, or
the great Caledonian forest, as also with the more western
districts.

Men in old times knew little of our value. At one period
the demand for our timber was so trifling, that the laird
of Grant obtained only one shilling or eighteenpence for
as many as a labourer could cut down in a long summer
day. But years went on, saw-mills were set up, and
a newly-discovered method of removing even the state-

z

338 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

liest trees, after the Norwegian fashion, was suggested,
and put in practice. High prices were obtained in con-
sequence ; and about one hundred years since, the Duke
of Gordon sold his fir-wood of Glenmore for ten thousand
pounds. Many of the trees measured from eighteen to
twenty feet in girth; and a plank nearly eight feet in
breadth is still preserved in Gordon Castle.

Alas for the Rothiemurchies forest, the most extensive
in Scotland ! That noble forest comprised above sixteen
square miles. It was, and is not. The Ingh price of
timber hastened its demolition, although it had yielded
twenty thousand per annum to the proprietor. And alas
for the kingly forest of Glenmore, which equalled that
of Eothiemurchies, and formed one continuous woodland !
How are the mighty fallen ! giant trees, which resisted
the storms of ages. Time was when those great forests
seemed almost interminable ; and among them were calm
silent lakes, which reflected on their mirror-like surfaces
contiguous forests of Scotch fir, clothing one distance after

SCOTCH FIR. 339

another, mantling the broken sides of near declivities, be-
yond which extended a lofty range of densely- wooded hills,
pine-clad, and dimly seen in the far distance. The lakes
and mountains still remain in their wildness and sublimity ;
but the forests are laid low, — they no longer awaken thoughts
of poetry or romance.

Alas for those once noble forests, containing both old
and young and middle-aged trees, beloved of poets, and
associated with the most stirring periods of Scottish
history ! Nought remains to point out their aged sites,
except vast denuded tracts, with here and there gigantic
skeletons of old trees, standing alone, or with two or three
companions, firm to look upon, though unfit for timber, —
some few stripped of their bark by winds and frosts, others
leafless ; others, again, covered with a species of pale
bluish-grey lichen, which imparts a kind of unearthly
hue to their trunks and branches, while, stretching forth
their bare arms towards heaven, they seem propitiating
some threatening storm to spare them from utter ruin.

z 2

340 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Still there is hope for the forests of Rothiemurchies and
Glenmore. The latter is even now replenishing itself.
Young saplings have sprung up, thick as seedlings on a
hot-bed, and in the same relative degree of thickness
do they grow together, till thinned out. You might
almost fancy that a kind of competition took place between
the saplings, creating rivalry, and accelerating their pro-
gress to perfection; while the nearness of their growth,
and the want of light and air, prevents the formation of
lateral branches, or, if formed, speedily destroys them.

Thus, therefore, is there hope that forest-trees may
reclothe those deserted tracts, and that the music of wild
winds may again be heard among their branches : for

" Mighty winds,

That sweep the skirt of some far- spreading wood
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike
The dash of ocean on his winding shore,
And lull the spirit while they till the mind."

CHAPTER XXI.

TEW-TBEE.

Taxus laccata.

I have heard the wind

Howl round a British stone-hut : — that same wind
Did nimbly come and go, till forest haunts
Gave way to Roman dwellings, and its voice
Sounded at midnight, rousing men from sleep,
When Danish vessels neared our hapless shores ;
And now, or gale or zephyr, that same wind
Sweeps through my old boughs, or doth stir the corn
With gentle murmurs rustling on the ear,
Boding of peace, with pleasant sounds at eve.

STARTING not unfrequently from out interstices in rocks,
amid ruins and places where history or tradition tells of

342 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

former days, and concerning great ones of the earth, who
does not behold in my tribe, said a magnificent yew, objects
of great interest ? Castle Eden Dean, near Durham, is
one of our favourite localities ; and travellers journey from
foreign parts to visit the pride of Lorton vale, and the four
fraternal trees of Borrowdale.

There is a yew-tree, pride of Lorton vale,

Which to this day stands singly in the midst

Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore,

Nor loath to furnish weapons, in the hands

Of Umphraville or Percy, ere they marched

To Scotland's heath, or those that crossed the sea,

And drew their sounding bows at Agincourt

Perhaps at earlier Cressy, or Poictiers.

Of vast circumference, and gloom profound,

This solitary tree ! a living thing,

Produced too slowly ever to decay ;

Of form and aspect too magnificent

To be destroyed. — But worthier still of note

Are those fraternal four of Borrowdale,

Joined in one solemn and capacious grove ;

Huge trunks ! and each particular trunk a growth

Of intertwisted fibres serpentine,

Upcoiling, and mveterately convolved,

YEW-TKEE. 343

Nor uninformed with phantasy, and looks
That threaten the profane ; a pillared shade,
Upon whose grassless floor, of red-brown hue,
By sheddiugs from the pining umbrage tinged
Perennially ; — beneath whose sable roof
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked
With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes
May meet at noontide, — Fear, and trembling Hope,
Silence, and Foresight, Death the skeleton,
f And Time the shadow, — there to celebrate,
As in a natural temple, scattered o'er
"With altars undisturbed, of mossy stone,
United worship ; or in mute repose
To lie, and listen to the mountain-flood
Murmuring from Glenamara's inmost cave.

Old trees of equal antiquity and interest are found in
clefts of the Borrowdale rocks, and on Cowgie Scar, near
Kendal, in woods above Derweiit bridge, and on the shores
of the Wear, below Hilton Castle. Tourists also speak of such
on the mountains called Yew-barrow, in accessible places of
Furness Fells, and as being scattered over the Glee Hills
and the cliffs of Cheddar. Indigenous to the limestone
eminences of Gloucestershire, a fine specimen occurs in a

344 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

wild secluded spot not far from Pitchcombe ; and a time-
worn tree is, or was, standing some years since in Stinch-
combe Wood, on the verge of the lofty elevation that
overhangs the village. This tree, in the reign of Charles
the First, concealed for three days and nights a gentleman
of the name of Tynedale, during the plunder and confla-
gration of his residence, Melksham Court.

My family has ever been admired for the sylvan grandeur
and the umbrageous droop of their widely-spreading
branches. Strange it seems that such noble trees should
have been cut into uncouth shapes ; but so it is, and even
our greatest admirer, Evelyn, speaks of yew hedges as
ornamental and advantageous. At the present day, a yew
screen in the garden of Albury Park still remains, and
is so arranged as to afford a cool walk during the hottest
season : it is presumed to have been planted under his
superintendence, and, having been trained to a conside-
rable height, throws a shadow on either side, according to
the hours of the day.

YEW-TREE. 345

A fine specimen of the old yew-gardens is still preserved in
the pleasure-grounds of Gormanston Castle, Meath : it was
originally intended to represent the cloisters of a monastery ;
the outer walls and open arches towards the centre being of
clipped yew, and the space so surrounded, answering to the
quadrangle, is tastefully laid out in a flower-garden. Time,
however, who effects continual changes, has caused many
such perversions of our brethren to disappear : among
these is an old yew-garden in Gloucestershire, that was,
perhaps, unequalled. In the centre stood a magnificent
yew-tree, of which the branches about mid-way were
spread horizontally round the stem, and then, having been
allowed to grow upright, were again bent at the height
of about seven feet, to form a roof. A room was thus
constructed capable of holding several persons, and chairs
were made with the small branches of the yew. A staircase,
with living banisters, ascended to this curious apartment,
leading from a passage formed of dwarf yew-trees on either
side, and opening on a large table, formed also of living

346 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

trees, closely planted and clipped, and surrounded with
arm-chairs of the same. The old tree remains, but the
staircase and passage, the table and seats, have long since
disappeared.

My wood is hard and smooth, and beautifully veined
with red : it is used at the present time for axle-trees, and
cogs for mill-wheels, and flood-gates for fish-ponds, which
are almost imperishable, — for bedsteads, which are said to
deter bugs, and for gate-posts, lasting as those of iron.
The wood is, likewise, in great request for chairs and the
steps of ladders.

The berries are sweet and viscid, and children eat the
pulpy part without inconvenience, as also swine and field-
fares ; but the fresh leaves are fatal to the human species,
and loppings in a half-dried state are detrimental to cattle.
Instances have frequently occurred wherein healthy animals
which have been turned into fields, or paddocks, where the
gardener has thrown his clippings, have died from eating
them, in the course of a few hours. A remedy has, however,

YEW-TREE. 347

been found in four ounces of sweet-oil, taken at intervals of
two hours in warm ale, and after that a pint of salt and water.

From injurious effects, thus produced, have doubtless
originated unfounded suppositions as regards the baneful
nature of our foliage. Pliny has transmitted them to pos-
terity ; and father to son has handed down the sad tales of
Thasius and Cantevateas, mentioned by Csesar.

Why is it that our stately brotherhood have disappeared
from sites that they once occupied ? We may not solve
the question, nor can man, with all his boasted wisdom
and intelligence. At one time indigenous in Ireland, our
widely-spreading branches might have rendered us emble-
matic of generous hospitality ; but we are now unknown,
our sole remnants being discovered in a fossil state.

Most trees are found growing in vast numbers. Forests
of oaks, and ash, and elm, of beech, and pines, sweep
over hill and dale, extending further than the eye can reach
or the foot has ever traversed ; but the yew dwells alone,
except when congregated by the hand of man ; and yet,

348 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

wherever growing, an honoured tree, either in churchyards
or beside mansion-houses; presenting an unchanging
foliage, which aptly indicates our enduring nature, and
which renders us an emblem of sorrow and immor-
tality. As the first, we are found in almost every
village church ; as the second we are substituted for the
palm, on Palm Sunday. Two or three young scions,
or else branches from our strong boughs, were anciently
selected for the purpose ; and the finest, having been duly
consecrated, were valued at twenty times the worth of its
own kind, and double that of the finest oak, as you may
learn from an ancient record.

" Wherefore," saith Master Caxton, " holy chirche, this
daye, makyth solemne processyon, in mynd of the proces-
syon that Chryst made this day. But encheason that we
have none olyve that berith greene leaf, algate, therefore,
we take ewe insteade of palme and olyve, and beren about
in processyon, and so is this day called Palme Sunday."
In confirmation of which we may add, that in the church-

YEW-TREE. 349s

yards of East Kent yew-trees are even now called palms.
Small branches were, likewise, wont to be borne at funeral
solemnities, and cast into the grave, yet few among the
villagers inter their dead beneath our shade. They prefer
that the sun should shine brightly on the green turf that
covers them, and daisies be free to open their pink-tinted
flowers among the grass. And why? because it is con-
jectured that bodies interred beneath the shade of trees
return to their pristine dust much sooner than when de-
posited in the open ground. This may in some degree be
accounted for, by the continued dripping of boughs in
rain, and by the comparative absence of sun and air. But
a mournful poet has thought differently, and thus apostro-
phizes his favourite tree : —

" The funeral yew, the funeral yew !

How many a fond and tearful eye
Hath hither turned its pensive view,

And through this dark leaf sought the sky !
How many a light and heauteous form,

Committed to its guardian trust,

350 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

Safe housed from life's tumultuous storm,

Hath safely melted into dust !
While mindful love would long renew
Its grief beneath the funeral yew.

More meet to deck the lowly grave,

These living plumes hy nature spread,
Than sahle tufts that proudly wave

Their pompous honours o'er the dead.
The oak hath doffed his leafy pride,

As frowning winter passed him by ;
The grass hath shrunk, the flowers have died,

Beneath bright summer's burning sky :
But all to love and sorrow true,
Unblenching waved this funeral yew.

I had not from the mounds below,

Thus borne their beauteous canopy ;
But life has many a secret throe,

And sad remembrance many a sigh.
And oh ! 'tis sweet in hours of toil,

Amid the throb of struggling grief,
To rest the aching eye awhile

Upon this dark and feathery leaf,
And think how softly falls the dew
On peaceful graves beneath the yew."

YEW-TREE. 351

Among such of our kindred trees as were devoted to
religious purposes, the Fortingal yew, in a solitary church-
yard amid the Grampian mountains, is one of the most
interesting. It is now a ruin, but when entire was,
according to Pennant, at least fifty-six feet in circumfer-
ence. An ancient yew also remains at Fountains Abbey,
in Yorkshire, supposed to have been standing before the
monastery was erected, in the beginning of the twelfth
century.

When planted beside castle-walls or baronial mansions,
our tribe were in great request for making long-bows.
And this not without reason, for, independent of their
importance, a bow of the best foreign yew was sold for
6s. 8d. in the days of archery, whereas one made of
English yew might be obtained for only two shillings.
In those stern ages bended bows were in greater request than
either shield, or sword, or spear ; and dexterity in their
use decided the battles of Cressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt.
By the aid of our strong boughs, when thus appropriated,

352 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

was the flower of French chivalry either dispersed or de-
stroyed ; and even men-at-arms, when cased in mail, vainly
endeavoured to keep their stand before the force

" Of England's arrowy sleet-like hail."

Hear what old chroniclers have written concerning the
last momentous contest : — " The warlike band of archers,
with their strong and numerous vollies, covered the air
with clouds, shedding, as a cloud shades with a shower,
an intolerable multitude of piercing arrows, and inflicting
wounds on the horses, which either threw their enemies,
the French horsemen, who were arrayed to charge them
to the ground, or else forced them to retreat, and so their
dreadful and formidable purpose was defeated. And when
the French nobility rushed forward to seize the English
standard, and the battle raged very fiercely, our archers pierced
the flank with their arrows, and forced them to retreat."
Thus, also, were the Scots sorely worsted at Hamilton,
and the Irish in old times. But of deadly feuds and

YEW-TREE. 353

border frays, none have been better sung than the en-
counter of Earls Percy and Douglas.

With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,

All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well, in time of need,

To aim their shafts aright.

c Lo ! yonder doth Earl Douglas come,

His men in armour bright ;
Full twenty hundred Scottish spears,
All marching in our sight.

c Our English archers bent their bows,
Their hearts were good and true ;
At the first flight of arrows sent,
Full three-score Scots they slew."

Hence, therefore, the planting of our trees for purposes
of archery, and their association with places of historic
interest. Of these some still remain, beside the ruined
homes they once embellished, or on sites where scarcely
a stone remains of those stern fortresses that once held

2 A

354 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

the surrounding country in subjection. At Martley, in
Worcestershire, one of our brethren measures twelve yards
round ; and an extraordinary tree of the same kind may
yet be seen in the palace-garden at Richmond, planted three
days before the birth of Queen Elizabeth. And still more
interesting is the celebrated yew-tree of Ankerwyke, near
Staines, which is traditionally believed to have waved over
the confederate Barons of Runny mede.

" Here patriot barons might have musing stood,
And planned the charter for their country's good."

.

•%

CHAPTER XXII.

HOLLY-TREE.

Ilex Aquifolium.

Look on me and rejoice :
All winds that come and go do aid me well,
Bright sunbeams, and soft dews, each working kindly
To make me what I am.

my boy, what are you coming here for, with your
knife and basket? Does your mother believe in hama-
dryads, and has she sent you with an annual offering?
Take care, — the snow is deep beside the style, and if
you slip from off the plank, assuredly your mother will
long wait for your return. Take care, also, how you

356 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

clamber over the heap of stones, — they are very slippery ;
keep along the side of the hedge where the snow is drifted
off. Now you have a safe standing-place, tell me what
you want.

Holly-tree, Holly-tree, listen to me,

My mother lias sent me, with carols of glee ;

The old church is grey, and the ivy is white,

For the snow it fell fast on the branches last night.

Oh, give me some houghs, and some berries all red,

To fill the new basket I bear on my head !

It was made from the willow that grows by the rill,

When the streamlet danced forth, in its glee, from the hill.

My father is waiting ; my sister and brother

Look forth o'er the snow waste ; and hark to my mother —

Her clear voice is singing, " Be pleased, Holly -tree,

To send us some boughs, for our carols of glee."

And thus from year to year have I heard that song, said
a patriarchal holly on Bockly-ridge ; — at first in old
English, with rude uncouth lines ; then varied to suit the
fashion of times long past ; and now modernized by some
village poet. I remember thy great grandfather, my ruddy
boy, coming up from the old farmhouse in the valley. His

HOLLY-TREE. 357

hair, like thine, was flaxen, his cheek as red, and his steps
as light. I warned him, as I warn thee, to beware lest he
fell into the deep snowdrift, arid he came warily : but the
day was exceeding cold, and the bleak east wind was hard
to bear ; his benumbed hands could hardly hold the knife,
with which to cut my branches, and he had not much heart
to sing the old song. However, he went away, having his
basket well filled with boughs and berries. Thy father, too,
he came here, while yet a stripling, singing the same song.
I remember, as if it were but yesterday, his black raven
locks and fine forehead, and I thought his voice one
of the most melodious that I had ever heard. He sang
his song blithely, and cheerfully went on to fill his little
willow basket ; when suddenly snow began to fall, at first
gently, then heavily, but the boy worked on, till having
done his task, he turned to go home, singing as he went —

Long mayest thou flourish, 0 Holly-tree,
And thy branches wave strong o'er the bold and the free.

But the wind had risen, and drove the snow full against

358 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

him, — now whirling in eddies, and now falling so thick as
to obscure the air. I called to the poor boy, and bade
him beware of the deep hollow by the style, and the
slippery surface of the frozen brook; and he did his
best to find the road ; but all in vain. The old pollard
oak, with its huge, grey, misshapen head, could not help
him to find the way, nor yet the hay- stack, nor the
open shed, — important waymarks among snowy fields ; —
they were all obscured alike ; still I hoped that he might
get safe ; but at length he fell, benumbed with the cold,
and snow began to settle upon him like a winding sheet.

I heard a loud halloo, ringing through the frozen valley,
and lights began to gleam in all directions, for by this time
the snow-storm was moving slowly off; had it been otherwise,
all search would have been fruitless. I knew the voice of
your grandfather, then a strong young man, calling wildly
on his child, and with him came all his village neighbours.
They even climbed up to my growing-place, and held up
their lanterns to look for the boy ; but him they saw not,

HOLLY-TREE. 359

and then they turned back, seeking in all directions, but in
vain : neither voice nor sound was heard. Presently I saw
torches gleaming through the trees, in the direction of
Rockly Hall, and I could dimly discern the squire, with his
gamekeeper and men-servants; and when they left the
avenue, I heard the squire calling to his dog, "Seek
him, Keeper !" By this time the full moon had risen,
and her light served to discover a black object on the
snow, winding about, and doubling and snuffing here and
there, till, having got upon the right scent, the dog
scoured straight on ; then, stopping suddenly, he sent
up a howl, such as never before had been heard by
even the oldest holly-tree along Rockly-ridge. Well, the
boy was found, and carried home ; but there was hard work
to bring him round, and it was many a long day before his
light springing step was seen on the village common.

Now, my child, be off; I see a snow-storm gathering
in the west. Take care how you go ; but get across the
field, and into the sheltered lane, as fast as possible.

360 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

The ancient custom of decorating houses and churches
with my branches at Christmas, continued the holly, is
believed to have originated from the observances of Druid-
ism ; and, in allusion to their enduring nature, my branches
were sent by the Romans to their friends with new year's
gifts, as emblematic of a lasting attachment. It is, how-
ever, believed by many antiquarians, that the custom above
alluded to passed from Italy into Britain in the time of
Augustine, and that the decorating of sacred edifices and
private dwellings with evergreen, was merely designed
as an emblem of true religion. Be this as it may, we
know that holly and yew branches were used instead of
palms at the coming round of Palm Sunday. Methinks
there is something pleasing in thus associating evergreens
with seasons of thanksgiving. Many find fault with these
simple customs, and assign their origin to the dark ages
of Pagan superstition ; but surely it is better to attribute
them to the flowing forth of youthful feeling, in those
who where permitted to assemble, it might be, in churches
from which they had long been expelled.

HOLLY-TREE. 361

Thus moralized the old holly-tree. Snow had fallen
through the night, and lay deep upon the ground, and his
clear accents broke upon the silence of that wild spot,
where not a sound was heard, — for the streamlet, that
used to wander with a pleasant murmur through the
glen, was bound with icy chains. My bright green leaves,
he said, are worthy of remark. Small confiding birds resort
beneath their shelter, when other trees are leafless. My
lower leaves are covered with sharp thorns, affording an im-
pregnable citadel, while the upper ones are quite smooth.

" 0 stranger ! hast thou ever stood to see

The holly-tree?
The eye that contemplates it well, perceives

Its glossy leaves,

Ordered by an intelligence so wise,
As might confound the atheist's sophistries.

" Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen,

Wrinkled and keen ;
No grazing cattle through their prickly round

Can reach to wound ;

But as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear."

362 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

And thus, as sang the poet, my leaves are wonderfully
constructed for the protection of all wayfaring birds; —
honest robin and Jenny wren are here, with many of their
relatives, and among them are several fieldfares, lately
arrived from the north, and now on their way towards the
sheltered parts of Britain.

The eye of him who looks across the dazzling surface
sees in me a wayside tree, standing on a rugged bank,
the only living object that meets his view. No hand
has traced an inscription on my bark, but characters
are impressed thereon which tell of wisdom and bene-
ficence. The snow is deep, and the frost exceeding
hard; a keen east wind is sweeping across the ridge
whereon I stand, yet life is sustained within me; the
sharp frost, which benumbs everything else, does not affect
my juices, — they still freely circulate, imparting greenness
to my leaves and brilliancy to my bright scarlet berries.

At least forty or fifty different varieties are derived from
us. Patriarchal trees are we, reckoning among our descend-

HOLLY-TREE. 363

ants many of considerable beauty, though seeming to us
degenerate ; such are the gold and silver edged, and a
strange variety produced by culture, with spines on the
disc of each leaf, called the hedgehog. And yet, how-
ever varying, the wood is similar in all. It is used in
veneering, and is stained black to imitate ebony, for knife-
handles, and cogs for mill-wheels. Strange to say, my bark,
when fermented, and washed from the woody fibres, is
made into bird-lime ; but this is an appropriation over which
I have no control.

Needham Forest is one of our favourite localities, as also
the north side of the Wrekin, in Shropshire. We grow
in woods and hedges and on windy heaths, beacon trees,
that may be seen at a great distance, and serving to guide
the traveller ofttimes in a wild and pathless country.
Surely we may boast concerning our surpassing beauty,
for no evergreen can vie with us. Our highly polished
leaves shine like mirrors, and reflect every wandering sun-
beam ; and then our clusters of scarlet berries ! Neither

364 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS.

the yew, nor pine, nor box, is thus beautified. Burns spoke
of us with enthusiasm. He sang, that when guiding his
plough, the genius of Scotland appeared to him, holding
a branch of holly in her hand.- —

" And wear thou this, she solemn said,
And placed the holly on my head ;
Its polished boughs and berries red

Did rustling play,
And like a passing thought she fled

In light away."

THE END.

INDEX.

Page.

Abele, or White Poplar Populus alba 246

Alder Alnus glutinosa 187

Apple-tree, wild Pyrus Mains 142

Arbutus, or Strawberry-tree . . Arbutus Unedo 309

Ash Fraxinus excelsior 126

,, Mountain Pyrus Aucuparia 163

Aspen, or Trembling Poplar . . Populus tremula 248

Beech Fagus sylvatica 106

Birch, common Betula alba 204

„ dwarf „ nana 221

„ weeping „ alba, var 221

Blackthorn Prunus spinosa 149

Box-tree Buxus sempervirens 314

Cherry, wild Prunus Cerasus 167

Chestnut, Spanish Castanea vesca 192

„ Horse JEsculus Hippocastanum . . 264

Cornel-tree, wild Cornus sanguinea 296

Crab-tree Pyrus Mains 142

Elder-tree Sambucus nigra 306

„ dwarf „ Ebulus 309

Elm, Southern Ulmus campestris 171

„ Wych „ montana 177

„ Northern, smooth-leaved „ glabra 176

366 INDEX.

Page.

Ferns Filices 29

Beech-fern „ . . Polypodium Phegopteris . . 44

Brake, common Pteris aquilma 47

Brittle-fern Polypodium fragile 42

Flowering-fern, or Bracken . Osmunda regalis 30

Hart's-tongue Scolopendrium vulgare .... 46

„ scaly Ceterach officmarum 37

Lady-fern Athyrium Filix-fcemina . . 55

Marsh-fern Polypodium Thelypteris ... 54

Moon wort Boirychium Lunaria 49

Oak- or Wood-fern Polypodium Dryopteris ... 42

Polypody, common „ vulgare 41

„ heath „ Oreopteris .... 55

„ royal „ Lonchitis .... 54

Rock-brake, or Parsley-fern . Pteris crispa 39

Spleen wort, black Asplenium Adiantum-nigrum 54

„ common „ TricJwmanes ... 35

„ forked „ septentrionale . . 41

„ green „ viride 35

„ sea „ marinum 41

,, rue-leaved .... „ Ruta-muraria . . 39

Trichomanes TricJiomanes speciosum. ... 45

Fir, Scotch Pinus sylvestris 322

Hawthorn Cratcegus Oxyacantha .... 153

Hazel Corylus Avellana 299

Holly-tree Ilex Aquifolium 355

Horse-chestnut ^Esculus Hippocastanum . . 264

INDEX.

367

Page.

Lichens LicJienes 1

Lichen, argil, or orchil Lichen Rochella 5

6

calcareus 8

perellus 4

parilis 6

paschalu 9

saxatilis . . .
Uspidus . . .
Prunastri .
farinaceus .
coccineus . .
tartareus .

„ blistered

„ calcareous

„ crab-eye

„ creeping verrucose . . .

„ crisp-incrusted

„ grey stone

„ prickly

„ ragged hoary

„ ragged mealy

„ scarlet

„ tartareous

„ tree-moss

„ violet-scented

„ white coral-crusted . . .

„ wrinkled sulphur ....

Lime-tree Tilia Europcea

Maple, common Acer campestre

„ greater, or Sycamore . . „ Pseudo-Platanus . . .

Medlar-tree Mespilus Germanica ....

Mosses Musci

Common Hair-moss PolytricJium commune . . .

Great Hairy Thread-moss . . Bryum rutale 19

Greater Water-moss Fontinalis antipyretica. ... 19

Grey Bog-moss Sphagnum palustre .... 16, 22

Shining Feather-moss Hypnum lucens 18

politus ....

corallinus . .
caperatus . .

6
5
7
7
4
4
7
3
4
6

226

259

252

169

15

16

368

INDEX.

Oak, British, common

Osier, common

Pear-tree, wild

Plum-tree, wild

Poplar, white, or Abele-tree . .

Spindle-tree

Willow

„ Bedford

„ bitter purple

„ broad-leaved

„ crack

„ fine-basket

„ least

„ red

„ round-eared

,, rose

„ sweet bay-leaved ....

„ triandrous, or smooth .

„ water

„ white

„ yellow, or golden ....

Wayfaring-tree

Ye\v-trec .

Page.

Quercus Robur 61

Salix viminalis 290

Pyrus communis 133

Prunus domestica 169

Populus alba 237

Evonymus Europaus 298

Salix 268

Salix Russelliana 284

„ purpurea 281

„ Croweana 283

„ fmgilis 287

„ Forbeana 282

„ Jierbacea 294

„ rubra 282

„ aurita 288

„ helix 281

„ pentandra 286

„ triandra 283

„ aquatica 287

„ alba 292

„ vitellina 286

Viburnum Lantana 223

Taxus baccata . , .341

Printed by REEVE, BEN HAM, aud REEVE, Heathcock Court, Strand.

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chapter or two on classification, which are followed by brief generic and
specific descriptions in English of above 200 of the commoner British
species, together with accurate figures of about 70 of those described. The
work is beautifully printed, and the figures nicely coloured, and will be quite
a treasure to any one just commencing the study of this fascinating science."
— Westminster and Foreign Quarterly Review.

In one vol. royal 16mo, with sixteen plates of figures.
Price Is. plain ; 105. 6d. coloured.

LIST OF WORKS.

Serials.

32. CURTIS'S BOTANICAL MAGAZINE; by Sir WILLIAM JACKSON
HOOKEE, F.R.S., V.P.L.S., &c., Director of the Royal Gardens of Kew.
With observations on the culture of each species, by Mr. John Smith,
A.L.S., Curator of the Royal Gardens. In monthly numbers, each
containing six plates, price 3,?. 6d. coloured.

33. HOOKER'S JOURNAL OF BOTANY; or, KEW GARDEN MIS-

CELLANY. Edited by SIR WILLIAM JACKSON HOOKER, F.R.S.,
&c. In monthly numbers. Price One Shilling.

34. ZOOLOGY OF THE VOYAGE OF H.M.S. SAMARANG. Edited
by ARTHUR ADAMS, Assistant-Surgeon, R.N. FISHES. By Sir JOHN
RICHARDSON, M.D., F.R.S. CRUSTACEA. By the EDITOR and ADAM
WHITE, F.L.S. MOLLUSCA. By the EDITOR and LOVELL REEVE,
F.L.S., including the anatomy of the Spirula, by Prof. OWEN, F.R.S.

35. PHYCOLOGIA BRITANNIC A; or, History of the British Sea- weeds.
By Professor HARVEY, M.D., M.R.I.A. In parts, price 2*. 6d. coloured ;
large paper, 5s. To be completed in 60 parts. Part 46 just published.

36. NEREIS AUSTRALIS ; or, Illustrations of the Alga of the Southern

Ocean. By Professor HARVEY, M.D., M.R.I.A. To be completed in
Four Parts, each containing 25 coloured plates, imp. 8 vo, price I/. Is.
Parts 1 and 2 recently published.

37. CONTRIBUTIONS TO ORNITHOLOGY. By SIR WILLIAM JAR-

DINE, Bart. In parts, each containing 4 plates, price 3s.

38. CONCHOLOGIA ICONICA; or, Figures and Descriptions of the

Shells of Molluscous Animals. By LOVELL REEVE, F.L.S. Demy4to.
Monthly. Eight plates. 10s. coloured. Part 84 just published.

39. ELEMENTS OF CONCHOLOGY ; or, Introduction to the Natural

History of Shells and their molluscous inhabitants. By LOVELL REEVE,
F.L.S. Royal 8vo. In twelve parts, each containing five plates. Price
3s. 6d. coloured.

40. CURTIS'S BRITISH ENTOMOLOGY. Re-issued in monthly parts,

each containing 4 coloured plates and corresponding text. Price 3s. 6d.

41. A CENTURY OF ORCHIDACEOUS PLANTS. Published in
monthly numbers, each containing five plates. Price 5s.

REEVE, BENHAM, & REEVE, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND.