Remarks on forest scenery: and other woodland views, (relative chiefly to picturesque beauty) illustrated by the scenes of New-Forest in Hampshire. In three books. ... By William Gilpin, ... [pt.1]

OBSERVATIONS ON FOREST SCENERY. BOOK I.

SECTION I.

IT is no exaggerated praise to call a tree the grandest, and most beautiful of all the pro∣ductions of the earth. In the former of these epithets nothing contends with it; for we consider rocks and mountains, as part of the earth itself. And tho among inferior plants, shrubs, and flowers, there is great beauty; yet when we consider, that these minuter pro∣ductions are chiefly beautiful as individuals; and are not adapted to form the arrangement of composition in landscape; nor to receive the effects of light and shade; they must give place in point of beauty—of picturesque beauty at least, which we are here considering—to the form and foliage, and ramification of the tree.

Thus the splendid tints of the insect, how∣ever beautiful, must yield to the elegance, and proportion of animals, which range in a higher class.

With animal life, I should not set the tree in competition. The shape, the different-coloured fur, the varied, and spirited attitudes, the character, and motion, which strike us in the animal creation, are certainly beyond still-life in its most pleasing appearance. I should only observe with regard to trees, that nature has been kinder to them in point of variety, than even to its living forms. Tho every animal is distinguished from its fellow, by some little variation of colour, character, or shape; yet in all the larger parts, in the body and limbs, the resemblance is generally exact. In trees, it is just the reverse: the smaller parts, the spray, the leaves, the blos∣som, and the seed, are the same in all trees of the same kind: while the larger parts, from which the most beautiful varieties result, are wholly different. You never see two oaks with an equal number of limbs, the same kind of head, and twisted in the same form.— However, as variety is not alone sufficient to give superiority to the tree; we give the pre∣ference on the whole, to animal life.

SECT. II.

TREES when young, like striplings, shoot into taper forms. There is a lightness, and an airiness in them, which is pleasing; but they do not spread and receive their just proportions, till they have attained their full growth.

There is as much difference too in trees, I mean in trees of the same kind, in point of beauty, as there is in human figures. The limbs of some are set on awkwardly; their trunks are disproportioned; and their whole form is unpleasing. The same rules, which establish elegance in other objects, establish it in these. There must be the same harmony of parts; the same sweeping line; the same contrast, the same ease and freedom. A bough indeed may issue from the trunk at right-angles, and yet elegantly, as it frequently does in the oak; but it must immediately form some

contrasting sweep, or the junction will be awkward.

All forms, that are unnatural, displease. A tree lopped into a may-pole, as you generally see in the hedge-rows of Surry, and some other countries, is disgusting. Clipped yews, lime hedges, and pollards are, for the same reason disagreeable: and yet I have sometimes seen a pollard produce a good effect, when nature has been suffered, for some years, to bring it again into form: but I never saw a good effect pro∣duced by a pollard, on which some single stem was left to grow into a tree. The stem is of a different growth: it is disproportioned; and always unites awkwardly with the trunk.

Not only all forms, that are unnatural, displease; but even natural forms, when they bear a resemblance to art, unless indeed these forms are characteristic of the species. A cypress pleases in a conic form; but an oak, or an elm trimmed into that appearance, would disgust. In the cypress nature adapts the spray, and branches to the form of the tree. In the oak and elm the spray, and branches form a different character.

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Lightness also is a characteristic of beauty in a tree: for tho there are beautiful trees of a heavy, as well as of a light form; yet their extremities must in some parts be separated, and hang with a degree of looseness from the fulness of the foliage, which occupies the middle of the tree, or the whole will only be a large bush. From position indeed, and contrast, heaviness, tho in itself a deformity, may be of singular use in the composition both of natural, and of artificial landscape.

A tree also must be well-balanced to be beautiful. It may have form, and it may have lightness; and yet lose all its effect, by wanting a proper poise. The bole must appear to support the branches. We do not desire to see it supporting it's burden with the per∣pendicular firmness of a column. An easy sweep is always agreeable: but at the same time it should not be such a sweep, as dis∣covers one side plainly overbalanced.

On bleak sea-coasts, trees generally take an unbalanced form: and indeed in general, some

foreign cause must operate to occasion it; for nature working freely, is as much inclined to balance a tree upon it's trunk, as an animal upon it's legs.

And yet in some circumstances, I have seen beauty arise even from an unbalanced tree; but it must arise from some peculiar situation, which gives it a local propriety. A tree, for instance, hanging from a rock, tho totally unpoised, may be beautiful: or it may have a good effect, when we see it bending over a road; because it corresponds with it's peculiar situation. We do not, in these cases, admire it as a tree; but as the adjunct of an effect; the beauty of which does not give the eye leisure to attend to the deformity of the instru∣ment, through which the effect is produced.

Without these requisites therefore, form, lightness, and a proper balance, no tree can have that species of beauty, which we call picturesque.

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SECT. III.

BESIDES these requisites of beauty in a tree, there are other things of an adven∣titious kind, which often add great beauty to it. And here I cannot help lamenting the capricious nature of picturesque ideas. In many instances they run counter to utility; and in nothing more than in the adventitious beauties ascribed to trees. Many of these are derived from the injuries the tree receives, or the diseases, to which it is subject. Mr. Lawson, a naturalist of the last age, thus enu∣merates them. "How many forests, and woods, says he, have we, wherein you shall have, for one lively, thriving tree, four, nay sometimes twenty-four, evil thriving, rotten, and dying trees: what rottenness! what hol∣lowness! what dead arms! withered tops! curtailed trunks! what loads of mosses! droop∣ing

boughs, and dying branches, shall you see every where."* 1.1

Now all these maladies, which our dis∣tressed naturalist bemoans with so much feeling, are often capital sources of picturesque beauty, both in the wild scenes of nature, and in arti∣ficial landscape.

What is more beautiful, for instance, on a rugged foreground, than an old tree with a hollow trunk? or with a dead arm, a drooping bough, or a dying branch? all which phrases, I apprehend are nearly synonymous.

From the withered top also great use, and beauty may result in the composition of land∣scape; when we wish to break the regularity of some continued line; which we would not intirely hide.

By the curtailed trunk I suppose Mr. Lawson means a tree, whose principal stem has been shattered by winds, or some other accident; while the lower part of it is left in vigour. This is also a beautiful circumstance; and it's application equally useful in landscape. The withered top just breaks the lines of an

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eminence: the curtailed trunk discovers the whole: while the lateral branches, which are vigorous, and healthy in both, hide any part of the lower landscape, which wanting variety, is better veiled.

For the use, and beauty of the withered top, and curtailed trunk, we need only appeal to the works of Salvator Rosa, in many of which we find them of great use. Salvator had often occasion for an object on his fore∣grounds, as large as the trunk of a tree; when the whole tree together in it's full state of grandeur, would have been an incumbrance to him. A young tree, or a bush, might probably have served his purpose with regard to composition; but such dwarfs, and striplings could not have preserved the dignity of his subject, like the ruins of a noble tree. These splendid remnants of decaying grandeur speak to the imagination in a stile of eloquence, which the stripling cannot reach: they record the history of some storm, some blast of lightening, or other great event, which trans∣fers it's grand ideas to the landscape; and in the representation of elevated subjects assists the sublime.

Whether these maladies in trees ever produce beauty in adorned nature, I much doubt. Kent was hardy enough even to plant a withered tree; but the error was too glaring for imitation. Objects in every mode of composition should harmonize; and all we venture to assert, is, that these maladies are then only sources of beauty either in the wild scenes of nature, or in artificial landscape, when they are the ap∣pendages of some particular mode of composition.

The last, and most beautiful of those diseases, which Mr. Lawson ascribes to trees, is moss. This, it is true, is one of nature's minutiae, and in painting, touches not the great parts, composition and effect. Nor is it of use in mere drawing. But in coloured landscape, it is surely a very beautiful object of imitation.—The variety of mosses—the green, which tinges the trunk of the beech; the brimstone co∣loured, and black, which stain the oak; and the yellow, which is frequently found on the elm, and ash, are among the most beautiful of those tints, which embellish the bark of trees.

I have often stood with admiration before an old forest-oak, examining the various tints, which have enriched it's furrowed stem. The

genuine bark of an oak is of an ash-colour, tho it is difficult to distinguish any part of it from the mosses, that overspread it: for no oak, I suppose, was ever without a greater, or a less proportion of these picturesque ap∣pendages. The lower parts, about the roots, are often possessed by that green, velvet moss, which in a still greater degree commonly oc∣cupies the bole of the beech; tho the beauty and brilliancy of it lose much, when in decay. As the trunk rises, you see the brimstone colour taking possession in patches. Of this there are two principal kinds; a smooth sort, which spreads like a scurf over the bark; and a rougher sort, which hangs in little rich knots, and fringes. I call it a brimstone hue, by way of general distinction: but it some∣times inclines to an olive; and sometimes to a light green. Intermixed with these mosses you often find a species perfectly white. Be∣fore I was acquainted with it, I have some∣times thought the tree white-washed. Here and there, a touch of it gives a lustre to the trunk, and has it's effect: yet, on the whole, it is a nuisance; for as it generally begins to thrive, when the other mosses begin to wither (as if the decaying bark were it's

proper nutriment,) it is rarely accompanied with any of the more beautiful species of it's kind; and when thus unsupported, it always disgusts. This white moss, by the way, is esteemed a certain mark of age; and when it prevails in any degree, is a clear indication, that the vigour of the tree is declining. We find also another species of moss, of a dark brown colour, inclining nearly to black: another of an ashy colour; and another of a dingy yellow. We may observe also touches of red; and sometimes, but rarely a bright yellow, which is like a gleam of sun-shine; and in many trees you will see one species growing upon another; the knotted brimstone-coloured fringe clinging to a lighter species; or the black softening into red.—Strictly speaking, many of these excrescences, which I have mentioned under the general name of mosses, should have been distinguished by other names. All those particularly, which cling close to the bark of trees, and have a leprous, scabby appearance, are classed, I believe, by botanists, under the name of lychens: others are called liver-worts. But all these excre∣scences, under whatever names distinguished, add a great richness to trees; and when they

are blended harmoniously, as is generally the case, the rough and furrowed trunk of an old oak, adorned with these pleasing appen∣dages, is an object, which will long detain the picturesque eye.

But besides the appearance of moss upon the trunks of trees, it creeps among the branches, and sometimes takes possession not only of the larger boughs; but even of the smaller spray. In winter this has often a fine effect, when the whole tree, turned into a beautiful piece of straw-coloured coral, appears against a dark wood, or some other back∣ground, which gives it relief. In a strong sunshine too it is beautiful; when the light straw-coloured tints contrast with the shadows formed by the twisting of the boughs; which are sometimes still further deepened by some of the darker mosses.

Thus the maladies of trees are greatly sub∣servient to the uses of the pencil. The foliage is the dress; and these are the ornaments.— Even the poet will sometimes deign to array his tree with these picturesque ornaments. I am always glad of his authority, when I can have it: and I have seen a poetical oak gar∣nished in a way, that the painter might copy

from. In general, however the poet is not, like the painter, uniform in his admiration of these pleasing appendages. If at one time he admires them with the painter, and ranks them among the picturesque beauties of na∣ture; at another he sides with the wood-man, and brushes them away. Nay, I have known him conjure up some mighty agent, as guar∣dian of his woods; who cries out,

—From Jove I am the Power Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower. I nurse my saplins tall; and cleanse their rind From vegetating filth of every kind. And all my plants I save from nightly ill Of noisome winds, and blasting vapours chill.

Besides Mr. Lawson's catalogue of maladies we might enumerate others, which are equally the sources of beauty. The blasted tree has often a fine effect both in natural, and in arti∣ficial landscape. In some scenes it is almost essential. When the dreary heath is spread before the eye, and ideas of wildness and desolation are required, what more suitable accompaniment can be imagined, than the blasted oak, ragged, scathed, and leafless; shooting it's peeled, white branches athwart the gathering blackness of some rising storm?

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Ivy is another mischief incident to trees, which has a good effect. It gives great rich∣ness to an old trunk, both by it's stem, which often winds round it in thick, hairy, irregular volumes; and by it's leaf, which either decks the furrowed bark; or creeps among the branches; or hangs carelessly from them. In all these circumstances it unites with the mosses, and other furniture of the tree, in adorning, and enriching it. But when it gathers into a heavy body, which is often the case, it becomes rather a deformity. In summer indeed it's bushiness is lost in the foliage of the tree; but in winter, naked branches make a disagreeable appearance staring from a thick bush.—And yet in autumn I have seen a beautiful contrast between a bush of ivy, which had completely invested the head of a pollard-oak, and the dark brown tint of the withered leaves, which still held possession of the branches. But this was a mere accidental effect; for you may see many pollard-oaks with withered leaves, and covered with ivy; and yet not see the tints so happily arranged as to produce an effect.

In the spring also we sometimes have a pleasing appearance of a similar kind. About the end of April, when the foliage of the oak

is just beginning to expand, it's varied tints are often delightfully contrasted with the deep green of an ivy bush, which has overspread the body, and larger limbs of the tree: and the contrast has been still more beautiful, when the limbs are covered, as we sometimes see them, with tufts of brimstone-coloured moss.

All these plants are parasitical, as the botanist expressively calls them. The tribes of mosses, lychens, and liver-worts make no pretence to independence. They are absolute retainers. Not one of them gets his own livelihood; nor takes the least step towards it. The ivy in∣deed is less dependent. He has a root of his own, and draws nourishment from the ground: but his character is misrepresented, if his little feelers have not other purposes, than merely that of shewing an attachment to his potent neighbour. Shakespear roundly asserts, he makes a property of him:

— He was The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out—

Besides this parasitical tribe the painter ad∣mires another class of humble plants, which

live entirely on their own means; yet spreading out their little tendrils, beg merely the pro∣tection of the great; whom if they encumber, as they certainly do in a degree, they enrich with a variety of beautiful flowers, and scarlet berries. Many of these, tho classed among weeds, have great beauty. Among them, the black, and white brionies are distinguished. The berries also of many of these little plants are variously coloured in the different states of their growth, yellow, red, and orange. All these rich touches, however small, produce their effect. There is another elegant climber, called traveller's joy, which produces indeed no berries; but it's feathered seeds are orna∣mental. The wild honey-suckle also comes within this class; and tho in winding it's spiral coil, it may compress the young tree too tightly; and in some degree injure it's circulation; yet it fully compensates the injury by the beauty, and fragrancy of it's flowers:

With clasping tendrils it invests the branch, Else unadorned, with many a gay festoon, And fragrant chaplet; recompensing well The strength it borrows with the grace it lends.

Under warm suns, where vines are the offspring of nature, nothing can be more beau∣tiful

than the forest tree, adorned with their twisting branches, hanging from bough to bough, and laden with fruit;

—the clusters clear Half through the foliage seen—

Among the most beautiful appendages of this hanging kind, which we have in England, is the hop. In cultivation it is disagreeable: but in it's rude natural state twisting carelessly round the branches of trees, I know not whe∣ther it is not as beautiful as the vine. It's leaf is similar; and tho the bunches of hop, beau∣tiful as they are, and fragrant, are not equal to the clusters of the vine; yet it is a more accommodating plant, hangs more loosely, and is less extravagant in it's growth.

In artificial landscape indeed, where the subject is sublime, these appendages are of little value. Such trifling ornaments the scene rejects. The rough oak, in the dignity of it's simple form, adorns the foreground better. But in festive, or Bacchanalian subjects (if such subjects are ever proper for description) when the sportive nymphs, and satyrs take their repose at noon, or gambol in the shade of evening, nothing can more beautifully adorn

their retreat, or more characteristically mark it, than these pendent plants, particularly the mantling vine, hanging, as I have here de∣scribed it, in rich festoons from bough to bough.

The rooting also of trees is a circumstance, on which their beauty greatly depends. I know not, whether it is reckoned among the maladies of a tree, to heave his root above the soil. Old trees generally do. But whether it be a malady or not, it is certainly very picturesque. The more they raise the ground around them, and the greater number of ra∣dical knobs they heave up, the firmer they seem to establish their footing upon the earth; and the more dignity they assume. An old tree rising tamely from a smooth surface, (as we often find it covered with earth in arti∣ficial ground,) loses half it's effect: it does not appear as the lord of the soil; but to be stuck into it; and would have a still worse effect on canvas, than it has in nature.

Pliny gives us an account of the roots of certain ancient oaks in the Hercynian forest, which appears rather extravagant; but which

I can easily conceive may be true. These roots, he says, heave the ground upwards, in many places, into lofty mounts; and in other parts, where the earth does not follow them, the bare roots rise as high as the lower branches; and twisting round form in many places, portals so wide, that a man and horse may ride upright through them* 1.2.—This indeed is somewhat higher than picturesque beauty requires; it borders rather on the fan∣tastic. In general however, the higher the roots are, the more picturesque they appear.

To the adventitious beauties of trees, we may add their susceptibility of motion, which is ca∣pable at least of being a considerable source of beauty. The waving heads of some, and the undulation of others, give a continual variety to their forms. In nature the motion of trees is certainly a circumstance of great beauty.— Shakespear formerly made the observation:

—Things in motion sooner catch the eye, Than what stirs not—

To the painter also the moving tree affords often a piece of useful machinery, when he wishes to express the agitation of air. In this light it may even be considered as an objection to trees of firmer branches, as the oak, that their resistance to every breath of air, deprives them at least, of one source of beauty, and subjects them to be sooner gotten by heart, if I may so phrase it, than other trees; which yielding to the pressure, are every instant as∣suming new modifications.

From the motion of the tree, we have also the pleasing circumstance of the chequered shade, formed under it by the dancing of the sun-beams among it's playing leaves. This circumstance, tho not so much calculated for picturesque use, (as it's beauty arises chiefly from it's motion) is yet very amusing in nature; and may also be introduced in painting, when the tree is at rest. But it is one of those cir∣cumstances, which requires a very artful pen∣cil. In it's very nature it opposes the grand principle of massing light, and shade. How∣ever if it be brought in properly, and not suffered to glare, it may have it's beauty. But whatever becomes of this circumstance in

painting; it is very capable of being pleasingly wrought up in poetry.

The chequered earth seems restless as a flood Brushed by the winds. So sportive is the light Shot through the boughs; it dances, as they dance, Shadow, and sun-shine intermingling quick, And dark'ning, and enlightening, (as the leaves Play wanton,) every part—

SECT. IV.

HAVING thus examined trees in a general view, I shall now particularize, and endeavour to explain the beauties and defects of their several kinds, as they regard landscape. I shall first consider them as individuals; and afterwards in composition.

Trees range under two general heads, deci∣duous, and ever-green. In this order I shall take them; confining my remarks to those only of both kinds which are of English growth, whether native, or naturalized.

Among deciduous trees, the oak presents itself first. It is a happiness to the lovers of the picturesque, that this noble plant is as useful, as it is beautiful. From the utility of the oak, they derive this advantage, that it is every where found. In the choice indeed of it's soil it is rather delicate. For tho it

is rather undistinguishing, during it's early growth, while it's horizontal fibres straggle about the surface of the earth; yet when it's tap-root begins to enter the depths of the soil, perhaps no tree is nicer in it's discrimi∣nations. If it's constitution be not suited here, it may multiply it's progeny indeed, and pro∣duce a thriving copse; but the puny race will never rise to lordly dignity in the forest, nor furnish navies to command the ocean.

The particular, and most valued qualities of the oak, are hardness and toughness. Shake∣spear uses two epithets to express these qualities, which are perhaps stronger than any we can find.

Thou rather with thy sharp, and sulph'rous bolt Split'st the unwedgeable, and gnarled oak, Than the soft myrtle—

Many kinds of wood are harder, as box and ebony; many kinds are tougher, as yew and ash: but it is supposed that no species of wood, at least no species of timber, is possessed of both these qualities together in so great a degree, as British oak. Almost all arts and manufactures are indebted to it; but in ship-building, and bearing burdens, it's elasticity,

and strength are applied to most advantage. I mention these mechanic uses only because some of it's chief beauties are connected with them. Thus it is not the erect, stately tree, that is always the most useful in ship-building; but more often the crooked one, forming short turns, and elbows, which the shipwrights and carpenters commonly call knee-timber. This too is generally the most picturesque.—Nor is it the strait, tall stem, whose fibres run in pa∣rallel lines, that is the most useful in bearing burdens: but that whose sinews are twisted, and spirally combined. This too is the most picturesque. Trees under these circumstances, generally take the most pleasing forms.

Now the oak perhaps acquires these dif∣ferent modes of growth from the different strata, through which it passes. In deep rich soils, where the root meets no obstruction, the stem, we suppose, grows stately and erect: but when the root meets with a rocky stratum, a hard and gravelly bed, or any other difficulty, through which it is obliged, in a zigzag course to pick it's way, and struggle for a passage; the sympathetic stem, feeling every motion, pursues the same indirect course above, which the root does below: and thus the sturdy plant,

through the means of these subterraneous in∣counters, and hardy conflicts, assumes form and character; and becomes, in a due course of centuries, a picturesque tree.

Virgil has given us the picture of an oak, in which it's principal characteristics are well touched.

Esculus imprimis, quae quantum vertice ad auras Aethereas, tantum radice in Tartara tendit. Ergo non hiemes illam, non flabra, neque imbres Convellunt: immota manet, multosque per annos Multa virûm volvens durando secula vincit. Tum fortes late ramos, et brachia tendens Huc illuc, media ipsa ingentem sustinet umbram* 1.3.

I shall not enter into a criticism on the word esculus, which cannot on any good authority, I think, signify the beech; and Pliny's autho∣rity, which I insert below† 1.4, may be decisive

in favour of it's being the oak. But were it not so, Virgil's description is so strongly marked with the characters of the oak, that it seems to put the matter out of dispute; and I introduce the quotation, merely to bring together, in few words, the most obvious qua∣lities of this noble plant, in one point of view.

The first characteristic, which Virgil men∣tions, is it's firmness; or the power and strength, with which it takes hold of the ground; driving it's tap-root, in the poet's language, even into the infernal regions. No tree resists the blast so steadily. We seldom see the oak, like other trees, take a twisted form from the winds. Media ipsa ingentem sustinet umbrum: that is, I apprehend, it pre∣serves it's balance; which we have seen is one of the grand picturesque beauties of every tree. The oak, no doubt, like other trees, shrinks from the sea-air. But this indicates no weak∣ness.

The sea-air, like a pestilential disease, attacks the strongest constitutions.

A second characteristic of the oak, of which Virgil takes notice, is the stoutness of it's limbs; it's fortes ramos. We know no tree, except perhaps the cedar of Lebanon, so remarkable in this respect. The limbs of most trees spring from the trunk. In the oak they may be rather said to divide from it; for they generally carry with them a great share of the substance of the stem. You hardly know, which is stem, and which is branch; and towards the top, the stem is entirely lost in the branches. This gives particular propriety to the epithet fortes in characterizing the branches of the oak; and hence it's sinewy elbows are of such peculiar use in ship-building. Whoever there∣fore does not mark the fortes ramos of the oak, might as well in painting a Hercules, omit his muscles. But I speak only of the hardy veterans of the forest. In the effeminate nurs∣lings of the grove we have not this appearance. There the tree is all stem, drawn up into height. When we characterize a tree, we consider it in it's natural state, insulated, and without any lateral pressure. In a forest, trees naturally grow in that manner. The seniors

depress all the juniors, that attempt to rise near them. But in a planted grove all grow up together; and none can exert any power over another.

The next characteristic of the oak taken notice of by the poet, is the twisting of it's branches: brachia tendit huc illuc. Examine the ash, the elm, the beech, or almost any other tree; and you may observe, in what direct, and strait lines, the branches in each shoot from the stem. Whereas the limbs of an oak are continually twisting huc illuc, in various contortions; and like the course of a river sport and play in every possible di∣rection; sometimes in long reaches, and sometimes in shorter elbows. There is not a characteristic more peculiar to the oak, than this.

Another peculiarity, of which Virgil takes notice in the oak, is it's expansive spread.

Media ipsa ingentem sustinet umbram.

By ingentem umbram, I do not suppose the poet means a thick, compact, close-woven foliage, like that of the beech, which the oak seldom exhibits. In general, except in very luxuriant soils, the foliage of the oak is light,

and thin. I should therefore suppose, that instead of a close-woven shade, the poet means an extended one; which indeed is implied in the expression, just before used, ramos late tendens. This indeed is a just characteristic of the oak; for it's boughs, however twisted, continually take a horizontal direction, and overshadow a large space of ground. Indeed, where it is fond of it's situation, and has room to spread, it extends itself beyond any other tree; and like a monarch takes possession of the soil.

The last Virgilian characteristic of the oak is it's longevity; which extends, I suppose, beyond that of any other tree.

Multa virûm volvens durando secula vincit.

Perhaps the yew may be an exception. I men∣tion the circumstance of it's longevity as it is of a nature singularly picturesque. It is through age, that the oak acquires it's greatest beauty; which often continues increasing even into de∣cay, if any proportion exists between the stem, and the branches. When the branches rot away, and the forlorn trunk is left alone, the tree is in his decrepitude—the last stage of life; and all beauty is gone.

Spenser has given us a good picture of an oak, just verging towards it's last state of decay.

— A huge oak, dry and dead, Sill clad with reliques of it's trophies old, Lifting to heaven it's aged, hoary head, Whose foot on earth hath got but feeble hold, And half disbowelled stands above the ground, With wreathed roots, and naked arms, And trunk all rotten, and unsound.

I have dwelt the longer on the oak, as it is confessedly both the most picturesque tree in itself; and the most accommodating in compo∣sition. It refuses no subject either in natural, or in artificial landscape. It is suited to the grandest; and may with propriety be intro∣duced into the most pastoral. It adds new dignity to the ruined tower, and Gothic arch: by stretching it's wild, moss-grown branches athwart their ivyed walls it gives them a kind of majesty coeval with itself: at the same time it's propriety is still preserved, if it throw it's arms over the purling brook, or the mantling pool, where it beholds

It's reverend image in the expanse below.

Milton introduces it happily even in the lowest scene.

Hard by a cottage chimney smokes From between two aged oaks.

After the oak, let us examine the ash. This tree in point of utility, is little inferior to the oak. It's uses are infinite. To the ashen spear the heroes of antiquity were in∣debted for half their prowess. In the arts of peace, as well as of war, in architecture, tillage, and manufactures, the ash objects to business of no kind: while even it's very refuse spars are accounted the best fuel in the forest* 1.5. The ashen billet produces a steady, bright, lambent flame; and as Mr. Evelin tells us, may be reckoned among the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, fuel with little smoke.

I have sometimes heard the oak called the Hercules of the forest; and the ash, the Venus. The comparison is not amiss: for the oak joins the idea of strength to beauty: while the ash rather joins the ideas of beauty, and elegance. Virgil marks the character of the ash, as particularly beautiful.

Fraxinus in sylvis pulcherrima—

The ash generally carries it's principal stem higher than the oak; and rises in an easy, flowing line. But it's chief beauty consists in the lightness of it's whole appearance. It's branches at first keep close to the trunk, and form acute angles with it: but as they begin to lengthen, they generally take an easy sweep; and the looseness of the leaves corresponding with the lightness of the spray, the whole forms an elegant depending foliage. Nothing can have a better effect, than an old ash, hanging from the corner of a wood, and bring∣ing off the heaviness of the other foliage, with it's loose pendent branches. And yet in some soils, I have seen the ash lose much of it's beauty in the decline of age. It's foliage becomes rare, and meagre; and it's branches, instead of hanging loosely, often start away in disagreeable forms. In short, the ash often loses that grandeur and beauty in old age, which the generality of trees, and particularly the oak, preserve, till a late period of their existence.

The ash also, on another account, falls under the displeasure of the picturesque eye. It's leaf is much tenderer, than that of the oak, and sooner receives impression from the

winds, and frost. Instead of contributing it's tint therefore in the wane of the year among the many-coloured offspring of the woods, it shrinks from the blast, drops it's leaf, and in each scene where it predominates, leaves wide blanks of desolated boughs, amidst foliage yet fresh, and verdant. Before it's decay, we sometimes see it's leaf tinged with a fine yellow, well contrasted with the neighbouring greens. But this is one of nature's casual beauties. Much oftener it's leaf decays in a dark, muddy, unpleasing tint. And yet sometimes, notwith∣standing this early loss of it's foliage, we see the ash, in a sheltered situation, when the rains have been abundant, and the season mild, retain it's green, (a light pleasant green) when the oak and the elm, in it's neighbourhood, have put on their autumnal attire.

Another disagreeable circumstance attends the ash, which is indeed it's misfortune, rather than it's fault. It's leaf and rind are nutritrive to deer; and much used in browzing them in summer. The keepers of the forest there∣fore seek out all the ash-trees they can find, which are for this purpose mangled, and de∣formed.

One thing more I should mention with regard to the ash, as it is of a picturesque nature, and that is the beauty of it's roots, which are often finely veined, and will take a good polish. Dr. Plot, in his natural history of Oxfordshire* 1.6, speaks of certain knotty ex∣crescences in the ash, called the brusca, and mollusca, which when cut, and polished, are very beautiful. He particularly mentions a dining table, made of the latter, which repre∣sents the exact figure of a fish.

With regard to these exact figures of animals, and other objects, which we meet with both in stone, and wood, I cannot say I should value them much as objects of beauty. They may be whimsical, and curious; but in my opinion, the roots, and veins of wood, and stone, are much more beautiful, when they are wreathed in different fantastic forms; than when they seem to aim at any exact figures. In the former case they leave the imagination at liberty to play among them; which is always a pleasing exercise to it: in the latter, they are at best awkward, and

unnatural likenesses; which often disgust the picturesque eye; and always please it less, than following it's own fancy, and picking out resemblances of it's own.

Another curiosity in the ash, which is likewise of the picturesque kind, is a sort of excrescence, which is sometimes found on a leading branch, called a wreathed fascia. The fasciated branch is twisted, and curled in a very beautiful form; which form it probably takes, as Dr. Plot supposes, from too quick an ascent of the sap † 1.7: or as other naturalists imagine, from the puncture of some insect in the tender twig, which diverts the sap from it's usual channel, and makes the branch monstrous. The wreathed fascia is sometimes found in other wood, in the willow parti∣cularly, and in the holly; but most com∣monly is an excrescence of the ash. I have a fasciated branch of ash, found in the woods of Beaulieu in new-forest, which is most elegantly twisted in the form of a crozier. I have seen a holly also twisted like a ram's

horn. We have this appearance sometimes in asparagus.

It is not uncommon for the seeds of trees, and particularly of the ash, to seize on some faulty part of a neighbouring trunk, and there strike root. Dr. Plot* 1.8 speaks of a piece of vegetable violence of this kind, which is rather extraordinary. An ash-key rooting itself on a decayed willow; and finding, as it increased, a deficiency of nourish∣ment in the mother plant, it began to insinuate it's fibres by degrees through the trunk of the willow into the earth. There receiving an additional recruit, it began to thrive, and expand itself to such a size, that it burst the willow in pieces, which fell away from it; and what was before the root of the ash, being now exposed to the air, became the solid trunk of a vigorous tree.

As a beautiful variety of the tree we are now examining, the mountain-ash, often called the roan tree, should be mentioned. It's name denotes the place of it's usual residence. Inured to cold, and rugged scenes, it is the

hardy inhabitant of the northern parts of this island. Sometimes it is found in softer climes: but there it generally discovers by it's stunted growth, that it does not occupy the situation it loves.

In ancient days, when superstition held that place in society, which dissipation, and impiety now hold, the mountain-ash was considered as an object of great veneration. Often at this day, a stump of it is found in some old burying place; or near the circle of a Druid temple, whose rites it formerly invested with it's sacred shade. It's chief merit now consists in being the ornament of landscape. In the Scotish highlands it becomes a considerable tree. There on some rocky mountain covered with dark pines, and waving birch, which cast a solemn gloom over the lake below, a few mountain-ashes joining in a clump, and mixing with them, have a fine effect. In summer, the light green tint of their foliage; and in autumn, the glowing berries, which hang clustering upon them, contrast beauti∣fully with the deeper green of the pines: and if they are happily blended; and not in too large a proportion, they add some of the most picturesque furniture, with which

the sides of those rugged mountains are in∣vested.

After the oak, and ash, we examine the elm. The oak and the ash have each a distinct character. The massy form of the one, di∣viding into abrupt, twisting, irregular limbs, yet compact in it's foliage; and the easy sweep of the other, the simplicity of it's branches, and the looseness of it's hanging leaves, cha∣racterize both these trees with so much pre∣cision, that at any distance, at which the eye can distinguish the form, it may also distin∣guish the difference. The elm has not so dis∣tinct a character. It partakes so much of the oak; that when it is rough, and old, it may easily, at a little distance, be mistaken for one: tho the oak, I mean such an oak as is strongly marked with it's peculiar cha∣racter, can never be mistaken for the elm. This is certainly a defect in the elm; for strong characters are a great source of pic∣turesque beauty.

This defect however appears chiefly in the skeleton of the elm. In full foliage, it's character is better marked. No tree is better

adapted to receive grand masses of light. In this respect it is superior, both to the oak, and the ash. Nor is it's foliage, shadowing as it is, of the heavy kind. It's leaves are small, and this gives it a natural lightness: it commonly hangs loosely; and is in general, very picturesque.

The elm naturally grows upright; and when it meets with a soil it loves, rises higher than the generality of trees; and after it has assumed the dignity, and hoary roughness of age, few of it's forest-brethren (tho, properly speaking, it is not a forester) excel it in gran∣deur, and beauty.

The elm is the first tree, that salutes the early spring with it's light, and cheerful green —a tint, which contrasts agreeably with the oak, whose early leaf has generally more of the olive-cast. We see them sometimes in fine harmony together, about the end of april, and the beginning of may. We often also see the elm planted with the Scotch fir. In the spring it's light green is very discordant with the gloomy hue of it's companion: but as the year advances, the elm-leaf takes a darker tint, and unites in harmony with the fir.—In autumn also the yellow leaf of

the elm mixes as kindly with the orange of the beech, the ocher of the oak, and many of the other fading hues of the wood.

A species of this tree, called the wich-elm, is perhaps generally more picturesque, than the common sort; as it hangs more negligently: tho, at the same time, with this negligence, it loses in a good degree, that happy surface for catching masses of light, which we admire in the common elm. We observe also, when we see this tree in company with the common elm, that it's bark is some∣what of a lighter hue. The wich-elm is a native of Scotland, where it is found not only in the plains, and vallies of the low∣lands; but is hardy enough to climb the steeps, and flourish in the remotest highlands: tho it does not attain, in those climates, the size, which it attains in England. Naturalists suppose the wich-elm to be the only species of this tree, which is indigenous to our island.

There is another variety also of this tree, called the weeping elm. Whether it's timber is less useful, or it is propagated with greater difficulty, I know not; but I have rarely met with it. The finest of this species I have seen, grow in St. John's walks at Cambridge. An

eye accustomed to the tree, will easily perceive that it's branches are more pensile, and it's leaves of smaller dimensions, than those of the common elm.

An old elm, which grew formerly in the grove at Magdalen college in Oxford, was by some accident disbarked entirely round. A malady of this kind is generally reckoned fatal to all the vegetable race. But this tree flourished after it, as well as any tree in the grove. The probable reasons of this uncom∣mon appearance are given us by the learned author of the natural history of Oxfordshire, in a long philosophical enquiry, which may be found in the 166th page of that work. I have heard also, but I know not on what authority, of another disbarked elm, growing, at this time, vigorously at Kensington.

The oak, the ash, and the elm, are com∣monly dignified, in our English woods, as a distinct class, by the title of timber-trees. But the picturesque eye scorns the narrow concep∣tions of a timber-merchant; and with equal complacency takes in the whole offspring of the wood: tho it must be owned, the three

species already characterized, are both the most useful, and the most picturesque. We esteem it fortunate, when the idea of picturesque beauty coincides with that of utility. The two ideas are often at variance. When they are so, we cannot help it; but must feel it with regret.

After timber trees, the beech deserves our notice. Some indeed rank the beech among timber-trees; but, I believe, in general it does not find that respect; as it's wood is of a soft, spungy nature; sappy, and alluring to the worm.

In point of picturesque beauty I am not inclined to rank the beech much higher, than in point of utility. It's skeleton, compared with that of the trees we have just examined, is very deficient. It's trunk, we allow, is often highly picturesque. It is studded with bold knobs and projections; and has sometimes a sort of irregular fluting about it, which is very characteristic. It has another peculiarity also, which is sometimes pleasing; that of a number of stems arising from the root. The bark too wears often a pleasant hue. It is naturally of a dingy olive; but it is always overspread, in patches, with a variety of

mosses, and lychens, which are commonly of a lighter tint, in the upper parts; and of a deep velvet-green towards the root. It's smoothness also contrasts agreeably with these rougher appendages. No bark tempts the lover so much to make it the depository of his mistress's name. It conveys a happy emblem:

—crescent illae; crescetis amores.

But having praised the trunk, we can praise no other part of the skeleton. The branches are fantastically wreathed, and disproportioned; twining awkwardly among each other; and running often into long unvaried lines, without any of that strength and firmness, which we admire in the oak; or of that easy simplicity which pleases in the ash: in short, we rarely see a beech well ramified. In full leaf it is equally unpleasing; it has the appearance of an overgrown bush. Virgil indeed was right in chusing the beech for it's shade. No tree forms so complete a roof. If you wish either for shade, or shelter, you will find it best

—patulae sub tegmine fagi.

This bushiness gives a great heaviness to the tree; which is always a deformity. What

lightness it has, disgusts. You will some∣times see a light branch issuing from a heavy mass: and tho such pendent branches are often beautiful in themselves; they are seldom in harmony with the tree. They distinguish however it's character, which will be seen best by comparing it with the elm. The elm forms a rounder; the beech a more pointed foliage. But the former is always in harmony with itself.

Sometimes however we see in beeches of happy composition, the foliage falling in large flocks, or layers elegantly determined; between which, the shadows have a very forcible effect, especially when the tree is strongly illumined. On the whole, however the massy, full-grown, luxuriant beech is rather a displeasing tree. It is made up of littlenesses seldom exhibiting those tufted cups, or hollow dark recesses, which dispart the several grand branches of the more beautiful kinds of trees.

Contrary to the general nature of trees, the beech is most pleasing in it's juvenile state; as it has not yet acquired that heaviness, which is it's most faulty distinction. A light, airy, young beech, with it's spiry branches, hang∣ing, as I have just described them, in easy

forms, is often beautiful. I have seen also the forest-beech, in a dry, hungry soil, preserve the lightness of youth, in the matu∣rity of age.

After all however, we mean not to repudiate even the heavy, luxuriant beech in picturesque composition. It has sometimes it's beauty, and oftener it's use. In distance it preserves the depth of the forest* 1.9; and even on the spot, in contrast, it is frequently a choice accompaniment. In the corner of a landscape, when we want a thick heavy tree, or part of one at least, which is often necessary, nothing answers our purpose like the beech.— But at present we are not considering the beech in composition; but only as an individual; and in this light it is in which we chiefly con∣ceive it as an object of disapprobation.

We should not conclude our remarks on the beech without mentioning it's autumnal hues. In this respect it is often beautiful. Sometimes it is dressed in modest brown; but generally in glowing orange: and in both

dresses it's harmony with the grove, is plea∣sing. About the end of september, when the leaf begins to change, it makes a happy contrast with the oak, whose foliage is yet verdant. Some of the finest oppositions of tint, which perhaps the forest can furnish, arise from the union of oak, and beech. We often see a wonderful effect from this combi∣nation. And yet accommodating as it's leaf is in landscape, on handling, it feels as if it were fabricated with metallic rigour. In it's autumnal state it almost crackles:

—Leni crepitabat bractea vento.

For this reason, I suppose, as it's rigour gives it an elastic quality, the common people in France, and Switzerland use it for their beds.

I have dwelt the longer on the beech, as notwithstanding my severity, it is a tree of picturesque fame; and I did not chuse to condemn, without giving my reasons. It has acquired it's reputation, I suppose, chiefly from it's having a peculiar character; and this, with all it's defects, it certainly has. I may add also, that if objects receive merit from their associated, as well as from their intrinsic qualities, the dry soil, and salubrious air, in

which the beech generally flourishes, give it a high degree of estimation.

Very nearly allied to the beech in a pic∣turesque light, is the horn-beam. It grows like it, when it is suffered to grow; but it is generally seen only in clipped hedges, where it is very obedient to the knife; and with a little care will never presume to appear out of form. It's wood is white, tough, and flexible.

The deciduous trees, which I have des∣cribed, hold certainly the first rank. I shall however touch on a few others, which tho neither so beautiful, nor so characteristic, are however worth the notice of the picturesque eye.

Among these the first place is due to two noble trees of the same kind, both naturalized in England—tho from different extremes of the globe—the occidental and the oriental plane.

The occidental plane is a native of America; but has long been known in England; where it attains a considerable growth; tho inferior,

no doubt, to what it attains in it's native soil. It's stem is very picturesque. It is smooth, and of a light ash-colour; and has the pro∣perty of throwing off it's bark in scales; thus naturally cleansing itself, at least it's larger boughs, from moss, and other parasitical incumbrances. This would be no recom∣mendation of it in a picturesque light, if the removal of these incumbrances did not sub∣stitute as great a beauty in their room. These scales are very irregular; falling off sometimes in one part; and sometimes in another: and as the under-bark is, immediately after it's exco∣riation, of a lighter hue than the upper, it offers to the pencil those smart touches, which have so much effect in painting. These flakes however would be more beautiful, if they fell off in a circular form, instead of a perpendi∣cular one. They would correspond, and unite better with the circular form of the bole.

No tree forms a more pleasing shade than the occidental plane. It is full-leafed, and it's leaf is large, smooth, of a fine texture, and seldom injured by insects. It's lower branches shooting horizontally, soon take a direction to the ground; and the spray seems more sedulous, than that of any tree we have, by twisting

about in various forms, to fill up every little vacuity with shade. At the same time, it must be owned, the twisting of it's branches is a disadvantage to this tree, as we have just observed it is to the beech, when it is stripped of it's leaves, and reduced to a skeleton.—It has not the natural appearance, which the spray of the oak, and that of many other trees discovers in winter. Nor indeed does it's foliage, from the largeness of the leaf, and the mode of it's growth, make the most picturesque appearance in summer.—One of the finest occidental planes I am acquainted with, stands in my own garden at Vicar's-hill; where it's boughs, feathering to the ground, form a canopy of above fifty feet in diameter.

The oriental plane is a tree nearly of the same kind; only it's leaf is more palmated, nor has it so great a disposition to overshadow the ground, as the occidental plane. At least I never saw any in our climate form so noble a shade; tho in the east, it is esteemed among the most shady, and most magnificent of trees. Lady Craven speaks of some she saw in the Turkish dominions of a size so gigantic, that

the largest trees we have in England placed near them, would appear, she says, only like broomsticks* 1.10.

This tree I believe sheds it's bark like the occidental plane; and the catkins of both are round, spicated balls, about the size of wal∣nuts; and fastened together often in pairs, like chain-shot. From this circumstance, the occidental plane is called in America, the button-tree. It flourishes there commonly by the sides of creeks, and rivers; and is of quick growth. The oriental plane, I believe, loves the same soil: at least both trees in England are fond of moist ground.

Kempfer tells us† 1.11, that at Jedo the capital of Japan, he found a species of this tree, the leaves of which were beautifully variegated, like the tricolor, with red, green, and yellow. An appearance of this kind is so contrary to nature's usual mode of colouring the leaves of forest-trees; that I should rather suspect, Kempfer saw it, either when the leaves were in the wane, or blasted, or in some other unnatural state.

I may add, with regard to the occidental plane; and indeed, I believe, with regard to both the trees of this species, that their sum∣mer leaf wears so light a hue, as to mix ill with the foliage of the oak, the elm, and other trees. I have seen them on the skirts of a plantation, forming, during the summer, a disagreeable spot. In autumn, their leaves receive a mellow tint, which harmonizes very well with the waning colour of the wood.

The poplar tribe shall be considered next. They are numerous, and some of them I have thought picturesque. They are at least stately trees: but their thin quivering foliage is neither adapted to catch masses of light, like that of the elm; nor has it the hanging lightness of the ash. It's chief use in landscape is to mix as a variety, in contrast with other trees.

Within these few years the Lombardy-poplar, which graces the banks of the Po, has been much introduced in English planta∣tations. It seems to like a British soil; and it's youth is promising: but I have never seen it in full maturity. It's conic form as

a deciduous tree, is peculiar. Among ever∣greens we find the same character in the cy∣press; and both trees in many situations have a good effect. The cypress often, among the ruins of ancient Rome, breaks the re∣gularity of a wall, or a pediment by it's conic form: and the poplar on the banks of the Po, no doubt has the same effect among it's deciduous brethren, by forming the apex of a clump: tho I have been told that, in it's age, it loses it's shape in some degree, and spreads more into a head. The oldest poplars of this kind I have seen, are at Blenheim. They are not old trees; but are very tall; and, I believe still preserve their spiry form.

One beauty the Italian poplar possesses, which is almost peculiar to itself; and that is the waving line it forms, when agitated by wind. Most trees in this circumstance are partially agitated. One side is at rest; while the other, is in motion. But the Italian poplar waves in one simple sweep from the top to the bottom, like an ostrich-feather on a lady's head. All the branches coin∣cide in the motion: and the least blast makes an impression upon it, when other

trees are at rest. I have mentioned, among the adventitious beauties of trees, their susceptibility of motion:* 1.12 but in painting I know not, that I should represent any kind of motion in a tree, except that of a violent storm. When the blast continues for some time; when the black heavens are in unison with it, and help to tell the story, an oak straining in the wind, is an object of picturesque beauty. But when the gentle breeze, pressing upon the quivering poplar, bends it only in easy motion, while a serene sky indicates the heavens to be at peace, there is nothing to act in concert with the motion of the tree: it seems to have taken it's form from the influence of a sea air, or some other malign impression; and exhibiting an unnatural ap∣pearance, disgusts.—One thing more I should mention with regard to the Italian poplar, which is, that altho it sometimes has a good effect, when standing single; it generally has a better, when two or three are planted in a clump.

The walnut is not an unpicturesque tree. The warm, russet hue of it's young foliage

makes a pleasing variety among the vivid green of other trees, about the end of may: and the same variety is maintained in summer, by the contrast of it's yellowish hue, when mixed in any quantity, with trees of a darker tint: but it opens it's leaves so late, and drops them so early, that it cannot long be in harmony with the grove. It stands best alone, and the early loss of it's foliage is of the less consequence, as it's ramification is generally beautiful.

The lime is an elegant tree, where it is suffered to grow at large: but we generally see it in strait bondage, clipped into shape, and forming the sides of avenues, and vistas. In it's best state however it is not very pic∣turesque. It has a uniformity of surface, without any of those breaks, and hollows, which the foliage of the most pictures∣que trees presents; and which is always beautiful.—One circumstance should recom∣mend the lime to all lovers of the imitative arts. No wood is so easily formed under the carver's chissel. It is the wood, which the ingenious Gibbon used, after making trial of

several kinds, as the most proper for that curious sculpture, which adorns some of the old houses of our nobility.

The maple is an uncommon tree, tho a common bush. It's wood is of little value; and it is therefore rarely suffered to increase. We seldom see it employed in any nobler ser∣vice, than in filling up it's part in a hedge, in company with thorns, and briars, and other ditch trumpery. Yet the ancients held it in great repute. Pliny * 1.13 speaks as highly of the knobs, and excrescences of this tree, called the brusca and mollusca, as Dr. Plot does of those of the ash† 1.14. The veins of these excrescences in the maple, Pliny tells us, were so variegated, that they exceeded the beauty of any other wood; even of the citron: tho the citron was in such repute at Rome, that Cicero, who was neither rich, nor expensive, was tempted to give ten

thousand sesterces for a citron table. The brusca and mollusca, Pliny adds, were rarely of size sufficient for the larger species of fur∣niture; but in all smaller cabinet work they were inestimable. But indeed the whole tree was esteemed by the ancients, on account of it's variegated wood. In Ovid we find it thus celebrated:

—acerque coloribus impar* 1.15.

How far at this day, it may be valued for cabinet work, I know not. I have, here and there, seen boxes, and other little things made of it, which I have thought very beautiful.

In the few instances I have met with of this tree in a state of maturity, it's form has appeared picturesque. It is not unlike the oak: only it is more bushy; and it's branches closer, and more compact. One of the largest maples I have seen, stands in the church-yard of Boldre, in the New-forest: but I have not met with specimens enough of this tree to form an opinion of it's general character.

The great maple, commonly called the sycamore, is a grander, and nobler tree, than the smaller maple; but it wants it's elegance: it is coarse in proportion to it's bulk. It forms however an impenetrable shade; and often receives well-contrasted masses of light. It's bark has not the furrowed roughness of the oak; but it has a species of roughness very picturesque. In itself, it is smooth: but it peels off in large flakes, like the planes, (to which in other respects, it bears a near alliance) leaving patches of different hues, seams, and cracks, which are often pic∣turesque.

The chesnut in maturity and perfection, is a noble tree; and grows not unlike the oak. It's ramification is more straggling; but it is easy, and it's foliage loose. This is the tree, which graces the landscapes of Salvator Rosa. In the mountains of Calabria, where Salvator painted, the chesnut flourished. There he studied it in all it's forms, breaking and dis∣posing it in a thousand beautiful shapes, as

the exigences of his composition required. I have heard indeed that it is naturally brittle, and liable to be shattered by winds; which might be one reason for Salvator's attachment to it.—But altho I have many times seen the chesnut in England, old enough to be in a fruit-bearing state; yet I have seldom seen it in a state of full picturesque maturity. The best I have seen, stand on the banks of the Tamer in Cornwall, at an old house, belong∣ing to the Edgecumbe family. I have heard also that at Beechworth-castle, in Surry, there are not fewer than seventy or eighty chesnuts, measuring from twelve to eighteen or twenty feet in girth, and some of them of very pic∣turesque form: but I saw them only at a distance. In Kent also the chesnut is fre∣quently found.

It is said indeed, that this tree was once very common in England, and that beams of it are often seen at this day, in churches, and old houses. In the belfry particularly of the church at Sutton, near Mitcham in Surry, I have seen beams, which are like oak; yet plainly appear to be of a different kind of timber; and are supposed to be chesnut. I have often heard also, that the timber of the

old houses of London was of the same kind. Whether the chesnut was ever indigenous to this country seems to be matter of much specu∣lation. As it's timber is said to be serviceable, and as it's fruit, tho rarely of perfect growth in this climate, might however be of some use; we are at a loss to conceive, if it had once gotten footing amongst us, how it should ever be, as it now is, almost totally extermi∣nated. Some have endeavoured to account for this, by shewing, that it is not so good a timber-tree, as is supposed; for it decays at the heart; and will continue decaying, till it become merely a shell, and for this reason it has been less sought after, and encouraged. How far this may be true I know not. I rather suspect it's truth. Some years ago Mr. Daines Barrington read a paper to the royal society, in which he endeavoured to prove, that the chesnut was not indigenous to this country. Dr. Ducarel answered him, and alleged from ancient records, and other evi∣denees, that chesnut formerly abounded in many woody scenes in England; and was certainly a native of this island. Among the ancient records, to which he appeals, one is dated in the time of Henry II. It is a deed

of gift from that prince, to Flexley abbey, of the tythe of all his chesnuts in the forest of Dean* 1.16.

The horse-chesnut is a heavy, disagreeable tree. It forms it's foliage generally in a round mass, with little appearance of those breaks, which we have so often admired; and which contribute to give an airiness and lightness, at least a richness, and variety to the whole mass of foliage. This tree is however chiefly admired for it's flower, which in itself is beau∣tiful: but the whole tree together in flower is a glaring object, totally unharmonious, and unpicturesque. In some situations indeed, and among a profusion of other wood, a single chesnut or two, in bloom, may be beautiful. As it forms an admirable shade, it may be of use too in thickening distant scenery; or in skreening an object at hand: for there is no species of foliage, however heavy, nor any species of bloom, however glaring, which may

not be brought, by some proper contrast, to produce a good effect.

The weeping willow is a very picturesque tree. It is a perfect contrast to what we have just observed of the Lombardy poplar. The light, airy spray of the poplar rises perpendi∣cularly. That of the weeping willow is pendent. The shape of it's leaf is conformable to the pensile character of the tree; and it's spray, which is still lighter than that of the poplar, is more easily put into motion by a breath of air. The weeping willow however is not adapted to sublime subjects. We wish it not to skreen the broken buttresses, and Gothic windows of an abbey, nor to over-shadow the battlements of a ruined castle. These offices it resigns to the oak; whose dignity can support them. The weeping willow seeks a humbler scene—some romantic foot-path bridge, which it half conceals—or some glassy pool, over which it hangs it's streaming foliage;

—and dip•• It's pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink.

In these situations it appears in character; and of course, to advantage.—I have heard indeed that the weeping willow is not naturally an aquatic plant; but it's being commonly be∣lieved to be so, is ground enough to establish it as such, in landscape at least, tho not in botany.

The weeping willow is the only one of it's tribe, that is beautiful. Botanists, I believe, enumerate sixteen species of the willow. But tho I have seen some of them attain a very remarkable size; yet in general they are trees of straggling ramification, and without any of that elegant streaming form, which we admire in the weep∣ing willow. I should rarely therefore advise their use in artificial landscape; except as pol∣lards to characterize a marshy country; or to mark in a second distance, the winding banks of a heavy, low-sunk river, which could not otherwise be noticed. Some willows indeed I have thought beautiful, and fit to appear in the decoration of any rural scene. The kind I have most admired, has a small narrow leaf, and wears a pleasant, light, sea green tint; which mixes agreeably with foliage of a deeper hue. I am not acquainted with the botanical

name of this species, but I believe the botanists call it the salix alba.

The withy, or salix fragilis, is the most inconsiderable of it's tribe. Like others of it's kindred, it will grow in any soil; tho it loves a moist one. It is of little value in landscape, and yet there is something beauti∣ful in it's silver-coated catkins; which open, as the year advances, into elegant hanging tufts; and when the tree is large, and in full bloom, make a beautiful variety among the early productions of the spring.

Nearly related to the willow tribe, tho in nature rather than in form, is the alder. They both love a low moist soil; and frequent the banks of rivers; tho it may be alledged in favour of both, that they will flourish in the poorest forest swamps, where nothing else will grow. The alder is however the more picturesque tree, both in it's ramification, and in it's foliage; perhaps indeed it is the most picturesque of any of the aquatic tribe, except the weeping willow. He who would see the

alder in perfection, must follow the banks of the Mole in Surry, through the sweet vales of Dorking, and Mickleham, into the groves of Esher. The Mole indeed is far from being a beautiful river: it is a silent and sluggish stream. But what beauty it has, it owes greatly to the alder; which every where fringes it's meadows, and in many places forms very pleasing scenes; especially in the vale between Box-hill, and the high grounds of Norbury-park.

Some of the largest alders we have in England, grow in the bishop of Durham's park at Bishop-Aukland. The generality of trees acquire picturesque beauty by age: but it is not often that they are suffered to attain this picturesque period. Some use is commonly found for them long before that time. The oak falls for the greater purposes of man; and the alder is ready to supply a variety of his smaller wants. An old tree therefore of any kind is a curiosity; and even an alder, such as those at Bishop-Aukland, when dignified by age, makes a respectable figure.

The birch may have several varieties, with which I am not acquainted. The most com∣mon species of it in England, are the black, and the white. The former is a native of Canada: the latter of Britain. Of the white birch there is a very beautiful variety, some∣times called the lady-birch, or the weeping-birch. It's spray being slenderer and longer, than the common sort, forms an elegant, pensile foliage, like the weeping willow; and like it, is put in motion by the least breath of air. When agitated, it is well adapted to characterize a storm; or to perform any office in landscape, which is expected from the weeping willow.

The stem of the birch is generally marked with brown, yellow, and silvery touches, which are peculiarly picturesque; as they are characteristic objects of imitation for the pencil; and as they contrast agreeably with the dark green hue of the foliage. But only the stem, and larger branches have this varied colouring: the spray is of a deep brown; which is the colour too of the larger branches, where the external rind is peeled off. As

the birch grows old, it's bark becomes rough and furrowed. It loses all it's varied tints, and assumes a uniform, ferruginous hue.

The bark of this tree has the property (perhaps peculiar to itself,) of being more firm, and durable than the wood it invests. Of this the peasants of Sweden, Lapland, and other northern countries, where birch grows in abundance, take the advantage; and shaping it like tiles, cover their houses with it.—How very durable it is, we have a remarkable instance in Monsieur Maupertuis's travels. When that philosopher traversed Lap∣land to measure a degree of latitude, he was obliged to pass through vast forests, consisting intirely of birch. The soil in some parts of these wastes being very shallow, or very loose, the trees had not a sufficient footing for their roots, and became an easy prey to winds. In these places Maupertuis found as many trees blown down, as standing. He examined several of them, and was surprized to see that in such as had lain long, the sub∣tance of the wood was intirely gone; but the bark remained a hollow trunk without any signs of decay.

Among elegant, pendent trees, the acacia should not be forgotten; tho the acacia, which we have in England, (called by the botanist, the robinia) is perhaps only a poor substitute of this plant in it's greatest per∣fection. And yet even ours, when we have it full grown, is often a very beautiful tree, whether it feathers to the ground, as it some∣times does; or whether it is adorned with a light foliage hanging from the stem. But it's beauty is very frail. It is of all trees the least able to endure the blast. In some sheltered spot, it may ornament a garden; but it is by no means, qualified to adorn a country. It's wood is of so brittle a texture, especially when it is encumbered with a weight of foliage; that you can never depend upon it's aid in filling up the part you wish. The branch you admire to-day, may be demolished to∣morrow. The misfortune is, the acacia is not one of those grand objects, like the oak, whose dignity is often increased by ruin. It depends on it's beauty, rather than on it's grandeur, which is a quality much more liable to injury.—I may add however in it's favour, that if it be easily injured, it repairs

the injury more quickly, than any other tree. Few trees make so rapid a growth.

In one of the memoirs published by the agricultural society at Paris, the virtues of this tree are highly extolled. It's shade en∣courages the growth of grass. It's roots are so tenacious of the soil and shoot up such groves of suckers, that when planted on the banks of rivers, it contributes exceedingly to fix them as barriers against the incursions of the stream. Acacia-stakes too are as durable as those of any wood. In North-America this tree is much valued; in proof of which the memorialist tells a story of a farmer in Long-island, who planted an ordinary field of fourteen acres with suckers of this plant, in the year of his marriage, as a portion for his children. His eldest son married at twenty-two. On this occasion the farmer cut about three hundred pounds worth of timber out of his acacia wood, which he gave his son to buy a settlement in Lancaster county. Three years after, he did as much for a daughter. And thus he provided for his whole family; the wood in the mean time repairing by suckers, all the losses it received.

I shall conclude my account of deciduous trees with the larch, which is a kind of con∣necting species between them, and the race of ever-greens. Tho it sheds it's leaf with the former; it bears a cone, is resinous, and ramifies like the latter. It claims the Alps, and Apennines for it's native country; where it thrives in higher regions of the air, than any tree of it's consequence is known to do; hanging over rocks, and precipices, which have never been visited by human feet. Often it is felled by the alpine peasant, and thrown athwart some yawning chasm, where it affords a tremendous passage from cliff to cliff; while the cataract roaring many fathoms below, is seen only in surges of rising vapour.

In ancient times the larch was employed in still more arduous service. When Hannibal laid the cliffs bare, and heaped up piles of timber to melt the rocks, (so Livy tells us) the larch was his fuel: it's unctuous sides soon spread the flame; and as the gloom of evening came on, the appendages of a nu∣merous host, elephants, and floating banners,

and gleaming arms formed terrific images through the night; while the lofty summits of the Alps were illumined far and wide.

Strabo speaks of alpine trees (which most probably were larches) of a very great size. Many of them, he says, would measure eight feet in diameter* 1.17. And at this day, masts of single larches measuring from one hundred and ten to one hundred and twenty feet in length, have been floated from Valais, through the lake of Geneva, and down the Rhone, to Toulon; tho I have heard they are in no great esteem among the contractors for the French dock-yards.

In the memoirs of the royal society of agriculture at Paris for the year 1787, there is an essay by M. le President de la Tour d'Aigues, on the culture of the larch; in which it is celebrated as one of the most useful of all timber-trees. He tells us, that in his own garden he has rails, which were put up in the year 1743, partly of oak, and partly of larch. The former, he says, have yielded to time: but the latter are still

sound. And in his castle of Tour d'Aigues, he has larchen beams of twenty inches square, which are sound, tho above two hundred years old. The finest trees he knows of this kind, grow in some parts of Dauphiny, and in the forest of Baye in Provence, where there are larches, he tells us, which two men cannot fathom.—I have often heard, that old, dry larch will take such a polish as to become almost transparent; and that, in this state it may be wrought into very beautiful wain∣scot.—In my encomium of the larch, I must not omit, that the old painters used it, more than any other wood, to paint on, before the use of canvas became general. Many of Raphael's pictures are painted on boards of larch.

The larch we have in England, compared with the larch of the Alps, is a diminutive plant. It is little more than the puny in∣habitant of a garden; or the embellishment of some trifling artificial scene. The cha∣racters of grand and noble seldom belong to it. It is however an elegant tree; tho, in our soil at least, too formal in it's growth. Among it's native steeps it's form, no doubt, is fully picturesque; when the storms

of many a century have shattered it's equal sides; and given contrast and variety to it's boughs.

From deciduous trees, we proceed to ever∣greens.—Of these the cedar of Lebanon claims our first notice. To it preeminence belongs; not only on account of it's own dignity; but on account of the respectable mention, which is every where made of it in scripture. Solomon spake of trees from the cedar of Lebanon, to the byssop that springeth out of the wall: that is, from the greatest to the least. —The eastern writers are indeed the prin∣cipal sources, from which we are to obtain the true character of the cedar; as it is an eastern tree. In the sacred writers particu∣larly we are presented with many noble images drawn from it's several qualities. It is ge∣nerally employed by the prophets to express strength, power, and longevity. The strength of the cedar is used as an emblem to express the power even of Jehovah. The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars of Lebanon. David characterizes the palm-tree, and the cedar together, both very strongly. The righteous

shall flourish like a palm-tree; and spread abroad like a cedar of Lebanon. The flourishing head of the palm, and the spreading abroad of the cedar, are equally characteristic.

But the prophet Ezekiel hath given us the fullest description of the cedar.

"Behold the Assyrian was a cedar in Lebanon, with fair branches; and with a shadowing shroud; and of an high stature; and his top was among the thick boughs. His boughs were multiplied, and his branches be∣came long. The fir trees were not like his boughs; nor the chesnut trees, like his branches, nor any tree in the garden of God like unto him in beauty."* 1.18

In this description two of the principal characteristics of the cedar are marked.

The first is the multiplicity, and length of his branches. Few trees divide so many fair branches from the main stem; or spread over so large a compass of ground. His boughs are multiplied, as Ezekiel says, and his branches became long; which David calls spreading abroad.

The second characteristic is, what Ezekiel, with great beauty, and aptness, calls his sha∣dowing shroud. No tree in the forest is more remarkable than the cedar, for it's close-woven, leafy canopy.

Ezekiel's cedar is marked as a tree of full, and perfect growth, from the circumstance of it's top, being among the thick boughs. Almost every young tree, and particularly every young cedar, has, what is called, a leading branch, or two, which continue spiring above the rest, till the tree has at∣tained it's full size: then the tree becomes in the language of the nursery-man, clump-headed; but, in the language of eastern sub∣limity, it's top is among the thick boughs; that is, no distinction of any spiry head, or leading branch, appears: the head and the branches are all mixed together. This is generally, in all trees, the state, in which they are most perfect, and most beautiful.

But tho Ezekiel hath given us this accurate description of the cedar; he hath left it's strength, which is it's chief characteristic, untouched. But the reason is evident. The cedar is here introduced as an emblem of Assyria; which tho vast, and wide-spreading,

and come to full maturity, was in fact, on the eve of destruction. Strength therefore was the last idea, which the prophet wished to suggest. Strength is a relative term, com∣pared with opposition. The Assyrian was strong compared with the powers on earth; but weak, compared with the arm of pro∣vidence, which brought him to destruction. So his type, the cedar, was stronger than any of the trees of the forest; but weak in comparison with the ax, which cut him off; and left him (as the prophet expresses the vastness of his ruin) spread upon the mountains, and in the vallies: while the nations shook at the sound of his fall.

Such is the grandeur, and form of the cedar of Lebanon. It's mantling foliage, or shadowing shroud, as Ezekiel calls it, is it's greatest beauty; which arises from the hori∣zontal growth of it's branches, forming a kind of sweeping, irregular penthouse. And when to the idea of beauty, that of strength is added by the piramidal form of the stem, and the robustness of the limbs, the tree is complete in all it's beauty, and majesty.

In these climates indeed we cannot expect to see the cedar in such perfection. The

forest of Lebanon is perhaps the only part of the world, where it's growth is perfect: yet we may in some degree conceive it's beauty and majesty, from the paltry resemblances of it at this distance from it's native soil. In it's youth, it is often with us a vigorous thriving plant; and if the leading branch is not bound to a pole, (as many people deform their cedars,) but left to take it's natural course, and guide the stem after it in some irregular waving line; it is often an object of great beauty. But in it's maturer age, the beauty of the English cedar is generally gone, it becomes shrivelled, deformed, and stunted; it's body increases; but it's limbs shrink, and wither. Thus it never gives us it's two leading qualities together. In it's youth we have some idea of it's beauty without it's strength; and in it's advanced age we have some idea of it's strength, without it's beauty: the imagination therefore, by joining together the two different periods of it's age in this climate, may form some conception of the grandeur of the cedar, in it's own climate, where it's strength and beauty are united. —The best specimen of this tree, I ever saw in England, was at Hillington, near

Uxbridge. The perpendicular height of it was fifty three feet; it's horizontal expanse ninety six; and it's girth fifteen and a half. When I saw it, in 1776, it was about one hundred and eighteen years of age; and being then completely clump-headed, it was a very noble, and picturesque tree.—In the high winds about the beginning of the year 1790, this noble cedar was blown down. It's stem, when cut, was five feet in diameter.

After the cedar, the stone-pine deserves our notice. It is not indigenous to our soil, but like the cedar, it is in some degree naturalized; tho in England it is rarely more than a puny, half-formed resemblance of the Italian pine. The soft clime of Italy alone gives birth to the true picturesque pine. There it always suggests ideas of broken por∣ticos, Ionic pillars, triumphal arches, frag∣ments of old temples, and a variety of classic ruins, which in Italian landscape it commonly adorns.

The stone pine promises little in it's in∣fancy in point of picturesque beauty. It does

not, like most of the fir-species, give an early indication of it's future form. In it's youth it is dwarfish, and round-headed, with a short stem, and has rather the shape of a full-grown bush, than of an increasing tree.—As it grows older, it does not soon deposit it's formal shape. It is long a bush; tho somewhat more irregular, and with a longer stem.—But as it attains maturity, it's pic∣turesque form increases fast. It's lengthening stem assumes commonly an easy sweep. It seldom indeed deviates much from a strait line: but that gentle deviation is very graceful; and above all other lines difficult to imitate. If accidentally either the stem, or any of the larger branches take a larger sweep, than usual, that sweep seldom fails to be graceful.—It is also among the beauties of the stone-pine, that as the lateral branches decay, they leave gene∣rally stumps, which standing out in various parts of the stem, break the continuity of it's lines.

The bark is smoother than that of any other tree of the pine-kind, except the Wey∣mouth; tho we do not esteem this among it's picturesque beauties. It's hue however, which is warm and reddish, has a good effect;

and it obtains a kind of roughness by peeling off in patches.

The foliage of the stone-pine is as beautiful as the stem. It's colour is a deep warm green; and it's form, instead of breaking into acute angles, like many of the pine-race, is moulded into a flowing line by an assemblage of small masses.

As age comes on, it's round clump-head becomes more flat, spreading itself into a canopy, which is a form equally becoming. And yet I doubt, whether any resinous tree ever attains that picturesque beauty in age, which we admire so much in the oak. The oak continues long vigorous in his branches, tho his trunk decays: but the resinous tree, I believe, decays more equally through all it's parts; and in age oftener presents the idea of vegetable decrepitude, than of the stout remains of a vigorous constitution. And yet, in many circumstances, even in this state it may be an object of picturesque notice.

Thus we see, in the form of the stone-pine, what beauty may result from a tree with a round head, and without lateral branches; which requires indeed a good example to prove. When we look at an ash, or an elm, from

which the lateral branches have been stripped, as is the practice in some countries, we are apt to think, that no tree, with a head placed on a long stem, can be beautiful; yet in nature's hands, which can mould so many forms of beauty, it may easily be effected.— Nature herself however does not always follow the rules of picturesque beauty in the produc∣tion of this kind of object. The cabbage-tree, I suppose, is as ugly, as the stone pine is picturesque.—The best specimen of the stone-pine I ever saw, grows in the botanical garden at Oxford.

The most beautiful succedaneum of the stone-pine, which these climates afford, is the pinaster. The sweep of it's stem is similar, it's broken lateral branches likewise, and it's clump-head. Both trees also are equally irregular in their growth: but the pinaster is perhaps more picturesque in the roughness of it's dark-grey bark. On no trees have I seen broader, and better varied masses of light, and shade: but the closeness of the pinaster's foliage makes it's head sometimes too heavy.

The cluster pine also is a beautiful tree, and approaches perhaps as near the stone-pine, as the pinaster does. But I scarce recollect ever to have seen it in a state of full maturity, and perfection. If we may judge however from a growth of thirty or forty years, (at which age I have often seen it) it shoots in so wild, and irregular a manner; so thick, rich, and bushy, that we may easily conceive how picturesque a plant it must be in a state of full perfection. It's cones too, which it bears in clusters, from whence it derives it's name, are a great ornament to it. In com∣position indeed such minutiae are of little value: but we are now considering trees as individuals.

The Weymouth-pine has very little pictu∣resque beauty to recommend it. It is admired for it's polished bark. The painter's eye pays little attention to so trivial a cir∣cumstance, even when the tree is considered as a single object. Nay it's polished bark rather depreciates it's value: for the picturesque eye dwells with more pleasure on rough sur∣faces,

than on smooth; it sees more richness in them, and more variety. But we object chiefly to the Weymouth-pine on account of the regularity of it's stem; and the meagreness of it's foliage. It's stem rises with perpen∣dicular exactness; it rarely varies: and it's branches issue with equal formality from it's sides. It's foliage too is thin, and wants both richness, and effect.—If I were speaking indeed of this tree in composition, I might add, that it may often appear to great advan∣tage in a plantation. Contrast, we know, produces beauty even from deformity itself. Opposed therefore to the wildness of other trees, the regularity of the Weymouth-pine may have it's beauty. It's formality may be concealed. A few of it's branches hang∣ing from a mass of heavier foliage, may appear light, and feathery; while it's spiry head may often form an agreeable apex to a clump.

Having thus considered the pine-race, we next take a view of a tribe nearly allied to them —that of firs. In what the distinction between these two tribes consists, (tho, I apprehend,

it consists in little more, than in that between genus, and species) the botanist will explain. I profess myself an observer only of outward characters. What we usually call the Scotch fir appears to me to approach nearer the pine in it's manner of growth, than it does any of it's nominal class. As this tree therefore seems to be of ambiguous nature, at least as to it's form, I shall place it here—that is imme∣diately after the pines, and before the firs; that it may with facility join one party, or the other, as the reader's botanical principles incline.

The Scotch fir, in perfection, I think a very picturesque tree, tho we have little idea of it's beauty. It is generally treated with great contempt. It is a hardy plant, and therefore put to every servile office. If you wish to skreen your house from the south west wind, plant Scotch firs; and plant them close, and thick. If you want to shelter a nursery of young trees, plant Scotch firs: and the phrase is, you may afterwards weed them out, as you please. This is ignominious. I wish not to rob society of these hardy ser∣vices from the Scotch fir: nor do I mean to set it in competition with many of the

trees of the forest, which in their infant state it is accustomed to shelter: all I mean is, to rescue it from the disgrace of being thought fit for nothing else; and to establish it's cha∣racter as a picturesque tree. For myself, I admire it's foliage; both the colour of the leaf, and it's mode of growth. It's ramifi∣cation too is irregular, and beautiful; and not unlike that of the stone pine; which it resembles also in the easy sweep of it's stem; and likewise in the colour of the bark, which is commonly, as it attains age, of a rich reddish brown. The Scotch fir indeed, in it's stripling state, is less an object of beauty. It's pointed, and spiry shoots, during the first years of it's growth, are formal: and yet I have sometimes seen a good contrast pro∣duced between it's spiry points, and the round-headed oaks, and elms in it's neigh∣bourhood. When I speak however of the Scotch fir as a beautiful individual, I conceive it, when it has out-grown all the impro∣prieties of it's youth—when it has compleated it's full age—and when, like Ezekiel's cedar, it has formed it's head among the thick branches. —I may be singular in my attachment to the Scotch fir: I know it has many enemies:

but my opinion will weigh only with the reasons I have given.

The great contempt indeed, in which the Scotch fir is commonly held, arises, I be∣lieve, from two causes.

People object first to it's colour. It's dark, murky hue is unpleasing.—With regard to colour in general, I think I speak the lan∣guage of painting, when I assert, that the picturesque eye makes little distinction in this matter. It has no attachment to one colour in preference to another: but considers the beauty of all colouring, as resulting not from the colours themselves, but almost intirely from their harmony with other colours in their neighbourhood. So that as the fir-tree is supported, combined, or stationed, it forms a beautiful umbrage, or a murky spot.

A second source of that contempt, in which the Scotch fir is commonly held, is our rarely seeing it in a picturesque state. Scotch firs are seldom planted as single trees, or in a jud••cious group: but generally in close, com∣pact bodies, in thick array, which suffocates, or cramps them; and if they ever get loose from this bondage, they are already ruined. Their lateral branches are gone, and their

stems are drawn into poles, on which their heads appear stuck as on a center. Whereas if the tree had grown in it's natural state, all mischief had been prevented. It's stem would have taken an easy sweep; and it's lateral branches, which naturally grow with as much beautiful irregularity as those of deciduous trees, would have hung loosely, and negligently; and the more so, as there is something peculiarly light, and feathery in it's foliage. I mean not to assert, that every Scotch fir, tho in a natural state, would pos∣sess these beauties: but it would at least, have the chance of other trees; and I have seen it, tho indeed but rarely, in such a state, as to equal in beauty the most elegant stone-pine.

All trees indeed, crouded together, naturally rise in perpendicular stems: but the fir has this peculiar disadvantage, that it's lateral branches, once injured, never shoot again. A grove of crouded saplins, elms, beeches, or almost of any deciduous trees, when thinned, will throw out new lateral branches; and in time recover a state of beauty: but if the education of the fir has been neglected, he is lost for ever.

Some of the most picturesque trees of this kind perhaps in England, adorn Mr. Lenthall's deserted, and ruinous mansion of Basilsleigh in Berkshire. The soil is a deep, but rich sand; which seems to be a soil adapted to them. And as they are here at perfect liberty, they not only become large, and noble trees; but they expand themselves likewise in all the careless forms of nature. No man therefore has a right to depreciate the Scotch fir, till he has seen it here, or in some other place, in a perfect state of nature.

The spruce fir is generally esteemed a more beautiful, and elegant tree, than the Scotch fir; and the reason, I suppose, is, because it often feathers to the ground, and grows in a more exact, and regular shape. But this is a principal objection to it. It often wants both form and variety. We admire it's floating foliage, in which it sometimes exceeds all other trees; but it is rather disagreeable to see a repetition of these feathery strata, beautiful as they are, reared, tier, above tier, in regular order, from the bottom of a tree to the top. It's perpendicular stem,

[figure]

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also, which has seldom any lineal variety, makes the appearance of the tree still more formal.

It is not always however that the spruce fir grows with so much regularity. Some∣times a lateral branch, here and there, taking the lead beyond the rest, breaks somewhat through the order, commonly observed, and forms a few chasms, which have a good effect. When this is the case, the spruce fir ranks among picturesque trees. Sometimes it has as good an effect, and in many cir∣cumstances a better, when the contrast appears still stronger—when the tree is shattered by some accident; has lost many of it's branches; and is scathed, and ragged. A feathery branch here and there, among broken stumps, has often an admirable effect; but it must arise from some particular situation. In all circumstances however the spruce fir appears best either as a single tree, or unmixed with any of it's fellows: for neither it, nor any of the spear-headed race, will ever form a beau∣tiful clump without the assistance of other trees.

The silver-fir has very little to boast in point of picturesque beauty. It has all the regularity of the spruce; but without it's floating foliage. There is a sort of harsh, stiff, unbending formality in the stem, the branches, and in the whole economy of the tree, which makes it disagreeable. We rarely see it, even in the happiest state, assume a picturesque shape. Assisted it may be in it's form, when broken and shattered; but it will rarely get rid of it's formality. In old age it stands the best chance of attaining beauty. We sometimes see it under that circumstance, a noble, shattered tree, finely adorned with ivy, and shooting out a few horizontal branches, on which it's meagre foliage, and tufted moss appear to advantage.—I may add, that the silver fir is perhaps the hardiest of it's tribe. It will out-face the south-west wind: it will bear without shrinking even the sea-air: so that one advantage at least attends a plantation of silver firs; you may have it, where you can have no other; and a plantation of silver firs may be better than no plantation at all.

I know of no other species of fir in England, that is worth mentioning. The hemlock-spruce is a beautiful loose plant, but it never, I believe, attains any size; and the Newfoundland, or black spruce, is another dwarfish tree. In that character however it is often beautiful; and it's small red cones are an ornament to it.—In the vast pine-forests of North-America; and in those, which hang beetling over the cliffs of the Baltic, the picturesque eye might pro∣bably see many a grand production of the fir kind, which is hitherto little known: or if known, would appear there in so improved a character, as to seem wholly new. In the northern parts of Asia also, and in the southern parts of Africa, I doubt not, but the fir may be found in great variety, and perfection. In Philip's voyage to Botany-bay we are told of pines in Norfolk-island one hundred and eighty feet high, as I recollect: but I have not the book by me. Strabo indeed tells us, that the fir is wholly a European plant—that it is never to be met with in any part of Asia—and that it may even be considered, in all those places, where Europe and Asia border on each other, as a distinguishing mark of European ground.

On the Asiatic side of the Tanais, he tells us, it is never found; tho on the European side it is so common that the Scythians, who inhabit those parts, use it always in making arrows. He treats Eratosthenes with some contempt, for asserting, that when Alexander was in India, he used fir in constructing his navy* 1.19. Strabo's accuracy is generally much respected: but, in this instance his obser∣vations seem to have been confined. There is little doubt, I think, that the fir abounded in many parts of Asia: it was probably as much a native of mount Lebanon, as the cedar itself† 1.20.

After the pine, and fir tribes, the yew deserves our notice. The yew is a pure native of Britain, and was formerly what the oak is now, the basis of our strength. Of it the old English yeoman made his long-bow; which, he vaunted, nobody but an English∣man,

could bend. In shooting he did not, as in other nations, keep his left hand steady, and draw his bow with his right: but keeping his right at rest upon the nerve, he pressed the whole weight of his body into the horns of his bow. Hence probably arose the English phrase of bending a bow; and the French of drawing one.

Nor is the yew celebrated only for it's toughness, and elasticity; but also for it's durable nature. Where your paling is most exposed either to winds, or springs; strengthen it with a post of old yew. That hardy veteran fears neither storms above, nor damps below. It is a common saying amongst the inhabitants of New-forest, that a post of yew will out∣last a post of iron.

Thus much for the utility, and dignity of the yew. As to it's picturesque perfections, I profess myself (contrary I suppose to general opinion) a great admirer of it's form, and foliage. The yew is of all other trees, the most tonsile. Hence all the indignities it suffers. We every where see it cut and metamorphosed into such a variety of defor∣mities, that we are hardly brought to conceive, it has a natural shape; or the power, which

other trees have, of hanging carelessly, and negligently. Yet it has this power in a very eminent degree; and in a state of nature, except in exposed situations, is perhaps one of the most beautiful ever-greens we have. Indeed, I know not, whether all things con∣sidered, it is not superior to the cedar of Lebanon itself—I mean to such meagre repre∣sentations of that noble plant, as we have in England. The same soil, which cramps the cedar, is congenial to the yew.

It is but seldom however, that we see the yew in perfection. In New-forest it formerly abounded: but it is now much scarcer. It does not rank among timber-trees; and being thus in a degree unprivileged, and unpro∣tected by forest-laws, it has often been made booty of by those, who durst not lay violent hands on the oak, or the ash. But still in many parts of the forest, some noble specimens of this tree are left. One I have often visited, which is a tree of peculiar beauty. It imme∣diately divides into several massy limbs, each of which hanging in grand loose foliage, spreads over a large compass of ground, and yet the whole tree forms a close, compact body: that is, it's boughs are not so separated,

as to break into distinct parts. It cannot boast the size of the yew-tree at Fotheringal, near Taymouth in Scotland, which measures fifty-six feet, and an half in circumference; nor indeed the size of many others on record: but it has sufficient size for all the purposes of landscape, and in point of picturesque beauty it probably equals any of them. It stands not far from the banks of Lymington river, on the left bank as you look towards the sea, between Roydon-farm, and Boldre-church. It occupies a small knoll, surrounded with other trees; some of which are yews; but of inferior beauty. A little stream washes the base of the knoll; and winding round forms it into a peninsula. If any one should have curiosity to visit it from this description, and by the help of these land-marks, I doubt not, but he may find it, at any time, within the space of these two or three centuries, in great perfection, if it suffer no external injury. If such trees were common, they would recover the character of the yew-tree among the admi∣rers of picturesque beauty.

But tho we should be able to establish it's beauty with respect to form, and foliage; there remains one point still, which we should

find it hard to combat. It's colour unfortu∣nately gives offence. It's dingy, funerial hue, people say, makes it fit only for a church∣yard.

This objection, I hope, I have already answered in defending the colour of the Scotch fir* 1.21. An attachment to colour, as such, seems to me, an indication of false taste. Hence arise the numerous absurdities of gaudy decoration. In the same manner, a dislike to any particular colour shews a squeamishness, which should as little be encouraged. Indeed, when you have only one colour to deal with, as in painting the wainscot of your room, the eye properly enough gives a preference to some soft, plea∣sant tint, in opposition to a glaring, bold one: but when colours act in concert, (as is the case in all scenery,) red, blue, yellow, light green, or dingy green, are all alike. The virtue of each consists solely in it's agreement with it's neighbours.

I have only to add, in commendation of this tree, that it's veins exceed in beauty those of most other trees. Tables made of

yew, when the grain is fine, are much su∣perior to mahogany; and it's root vies in beauty with the ancient citron.

The ilex, or ever-green oak, presents a character very different from that of the yew. The yew is a close bodied, compact tree. The ilex is generally thin, and straggling; tho we sometimes see it, in soils, which it likes, form a thicker foliage. Both the yew and the ilex are beautiful; but in different ways. As an individual, the yew is greatly superior. It is an object to admire. The beauty of the ilex arises chiefly from situation, and contrast.

Under this head may be classed another oak, nearly an ever-green, a late production of singular origin, called the Luccam-oak, from the person, who raised it. It was produced from an acorn of the common Turkey-oak; from which all the Luccam-oaks have been grafted; as I understand, the seed of acci∣dental varieties never produce the same plant. I have heard much of the beauty of this tree; and of the acquisition it will be to winter-scenery by the introduction of a new,

and beautiful ever-green. It may be so. It's growth, I am told, is rapid. But from the few plants I have seen of this stock, and those but young, no judgment can well be formed.

The holly can hardly be called a tree, tho it is a large shrub. It is a plant however of singular beauty. Mr. Evelin, in his Sylva, cries out with rapture; "Is there under heaven a more glorious, and refreshing ob∣ject of the kind, than an impenetrable hedge, of about four hundred feet in length, nine feet high, and five in diameter, which I can shew in my gardens at Say's-court, at any time of the year, glittering with it's armed and varnished leaves; the taller standards at orderly distances, blushing with their natural coral—shorn and fashioned into columns, and pilasters, architectionally shaped, at due dis∣tance."

Tho we cannot accord with the learned naturalist in the whole of this rapturous en∣comium on the hedge at Say's-court; yet in part we agree with him; and admire, as much as he does, the holly, glittering

with it's armed and varnished leaves; and blushing with it's natural coral. But we could wish to recommend it, not in a hedge, but in a forest; where, mixed with oak, or ash, or other trees of the wood, it contributes to form the most beautiful scenes; blending itself with the trunks, and skeletons of the winter; or with the varied greens of summer. —But in it's combined state we shall have occasion hereafter to mention it. At present we shall only observe that, as far as an in∣dividual bush can be beautiful, the holly is extremely so. It has besides to recommend it, that it is among the hardiest and stoutest plants of English growth. It thrives in all soils, and in all situations. At Dungeness in Kent, I have heard, it flourishes even among the pebbles of the beach.

The haw-thorn should not entirely be passed over amidst the minuter plants of the forest, tho it has little claim to picturesque beauty. In song indeed the shepherd may with propriety

—tell his tale Under the haw-thorn in the dale:

But when the scenes of nature are presented to the eye, it is but a poor appendage.— It's shape is bad. It does not taper, and point, like the holly, but is rather a matted, round, heavy bush. It's fragrance indeed is great: but it's bloom, which is the source of that fragrance, is spread over it in too much profusion. It becomes a mere white sheet— a bright spot, which is seldom found in har∣mony with the objects around it. In autumn the haw-thorn makes it's best appearance. It's glowing berries produce a rich tint, which often adds great beauty to the corner of a wood, or the side of some crouded clump.

SECT. V.

WE have thus endeavoured to mark the principal characteristics of picturesque beauty, in the most common trees we have in England. But to have a more accurate idea of their nice peculiarities, and distinctions, we should examine their smaller parts with a little more precision—their ramification in winter; as well as the mass of foliage, which they exhibit in summer.

Their ramification, in part, we have already considered; but it has only been that of the larger boughs, which support the foliage; and such as we commonly see under the masses of it, when in full leaf. Winter dis∣covers the nicer parts of the ramification— the little tender spray; on which the hang∣ing of the foliage, and the peculiar character of the tree so much depend.

The study is certainly useful. It is true it has none of the larger parts of painting for it's object—composition—or the massing of light and shade: but we consider the spray as a kind of sylvan anatomy; which is very necessary for those to understand, who wish either to be acquainted with the par∣ticular character of each tree; or to repre∣sent it's general effect with any degree of ex∣actness.

Nor is it an unpleasing study. There is much variety in the ramification of each species; and much also in that of each indi∣vidual. We see every where so many elegant lines; so much opposition, and rich in∣tersection among them, that there are few more beautiful objects in nature, than the ramification of a tree. For myself, I am in doubt, whether an old, rough, interwoven oak, merely as a single object, has not as much beauty in winter, as in summer. In summer it has unquestionably more effect; but in point of simple beauty, and amuse∣ment, I think I should almost prefer it in winter.

If a man were disposed to moralize, the ramification of a thriving tree affords a good theme. Nothing gives a happier idea of busy life. Industry, and activity, pervade every part. Wherever an opening, how minute soever appears, there some little knot of busy adventurers push in, and form a settle∣ment: so that the whole is every where full and complete. There too, as is common in all communities, are many little elbowings, justlings, thwartings, and oppositions, in which some gain and others lose* 1.22.

In examining the spray of trees, I shall confine myself to the oak, the ash, the elm, and the beech. It would be endless to run through the whole forest. Nor is it neces∣sary.

The examination of these few principal trees will shew how consequential a part, the spray is, in fixing the character of the tree. There is as much difference in the spray, as there is in the foliage, or in any other par∣ticular. At the same time, if a painter be accurate, in a certain degree, in his delineation of some of the more capital trees; in others, his accuracy is of little consequence: nay an endeavour at precision would be stiff, and pedantic.

In the spray of the four species of trees just mentioned, and I doubt not, in that of all other trees, nature seems to observe one simple principle; which is, that the mode of growth in the spray, corresponds exactly with that of the larger branches, of which indeed the spray is the origin. Thus the oak divides his boughs from the stem more hori∣zontally, than most other deciduous trees. The spray makes exactly in miniature the same appearance. It breaks out in right an∣gles, or in angles that are nearly so; forming it's shoots commonly in short lines; the second year's shoot usually taking some direc∣tion contrary to that of the first. Thus the rudiments are laid of that abrupt mode of ramification, for which the oak is so remark∣able. When two shoots spring from the same knot, they are commonly of unequal length; and one with large strides generally takes the lead. Very often also three shoots, and sometimes four, spring from the same knot. Hence the spray of this tree becomes thick, close, and interwoven; so that, at a little distance, it has a full, rich appearance, and

[figure]

[figure]

Spray of the Oak

Ramification of the Oak

[figure]

[figure]

Spray of the Ash.

Ramification of the Ash.

more of the picturesque roughness, than we observe in the spray of any other tree. The spray of the oak generally springs from the upper, or the lateral parts of the bough: and it is this, which gives it's branches that horizontal appearance, which they generally assume.

The spray of the ash is very different. As the boughs of the ash are less complex, so is it's spray. Instead of the thick, intermingled bushiness, which the spray of the oak exhibits; that of the ash is much more simple, running in a kind of irregular parallels. The main stem holds it's course, forming at the same time a beautiful sweep: but the spray does not divide like that of the oak, from the extremity of the last year's shoot; but springs from the sides of it. Two shoots spring out, opposite to each other; and each pair in a con∣trary direction. Rarely however both the shoots of either side come to maturity; one of them is commonly lost, as the tree increases; or at least makes no appearance in comparison with the other, which takes the lead. So that, notwithstanding this natural regularity

of growth, (so injurious to the beauty of the spruce fir, and some other trees,) the ash never contracts the least disgusting formality from it. It may even receive great pictu∣resque beauty: for sometimes the whole branch is lost, as far as one of the lateral shoots, and this occasions a kind of rectangular junction, which forms a beautiful contrast with the other spray, and gives an elegant mode of hanging to the tree.

This points out another difference between the spray of the oak, and that of the ash. The spray of the oak, we observed, seldom shoots from the undersides of the larger branches: and it is this, together with the strength and firmness of the branches which keeps them in a horizontal form. But the spray of the ash, as often breaks out on the underside of the branch, as on the upper; and being of a texture weaker, than that of the oak, it generally, as the bough increases, depends below the larger branch; and rising again forms, in full grown trees especially, very elegant pendent boughs.

The branch of the elm hath neither the strength, nor the various abrupt twistings of

[figure]

[figure]

Spray of the Elm.

Spray of the Beech.

Ramification of the Beech.

the oak; nor doth it shoot so much in hori∣zontal directions. Such also is the spray. It has a more regular appearance; not starting off at right angles; but forming it's shoots more acutely with the parent branch.

Neither does the spray of the elm shoot, like that of the ash, in regular pairs, from the same knot; but in a kind of alternacy. It has generally, at first, a flat appearance: but as one year's shoot is added to another, it has not strength to support itself; and as the tree grows old, it often becomes pendent also, like the ash: whereas the toughness, and strength of the oak enables it to stretch out it's branches horizontally to the very last twig.

The spray of the beech observes the same kind of alternacy, as that of the elm: but it shoots in angles still more acute—the distance between each twig is wider; and it forms a kind of zigzag in it's course.

We esteem the beech also, in some degree, a pendent tree, as well as the ash: but there is a wide difference between them. The ash is a light airy tree, and it's spray hangs in

elegant, loose foliage. But the hanging spray of the beech, in old trees especially, is often twisted, and intermingled disagreeably; and has a perplexed, matted appearance. The whole tree gives us something of the idea of an intangled head of bushy hair, from which, here and there, hangs a disorderly lock; while the spray of the ash, like hair neither neglected, nor finically nice, has no∣thing squalid in it, and yet hangs in loose and easy curls.

The spray of trees puts on different ap∣pearances, as the spring advances. When their buds begin to swell, most of them push out a bloom, which overspreads them with great richness. But of all others, the ash presents the most singular, and beautiful as∣pect. About the end of march, or the be∣ginning of april, it throws out a knotty bloom, which opening gradually, not only inriches the spray; but is in itself one of the most beautiful among the minuter appearances of nature. The feminal stems are of an olive tint, and each of them tipped with a black seed.—Often too the spray of the ash, is

inriched by the ragged remnants of the keys, and tongues of the last year; which mixed with the bloom, has a good effect.

The elm too throws out a beautiful bloom, in form of a spicated ball, about the higness of a nutmeg, of a dark crimson colour. This bloom sometimes blows in such profusion, as to thicken and inrich the spray exceedingly; even to the fullness almost of foliage. It is not however often seen in such perfection. In the spring of the year 1776, it was more than commonly profuse. Indeed the bloom of forest-trees in general is rarely annual: it appears in profusion only every second, or third year; and even then, seldom all the trees of the same kind bloom at once. Thus, when you look into a grove of oaks, about the beginning of may, you will suppose per∣haps, that some are much forwarder in leaf than others; whereas in fact this appearance chiefly arises from their being in bloom; their little pensile catkins hanging in knots, adorned with tufts of young leaves.

Having thus made a few observations on the forms of trees, their different modes of

growth, and other peculiarities; I should add, that I am far from supposing, nature to act always in exact conformity to the appear∣ances, which I have here marked. In the general mode of growth, which each species observes, no doubt, she is uniform: but in the particular manner, in which the stem rises, the branches shoot, the foliage hangs, and indeed, if I may so speak, in the specific character of each individual, many circum∣stances will make a difference; soils and climate especially. These have the same effect on the form of trees, which they have on the form of animals. We not only see distant parts of the earth, but even contiguous countries exhibit varieties in the same species of animals: the English and Scotch horse are very different creatures: and as climates and soils are still more connected with trees, than with animals, we may observe a greater difference produced in them, within a smaller distance. The oak of one country differs in form from the oak of another. In one, it carries commonly an erect stem for many yards from the ground: in another, it's branches begin very quickly to divide, and straggle. In the former situation the foliage

may be thick, and interwoven; in the latter, it may be thin, and meagre: but in both situations you may easily distinguish it from the oak, or the beech. The observations therefore, which we have made on the form of trees, cannot in many minute circum∣stances be supposed to suit the individuals of every country; tho I have endeavoured, as well as I could, to adapt them to the species. They were chiefly made on the trees of New-forest in Hampshire; the soil of which, in general, is a hungry gravel, or a cold clay.

SECT. VI.

I SHOULD now dismiss the subject of trees as individuals, and hasten to consider them in a combined state, in which they will appear to most advantage: but as many trees, as well as men, have distinguished themselves in the world; it seemed proper to dedicate a few pages to the particular mention of such celebrated characters, before I conclude that part of my treatise, which is professedly written to do honour to single trees.

But first, it cannot be enough lamented by the lovers of landscape, that we meet with so few of these noble characters. Trees indeed, sufficient for all the purposes of dis∣tant scenery, we often find; but a tree in full perfection, as a grand object to grace

a foreground, is rarely seen. Wherever trees can be turned to profit, they are commonly cut down, long before they attain picturesque perfection. The beauty of almost every species of tree increases after it's prime; and unless it have the good fortune to stand in some place of difficult access; or under the pro∣tection of some patron, whose mansion it adorns, we rarely see it in that gran∣deur and dignity, which it would acquire by age.

Some of the noblest oaks in England were at least formerly found in Sussex. They re∣quired sometimes a score of oxen to draw them; and were carried in a sort of wain, which in that deep country, is expressively called a tugg. Two or three years was not an uncommon space of time for a tree to spend in performing it's journey to Chatham. One tugg carried the load but a little way, and left it for another tugg to take up. If the rains set in, it stirred no more that year; and sometimes no part of the next summer was dry enough for the tugg to proceed. So that the timber was generally

pretty well seasoned, before it arrived at the king's yard. I suppose the same mode of carriage still continues.

In this fallen state alone, it is true, the tree becomes the basis of England's glory. Tho we regret it's fall therefore, we must not repine; but address the children of the wood, as the gallant oak, on his removal from the forest, is said to have addressed the scion by his side.

Where thy great grandsire spread his awful shade, A holy druid mystic circles made. Myself a sapling, when thy grandsire bore Intrepid Edward to the Gallic shore. Me now my country calls: Adieu, my son, And as the circling years in order run, May'st thou renown'd, the forest's boast, and pride, Victorious in some future contest ride.

Nobody, that I know, has more patheti∣cally lamented the fall of trees, than the elegant Vanier. Whoever has a taste for the subject, will be gratified by the following quotation.

—Neque enim villis accedere major Possit honos, densâ quam nubilus arbore lucus. Sylvarum studiosa, suos cum Gallia quondam Vix aleret cives, patriâ migrare relictâ,

Atque peregrinos alio deferre penates Maluit, excisis victum quam quaerere sylvis. Haec ubi jam nemorum reverentia tanta, bipennea Ut teneat? nostros ubi grandior ulla per agros Quercus ad annosam, ferri secura, senectam Durat? inaccessis nisi consita montibus, ipso Se defensa loco tucatur: si qua supersunt A patribus nemora ad seros transmissa nepotes, Illa nec aestivo frondent impervia soli, Nobile nec coelo caput abdunt, qualia quondam Vulgus adorabat truncis procera verendis. Sed veteri de stirpe, novo surgentia ramo, Et quatuor post lustra nigros visura camino, Vix lepori hospitium praebent, sylvestribus olim Quae timidas latebris damas ursosque tegebant. Ecquis honos ruris, nemorum si gratia defit; Obsessusque domi maneas, cum Sirius ardens Debacchatur agris; viridique sub ilicis umbrâ Irriguo possis nec tradere fessa sopori Membra, nec aestivos ramorum frigore soles Frangere, nec taciti per amica silentia luci, Multisonos avium concentus inter, ad aptos Sponti suâ veniens numeros, contexere carmen* 1.23.

As it is thus a general complaint that noble trees are rarely to be found, we must seek them where we can; and consider them when found, as matters of curiosity; and pay them a due respect.

And yet I should suppose they are not so frequently found in a state of nature, as in more cultivated countries. In the forests of America, and other scenes, where boundless woods have filled the plains from the begin∣ning of time, and where they grow so close, and cover the ground with so impervious a shade, that even a weed can scarce rise beneath them, the single tree is lost. Unless it stand on the outskirts of the wood, it is circum∣scribed; and has not room to expand it's vast limbs, as nature directs. When we wish therefore to find the most sublime sylvan character—the oak, the elm, or the ash in perfection, we must not look for it in close, thick woods, but standing single, independent of all connections, as we sometimes find it in our own forests, tho oftener in better pro∣tected places, shooting it's head wildly into the clouds, and spreading it's arms towards every wind of heaven.

— The oak Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm. He seems indignant; and to feel The impression of the blast with proud disdain: But, deeply earthed, the unconscious monarch owes His firm stability to what he scorns; More fixed below, the more disturbed above.

If I chose to lengthen my catalogue of celebrated trees, I might produce an innu∣merable host of such as have been mentioned casually by historians, and travellers, in all ages: as the plane-tree hanging over the temple of Delphos, which Theophrastus sup∣poses was as ancient as the times of Agamemnon —that also by which Socrates used to swear— the olive tree at Linturnum, planted by Scipio Africanus—the tilia of Basil, under which the German emperors used to dine—the malus medica at the monastery of Fundi reverenced by Thomas Aquinas—the oak at Bruges, which Francis the first immured—the lime-tree in Sweden, which gave name to the family of the celebrated Linnaeus—trees which captain Cook found in the Western parts of California, measuring sixty feet in circumference, and rising to the height of one hundred and fifty feet without a single knot—solid trees, which have been scooped into canoes, capable of holding thirty or forty men; particularly one, on record, at Congo, which held two hun∣dred. I might add also Arthur's table, in the town-hall of Winchester, which has been

cut out of a tree of immense girth. The Cheltenham-oak also might be introduced, which as near it's roots as you can walk, exceeds twenty paces round—the Cawthorpe oak also, which at the ground exceeded twenty-six yards—the Bently-oak in Holt-forest, which at seven feet from the ground, was thirty-four feet in circumference—the Swilter-oak in Needwood-forest, which, I believe was equal to any of them* 1.24. With an innumerable list of this kind I might swell my page: but I reject all such trees, as have either been only casually mentioned—or have had their value merely ascertained by a timber-merchant's rule —And yet all these have been trees famous in their day; some of them are still alive; and if I were writing a biographical history of trees, I should be glad to insert them, having a reverence for them all. Where one tree attains this noble growth; and makes itself conspi∣cuous, thousands, and ten thousands reach only the ordinary size of nature. The few pages however at present on my hands, I

should wish to allot to such trees only, as have somewhat more of history, and anecdote an∣nexed to them.

One of the most celebrated trees on ancient record, was an oriental plane, which grew in Phrygia. It's dimensions are not handed down to us; but from the following circumstances, we may suppose them to have been very ample. When Xerxes set out on his Grecian expedi∣tion, his rout led him near this noble tree. Xerxes, it seems, was a great admirer of trees. Amidst all his devastations in an enemy's coun∣try, it was his particular order to spare the groves. This wonderful plane therefore struck his fancy. He had seen nothing like it before; and to the astonishment of all his officers, ordered his mighty host to halt three days; during which time he could not be drawn from the Phrygian plane. His pavilion was spread under it; and he enjoyed the luxury of it's delicious shade; while the Greeks were taking measures to seize the pass at Thermopyle.— The story may not speak much in favour of the

prince; but it is my business only to pay honour to the tree* 1.25.

In Arcadia, at the foot of the mountains, bounding the Stymphalian plains (famous for one of the labours of Hercules) stood the little town of Caphiae; and just above it rose a fountain, called the Menalaid fountain; by the side of which Pausanias tells us† 1.26, grew a plane-tree of extraordinary size and beauty, called the Menalaid-plane. It was generally believed in the country, he tells us, that Menelaus coming to Caphiae to raise forces for the Trojan war, planted this tree with his own hands. Pausanias travelled through Greece in the reign of Antoninus Pius, who succeeded to the empire, A. D. 151. So that the age of the tree, when Pausanias saw it, must have been about one thousand, three hundred years.

I shall next exhibit another plane-tree of great celebrity, which flourished in Lycia,

during the reigns of the Roman Caesars. From a vast stem it divided into several huge boughs; every one of which had the conse∣quence of a large tree; and at a distance the whole together exhibited the appearance of a grove. It's branches still flourished, while it's trunk decayed. This in process of time moul∣dered away into an immense cave, at least eighty feet in circumference; around the sides of which were placed seats of pumice stone; cushioned softly with moss. This tree was first brought into repute by Licinius Mutianus, governor of Lycia. Licinius was a curious man; and not unversed in natural history. Pliny, from whom we have the account of the tree, has thought proper to quote him fre∣quently; mentioning particularly his remarks on Egyptian paper* 1.27; and also on that kind of wood, of which the statue of Diana at Ephesus was made† 1.28. With the Lycian-plane Licinius was exceedingly pleased; and often enjoyed the company of his friends under it's shade. It was great luxury, he would say, to dine in it's trunk on a sultry summer-day; and to hear a heavy shower of rain descending

through the several stages of it's leaves. As a naturalist, he left it on record, that himself and eighteen other persons, dined commodi∣ously around the benches in the body of it.

Caligula had a tree of the same kind at his villa near Velitrae. But Caligula's tree appears to have been more complex, than the Lycian plane. It had not only a hollow cave in it's trunk, which was capable of holding fifteen persons at dinner with a pro∣per suit of the emperor's attendants; but, if I understand Pliny rightly* 1.29, it had stories also (probably artificial flooring) in the boughs of the tree. Caligula used to call it, his nest.

From the same author we have an account of four holm trees† 1.30, still existing in his time, which were of great antiquity. Three of them, he says, stood upon the site of the ancient Tybur, which was a city older

than Rome; and these trees were not only older than Tybur; but were trees of con∣sequence in the days of Tiburtus, who founded it. For tradition assures us, says Pliny, they were the very trees, on which that hero ob∣served an ominous flight of birds, and was determined by them in the site of his town. As Tiburtus was the son of Amphiareus, who died at Thebes a hundred years before the Trojan war; these trees, at the lowest cal∣culation, must have been fourteen or fifteen hundred years old, in the time of Pliny. Tho this is far from being incredible, yet as it rests wholly on tradition, we pay it the less attention. What Pliny says in the favour of the fourth tree however has more weight. This tree, he tells us, grew in the Vatican; and had it's age inscribed in old Tuscan cha∣racters, upon it's trunk; from which inscrip∣tion it appeared, that before the city of Rome had it's existence, this holm was a celebrated tree.

When Tiberius built his naumachia, and had occasion for large beams in several parts of his work, he endeavoured to collect them

from the various forests of the empire. Among other massy pieces of timber, which were brought to Rome on this occasion, the trunk of a larch was of so prodigious a size, that the emperor, instead of using it in his works, ordered it to be laid up as a curiosity. It measured one hundred and twenty feet in length; and carried a diameter of two feet to the very end* 1.31. When this larch was alive, with all the furniture of it's vast top, and gigantic limbs, in proportion to such a trunk, it must have been an astonishing tree.

The largest tree that ever was known to be brought into Britain, formed the main mast of the Royal Sovereign in queen Ann's time. It was ninety feet long; and thirty-five inches in diameter† 1.32.

Mr. Evelin, from whom we have this account, mentions in the same place, a still larger tree, which formed the keel of the Crown, a French ship of the last century.

It was one hundred and twenty feet long, which is the length of Tiberius's larch; tho it had not probably the circumference of that tree.

The masts of our ships of war, at present, are never made of single trees. It is the method to lay two or three trees together, and fitting them tight to each other, to bind them close, at proper distances with pitched ropes. But a very noble fir was lately brought into England, which was not spliced in the common mode, but was con∣verted in it's full dimensions, into the bowsprit of the Britannia, a new ship of one hundred and ten guns; in which capacity, I have heard, it serves at present. This fir was ninety-six feet in length; and had, I believe, the full diameter of Tiberius's larch.

Maundrel tells us, that when he travelled into the East, a few of the old cedars of Lebanon were still left. He found them among the snow near the highest part of the moun∣tain. "I measured one of the largest of them, says he, and found it twelve yards, six inches in girt; and yet sound: and thirty-seven

yards in the spread of it's boughs. At about five or six yards from the ground, it divided into five limbs; each of which was a massy tree."

A later traveller, Van Egmont, who visited the scenes of mount Lebanon, seems also to speak of the same trees, which Maundrel mentions. He observed them, he says, to be of very different ages. The old standards had low stems; growing like fruit trees. Whereas the younger made a much more stately appearance, not a little resembling pines. Of the ancient trees he saw only eleven: those of younger growth far exceeded that number. Some of these old cedars were four, or five fathoms in circumference. Un∣der one of them was erected an altar; where the clergy of Tripoly, and the neighbouring convent of Massurki sometimes celebrated mass. From this tree spread five limbs, resembling substantial trees, each being about an hundred feet in length; and inserted into the main trunk about fourteen, or fifteen feet from the ground.

These are noble dimensions, tho it is pro∣bable, that the best of the trees now left upon mount Lebanon, are only the refuse of

the ancient race; as we may well suppose, the best were occasionally taken first. If Solomon's botanical works had still been preserved, it is probable we should have met with trees of much larger dimensions, than these, which Maundrel, and Van Egmont measured.

One of the noblest trees on record, is a chesnut upon mount Aetna, called the Cas∣tagna de cento cavalli. It is still alive, but has lost much of it's original dignity. Many travellers take notice of it. Brydone was the last who saw it. His account is dated about sixteen, or seventeen, years ago. It had then the appearance of five distinct trees. The space within them, he was assured, had once been filled with solid timber, when the whole formed only one tree. The possibility of this he could not at first conceive; for the five trees together contained a space of two hundred and four feet in diameter. At length however he was convinced, not only by the testimony of the country, and the accurate examination of the canon Recupero, a learned naturalist in those parts, but by the appear∣ance

of the trees themselves, none of which had any bark on the inside. This chesnut is of such renown, that Brydone tells us, he had seen it marked in an old map of Sicily, published a hundred years ago* 1.33.

Among other authors, who mention this tree, Kircher gives us the following account of it's condition in his day; which might be about a century before Brydone saw it: "Ostendit mihi viae dux, unius castaniae corticem, tantae magnitudinis, ut intra eam integer pecorum grex, a pastoribus tanquam in caula commodissima, noctu intercluderetur." From this account, one should imagine, that in Kircher's days the five trees were more united, than when Brydone saw them.

At Newstadt, in the duchy of Wirtemberg, stood a lime, which was for many ages so remarkable, that the city frequently took it's denomination from it, being often called Newstadt ander grassen linden, or Newstadt near the great lime. Scarce any person passed

near Newstadt, without visiting this tree; and many princes and great men did honour to it, by building obelisks, columns, and monu∣ments of various kinds around it, engraved with their arms, and names, to which the dates were added, and often some device. Mr. Evelin* 1.34, who procured copies of se∣veral of these monumental inscriptions, tells us, there were near two hundred of them. The columns on which they were fixed, served also to bear up the vast limbs of the tree, which began through age to become unweildy. Thus this mighty plant stood many years in great state, the ornament of the town, the admiration of the country, and supported, as it were, by the princes of the empire. At length it felt the effects of war. Newstadt was surrounded by an enemy, and the limbs of this venerable tree were mangled in wantonness by the besieging troops. Whether it still exist, I know not: but long after these injuries, it stood a noble ruin, discovering by the foundations of the several monuments, which formerly propped it's

spreading boughs, how far it's limits had once extended.

As a parallel to the lime of Newstadt, I shall next celebrate the lime of Cleves. This also was a tree of great magnificence. It grew in an open plain, just at the entrance of the city, and was thought an object worthy to exercise the taste of magistracy. The burgo∣master of his day had it surveyed with great accuracy, and trimmed into eight, broad, pyramidal faces. Each corner was supported by a handsome stone pillar; and in the middle of the tree was cut a noble room; which the vast space contained within, easily suffered, without injuring the regularity of any of the eight faces. To crown all, the top was curi∣ously clipped into some kind of head, and adorned artificially; but in what manner, whe∣ther with the head of a lion, or a stag, a weather cock, or a sun-dial, we are not told. It was something however in the highest stile of Dutch taste.—This tree was long the admiration, and envy of all the states of Hol∣land; and Mr. Evelin, from whom we have the relation, seems to have thought it a piece

of excellent workmanship: "I needed not, says he, have charged this paragraph with half these trees, but to shew how much more the lime-tree seems disposed to be wrought into these arborious wonders, than other trees of slower growth* 1.35."

The oaks of Chaucer are celebrated, in the annals of poetry, as the trees, under which

—the laughing sage Carolled his moral song—

They grew in the park at Donnington-castle, near Newbery, where Chaucer spent his latter life in studious retirement.—The largest of these trees was called the king's-oak, and carried an erect stem of fifty feet, before it broke into branches, and was cut into a beam, five feet square.—The next in size was called the queen's-oak, and survived the calamities of the civil wars in king Charles's time; tho Donnington-castle, and the country around it, were so often the scenes of action, and desola∣tion. It's branches were very curious: they

pushed out from the stem in several uncommon directions; imitating the horns of a ram, rather than the branches of an oak. When it was felled, it yielded a beam forty feet long, without knot, or blemish, perfectly strait, four feet square at the but-end, and near a yard at the top.—The third of these oaks was called Chaucer's, of which we have no parti∣culars: in general, only we are told, that it was a noble tree, tho inferior to either of the others* 1.36. None of them, I should suppose from this account, was a tree of picturesque beauty. A strait stem, of forty or fifty feet, let it's head be what it will, can hardly pro∣duce a picturesque form. When we admired the stone-pine, we supposed it's stem to take a sweeping line; and to be broken also with stumps, or decayed branches.

Close by the gate of the water-walk, at Magdalen college in Oxford, grew an oak, which perhaps stood there a saplin, when Alfred the great founded the university. This period only includes a space of nine hundred

years, which is no great age for an oak. It is a difficult matter indeed to ascertain the age of a tree. The age of a castle, or abbey is the object of history. Even a common house is recorded by the family, that built it. All these objects arrive at maturity in their youth, if I may so speak. But the tree gradually compleating it's growth, is not worth record∣ing in the early part of it's existence. It is then only a common tree; and afterwards when it becomes remarkable for it's age, all memory of it's youth is lost. This tree how∣ever can almost produce historical evidence for the age assigned to it. About five hundred years after the time of Alfred, William of Wainfleet, Dr. Stukely tells us, expressly ordered his college to be founded near the great oak* 1.37: and an oak could not, I think, be less than five hundred years of age, to merit that title; together with the honour of fixing the site of a college. When the magnificence of cardinal Wolsey erected that handsome tower, which is so ornamental to the whole building, this tree might probably be in the meridian

of it's glory; or rather perhaps it had attained a green old age. But it must have been mani∣festly in it's decline, at that memorable aera, when the tyranny of James gave the fellows of Magdalen so noble an opportunity of with∣standing bigotry, and superstition. It was afterwards much injured in Charles II's time, when the present walks were laid out. It's roots were disturbed; and from that period it declined fast; and became reduced by degrees to little more than a mere trunk. The oldest members of the university can scarce recollect it in better plight. But the faithful records of history* 1.38 have handed down it's ancient dimen∣sions. Through a space of sixteen yards, on every side from it's trunk, it once flung it's boughs; and under it's magnificent pavilion could have sheltered with ease three thousand men; tho in it's decayed state, it could, for many years do little more than shelter some luckless individual, whom the driving shower had overtaken in his evening walk. In the summer of the year 1788, this magnificent ruin fell to the ground; alarming the college

with it's rushing sound. It then appeared how precariously it had stood for many years. It's grand tap-root was decayed; and it had hold of the earth only by two or three roots, of which none was more than a couple of inches in diameter. From a part of it's ruins a chair has been made for the president of the college, which will long continue it's memory.

Near Worksop grew an oak, which in respect both to it's own dignity, and the dignity of it's situation, deserves honourable mention. In point of grandeur few trees equalled it. It overspread a space of ninety feet from the extremities of it's opposite boughs. These dimensions will produce an area capable, on mathematical calculation, of covering a squadron of two hundred and thirty-five horse. —The dignity of it's station was equal to the dignity of the tree itself. It stood on a point, where Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and Derbyshire unite, and spread it's shade over a portion of each. From the honourable station of thus fixing the boundaries of three large counties, it was equally respected through the domains of them all; and was known far and

wide, by the honourable distinction of the shire-oak, by which appellation it was marked among cities, towns, and rivers, in all the larger maps of England* 1.39.

In the garden at Tortworth, in Glocester∣shire, an old family-seat, belonging to lord Ducie, grows a Spanish chesnut of great age, and dimensions. Traditional accounts suppose it to have been a boundary-tree in the time of king John; and I have met with other accounts, which place it in the same honour∣able station in the reign of king Stephen. How much older it may be, we know not. Considerably older it probably was: for we rarely make boundary-trees of saplins, and off-sets; which are liable to a thousand ac∣cidents, and are unable to maintain, with proper dignity, the station delegated to them. —This tree is at present in hands, which justly value, and protect it's age. It was barely included within the garden-wall, which bore hard upon it. Lord Ducie removed the incumbrance; and at the same time applied

fresh earth to the roots of the tree, which seems to have inlivened it. So late as in the year 1788 it produced great quantities of chesnuts; which tho small, were sweet, and well-flavoured.— In the great chesnut-cause, mentioned a little above* 1.40, between Barrington, and Ducarel, this venerable tree was called upon as an evidence; and gave a very respectable testimony in favour of the chesnuts.

After mentioning this chesnut, which has been celebrated so much, I cannot forbear mentioning another, which is equally remark∣able for having never been celebrated at all; tho it is one of the largest trees, that per∣haps ever existed in England. If it had ever been noticed merely for it's bulk, I should have passed it over among other gigantic plants, that had nothing else to boast; but as no historian, or antiquarian, so far as I have heard, hath taken the least notice of it, I thought it right from this very circumstance to make up the omission by giving it at least, what little credit these papers could give.—

This chesnut grows at a place called Wimley, near Hitchin-priory in Hertfordshire. In the year 1789, at five feet above the ground, it's girth was somewhat more than fourteen yards. It's trunk was hollow, and in part open. But it's vegetation was still vigorous. On one side it's vast arms, shooting up in various forms, some upright, and others oblique, were decayed, and peeled at the extremities; but issued from luxuriant foliage at their insertion in the trunk. On the other side, the foliage was still full, and hid all decay.

In a glade of Hainhault-forest in Essex, about a mile from Barkingside, stands an oak, which has been known through many cen∣turies, by the name of Fairlop. The tradition of the country traces it half way up the Christian aera. It is still a noble tree, tho it has now suffered greatly from the depre∣dations of time. About a yard from the ground, where it's rough fluted stem is thirty-six feet in circumference, it divides into eleven vast arms; yet not in the horizontal manner of an oak, but rather in that of a beech. Beneath it's shade, which overspreads an area

of three hundred feet in circuit, an annual fair has long been held, on the 2d of July; and no booth is suffered to be erected beyond the extent of it's boughs. But as their ex∣tremities are now become sapless, and age is yearly curtailing their length, the liberties of the fair seem to be in a very desponding condition. The honour however is great. —But honours are often accompanied with inconveniences; and Fairlop has suffered from it's honourable distinctions. In the feasting that attends a fair, fires are often necessary; and no places seemed so proper to make them in, as the hollow cavities formed by the heaving roots of the tree. This practice has brought a speedier decay on Fairlop, than it might otherwise have suffered.

Not far from Blanford, in Dorsetshire, stood very lately a tree, known by the name of Damory's oak. About five or six cen∣turies ago, it was probably in a state of maturity. At the ground it's circumference was sixty-eight feet; and seventeen feet above the ground it's diameter was four yards. As this vast trunk decayed, it became hollow,

forming a cavity, which was fifteen feet wide, and seventeen feet high, capable of holding twenty men. During the civil wars, and till after the restoration, this cave was regularly inhabited by an old man, who sold ale in it. In the violent storm in the year 1703, it suffered greatly, many of it's noblest limbs having been torn from it. But it was still so grand a ruin, above forty years after, that some of it's branches were seventy-five feet high; and extended seventy-two. In the year 1755 when it was fit for nothing but firewood, it was sold for fourteen pounds† 1.41.

In Torwood, in the county of Sterling, upon a little knoll, stand at this time, the ruins of an oak, which is supposed to be the largest tree, that ever grew in Scotland. The trunk of it is now wholly decayed, and hollow: but it is evident, from what remains, that it's diameter could not have been less than eleven or twelve feet.—What it's age may be, is matter only of conjecture: but

from some circumstances, it is probably a tree of great antiquity. The little knoll it stands on, is surrounded by a swamp, over which a causeway leads to the tree, or rather to a circle which seems to have run round it. The vestiges of this circle, as well as the causeway, bear a plain resemblance to those works, which are commonly attributed to the Druids. So that it is probable, this tree was a scene of worship belonging to those heathen priests.—But the credit of it does not depend on the dubious vestiges of Druid antiquity. In a later scene of greater impor∣tance, (if tradition ever be the vehicle of truth) it bore a great share.—When that illustrious hero, William Wallace, roused the spirit of the Scotch nation to oppose the tyranny of Edward, he often chose the soli∣tude of Torwood, as a place of rendezvous for his army. Here he concealed his num∣bers, and his designs; sallying out suddenly on the enemy's grrisons, and retreating as suddenly, when he feared to be overpowered. While his army lay in those woods, the oak, which we are now commemorating, was com∣monly his head-quarters. Here the hero generally slept; it's hollow trunk being ca∣pacious

enough to afford shelter, not only to himself, but to several of his officers. This tree has ever since been known by the name of Wallace-tree; by which name it may easily be found in Torwood to this day* 1.42.

Among these celebrated trees we must not forget Hern's oak in Windsor forest. Shake∣spear tells us,

—an old tale goes, that Hern the hunter, Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, Doth all the winter time, at still of midnight, Walk round about this oak, with ragged horns; And then he blasts the trees, destroys the cattle, Makes the milch-cow yield blood, and shakes a chain In hideous, dreadful manner—

This tree, as far as we can pay credit to tradition, and general opinion, still exists. In the little park at Windsor is a walk, known by the name of Queen Elizabeth's walk. It consists of elms, among which is a single oak taken into the row, as if particularly meant to be distinguished, at the time, when the

walk was laid out. This tree is supposed to be Hern's oak. It is a large tree, measuring about twenty-four feet in circum∣ference, and is still in great vigour; which I think, chiefly injures it's historical credit. For tho it is evidently a tree in years, and might well have existed in the time of Elizabeth, it seems too strong, and vigorous to have been a proper tree, in that age, for Hern, the hunter, to have danced round. Fairies, elves and that generation of people, universally chose the most ancient, and ve∣nerable trees they could find, to gambol under: and the poet, who should describe them dancing under a saplin, would shew little acquaintance with his subject. That this tree could not be called a venerable tree two hundred years ago, is evident; because it hardly can assume that character even now. And yet an oak, in a soil it likes, will continue so many years in a vigorous state, that we must not lay more stress on this argument, than it will fairly bear.—It may be added, however in it's favour, that a pit or ditch, is still shewn near the tree, as Shakespear describes it; which may have

been preserved with the same veneration, as the tree itself.

There is an oak, in the grounds of Sir Gerrard Van Neck, at Heveningham, in Suffolk, which carries us likewise into the times of Elizabeth. But this tree brings it's evidence with it—evidence, which, if necessary, might carry it into Saxon times. It is now falling fast into the decline of years: and every year robs it more of it's honours. But it's trunk, which measures thirty-five feet in circumference, still retains it's grandeur; tho the ornaments of it's boughs, and foliage are much reduced. But the grandeur of the trunk consists only in appearance. It is a mere shell. In Queen Elizabeth's time it was hollow; and from this circumstance the tree derives the honour of being handed down to posterity. That princess, who from her earliest age loved masculine amusements, used often, it is said, in her youth, to take her stand in this tree, and shoot the deer as they passed. From that time it has been known by the name of Queen Elizabeth's oak.

After celebrating the grandeur of these sons of the forest, I should wish to introduce, in due subordination, two or three celebrated fruit trees.

In the deanery-garden at Winchester stood lately, (so lately as the year 1757) an ancient fig-tree. Through a succession of many deans it had been cased up, and shielded from winds, and frost. The wall to which it was nailed, was adorned with various inscriptions, in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin; alluding to such passages of the sacred writings, as do honour to the fig-tree. After having been presented with several texts of scripture, the reader was informed, by way of climax, that in the year 1623, king James I. tasted of the fruit of this fig-tree with great pleasure.

At Lambeth likewise are two celebrated fig-trees; which, on good grounds, are sup∣posed to have been planted by cardinal Pole. They are immense trees of the kind; covering a space of wall, fifty feet in height, and forty in breadth. The circumference of the stem

of one of them is twenty-eight inches, and of the other twenty-one. They are of the white Marseilles kind, and have for many years fur∣nished the tables of the archbishops of Canterbury with very delicious fruit.

Among other remarkable fruit trees may be reckoned a vine belonging to the late Sir Charles Raymond at Valentine-house, near Ilford in Essex. It was planted, a cutting, in the year 1758, of the black Hambrugh sort; and as this species will not easily bear the open air, it was planted in the hot-house; tho without any preparation of soil, which is in those grounds a stiff loam, or rather clay. The hot-house is a very large one, about seventy feet in front; and the vine, which I understand, is not pruned in the common way, extends two hundred feet, part of it running along the south wall on the outside of the hot-house. In the common mode of pruning, this species of vine is no great bearer; but managed as it is here, it produces wonder∣fully. Sir Charles Raymond, on the death of his lady in 1778, left Valentine-house; at which time the gardener had the profits of the

vine. It annually produces about four hundred weight of grapes; which used formerly (when the hot-house, I suppose, was kept warmer,) to ripen in march: tho lately they have not ripened till june; when they sell at four shillings a pound; which produces about eighty pounds. This account I had from Mr. Eden himself, the gardener, who planted the vine.—With regard to the profits of it, I think it probable from the accounts I have had from other hands, that when the grapes ripened earlier, they produced much more than eighty pounds. A gentleman of character informed me, that he had it from Sir Charles Raymond himself, that after supplying his own table, he has made one hundred and twenty pounds a year of the grapes; and the same gentleman, who was curious, inquired of the fruit dealers, who told him, that in some years, they sup∣posed the profits have not amounted to less than three hundred pounds. This does not contradict Mr. Eden's account, who said, that the utmost he ever made of it (that is, I suppose, when the grapes sold at four shillings a pound in june) was eighty-four pounds. At the lowest calculation, the profits were pro∣digious.—The

stem of this vine was, in the year 1789, thirteen inches in circumference.

But the vine, even as a timber-tree, hath it's place in history. Mr. Misson, a traveller, of whom Mr. Addison speaks with particular respect, tells us* 1.43, that the gates of the great church at Ravenna in Italy were made of vine planks, twelve feet long, and fourteen or fifteen inches broad. The vine from which these planks were taken, must have been an enor∣mous vegetable of it's kind. Indeed, if the account had not been well attested, it would have exceeded credit.—Misson adds, that the soil about Ravenna, on the side next the sea, was remarkable for the enormous growth of vines; and he supposes, it was owing to the rich manure left by the sea. For tho the town of Ravenna in his day, stood a league from the Adriatic; yet it is an undoubted fact, that the sea formerly washed it's walls; and that the present Ravenna occupies the site of the ancient Ravenna, which we know, was one

of the best ports, the Romans had on the Adriatic.

Having thus given the history of some of the most celebrated trees on record, I cannot help subjoining an account of a few particular species, which are remarkably singular.

In the memoirs of the French academy we find a description of a very curious tree, by Mr. Adanson, called the Boabab. It is a native of Senegal, and has been taken notice of by Prosper Alpinus, and other botanists: but Mr. Adanson, who spent several years in those parts, seems to have had the best opportunities of being acquainted with it.—As to it's botanical peculiarities, which are great; and it's physical uses, which are many, we enter not into them. We have only to do with it's external form, which is very singular. It is supposed to be the largest of nature's vege∣table productions—the behemoth of the forest. From Mr. Adanson's account one should sup∣pose the boabab to be a kind of natural pollard. He tells us, it's trunk seldom rises higher than twelve feet; tho it's diameter exceeds seventy. From this amazing trunk spring a number of

massy branches. The center branch rises perpendicularly sixty or seventy feet: the lateral branches shoot in angles less and less acute; till the lowest series form right angles with the trunk; and so become quite horizontal. In this direction, they stretch fifty or sixty feet, till their weight brings them to the ground, with which the extremities of many of them are in contact. So that the whole tree has the appearance of a woody hemisphere; whose radius, including the thickness of the trunk, must be about eighty, or ninety feet. —Whatever may be said for the peculiarity of such a tree, we cannot say much in favour of it's picturesque form. It seems to be little more than a monstrous bush. The bark of this tree is of an ash-coloured tint. It's leaves are oval, pointed at the end, and about five inches long.—Tho the boabab is a native of Africa, yet a small one was found growing in the island of Martinico. It is supposed however to have been brought thither by some of the negroe-slaves; among whom it is common to carry seeds of dif∣ferent kinds, as charms and remedies: and it is certain, that many African plants have

been propagated in the West-Indies in this accidental manner.

Mr. Evelin gives us the description of another curious tree, called the Arbor de Rays, which is sound chiefly in the East Indies, and is remarkable for the manner, in which it propagates. From the end of it's boughs it distills, in a continued viscous thread, a kind of gummy matter; which increases like an icicle, till it reach the ground, where it takes root, and becomes a stem, putting forth new branches, and propagating anew; so that a single plant of this kind may in∣crease into a forest.

Strabo describes an Indian tree, which I should suppose, was the same with Mr. Evelin's arbor de Rays; only Strabo accounts more simply for the mode of it's propagation. It's branches, he says, grow horizontally about twelve cubits; and then take a direc∣tion to the earth, where they root themselves; and when they have attained maturity, con∣tinue to propagate in the same manner, till the ground is covered with them for a con∣siderable space; or, as Strabo more expressively

describes it, till the whole becomes like a tent supported by many columns* 1.44.—This seems to be the tree, of which Milton speaks;

Branching so broad, and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root; and daughters grow About the mother tree; a pillared shade, High over-arched, with ecchoing walks between. There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, Shelters in cool; and tends his pasturing herds At loop-holes cut through thickest shade.

Modern travellers speak of an Indian tree like this, (the only tree of the kind they know,) which they call the Banian tree, or Indian fig. In it's mode of propagation, it corresponds rather with Strabo's description, than Evelin's. We are informed however, that, altho common in India, it is not very commonly found in that state of grandeur, in which it is here described. Nor indeed will it easily take that very regular form, without some little assistance from art. In∣stead of the Indian herdsman, whom Milton introduces, it is often at this day, inhabited

by a Bramin; who builds his little reed∣thatched shed against it's trunk; and amuses his leisure by directing it's lengthening branches into proper places; and forming each into a regular arch. Here, dressed in a long white tunic, the habit of his order, and adorned with a flowing beard, he spends his solitary hours in wandering among the verdant allies of his tree, scarce ever leaving it's limits. The inhabitants of the district resort daily to him with the necessaries of life; and receive, in return, his prayers, and benedic∣tions.

There is a tree in the island of Java, called the Upas, or poison-tree, which (in the history of curious trees) should not be omitted; tho the accounts of it are so wonderful, that some have esteemed them fabulous. They are given to the public by a surgeon, be∣longing to the Dutch East-India company, of the name of Foersch, who was stationed at Batavia in the year 1774. Surprizing however as these accounts may be, they are accompanied with so many public facts; and names of persons, and places, that it is

somewhat difficult to conceive them fabulous. —The abridged narrative of this strange production, is this.

The Upas grows about twenty-seven leagues from Batavia, in a plain surrounded by rocky mountains; the whole of which plain, con∣taining a circle of ten, or twelve miles round the tree, is totally barren. Nothing, that breathes, or vegetates, can live within it's influence. The bird, that flies over it, drops down dead. The beast, that wanders into it, expires. The whole dreadful area is covered with sand, over which lie scattered loose flints, and whitening bones.—This tree may be called the emperor's great military magazine. In a solution of the poisonous gum, which exudes from it, his arrows, and offensive weapons are dipped. The procuring there∣fore of this poisonous gum, is a matter of as much attention, as of difficulty. Criminals only are employed in this dreadful service. Of these several, every year, are sent with a promise of pardon, and reward, if they procure it. Hooded in leathern cases, with glass eylet-holes, and secured as much as possible from the full effluvia of the air they are to breathe, they undertake this melancholy

journey; travelling always with the wind. About one in ten escapes, and brings away a little box of this direful commodity.

Of the dreadful, and sudden effect of this poison, the author saw many instances. He mentions, among others, the execution of thirteen young ladies of the emperor's seraglio; who having been convicted of infidelity to his bed, were condemned to die by the poison of Upas; which is considered in Java, like the axe in England, as an honourable in∣strument of death. At eleven o'clock in the forenoon these unhappy victims were led into a court in the palace, where a row of thirteen posts had been erected. To these they were bound. As they stood trembling, they were obliged to confess the justice of their sentence; which each of them did, by laying one hand on the koran, and the other on her breast. When these confessions were finished, and a few religious ceremonies, on a sign given by the judge, an executioner stepped forward, who bared their breasts, and amidst their cries, and shrieks, with a poisoned lancet made a slight incision in each. The author says, he stood by with his watch in his hand. In five minutes they were seized with con∣vulsive

spasms—excruciating agonies succeeded; and in sixteen minutes they were all dead. A frightful change came on. From being objects of beauty, they became spectacles of horror. Livid spots broke out upon them. Their faces swelled: their cheeks became blue; and their eyes, yellow.

The author says, that on the coast of Macassar, there are found trees very like the Upas of Java; but not so malignant. If so, it is probable, that all these trees are of the same kind; only the Java-Upas has found a situation, where it's poisonous qualities are more sublimed.

Dr. Darwin, in his Loves of the plants, has given us a picture of the situation of this dreadful tree; the existence of which he seems to believe.

Where seas of glass with gay reflections smile Round the green coasts of Java's palmy isle; A spacious plain extends it's upland scene, Rocks rise on rocks, and fountains gush between. Soft breathes the breeze; eternal summers reign▪ And showers prolific bless the soil—in vain! No spicy nutmeg scents the vernal gales: No towering plantain shades the mid-day vales: No grassy mantle hides the sable hills: No flowery chaplet crowns the trickling rills: No step retreating on the sand impressed, Invites the visit of a second guest.

Fierce in dread silence, on the blasted heath Fell Upas sits.—

That I may connect this little biographical history of trees with the principal subject of my book, I shall conclude it with an account of three celebrated trees from New-forest, in Hampshire.

The first I shall mention, is that famous tree, against which the arrow of Sir Walter Tyrrel glanced, which killed William Rufus.

Leland tells us, and Camden* 1.45 from him, that the death of Rufus happened at a place in New-forest, called Througham, where a chapel was erected to his memory. But I meet with no place of the name of Througham in New-forest; and neither the remains, nor the remembrance of any chapel. It is pro∣bable, that Througham might be what is now called Fritham; where the tradition of the country seems to have fixed the spot with more credibility from the tr••e.—The chapel might only have been some little temporary oratory, which having never been endowed,

might speedily have fallen to decay: but the tree, it is probable, would be noticed at the time by every body, who lived near it; and by strangers, who came to see it: and it is as probable, that it could never be forgotten afterwards. They who think a tree insufficient to record a fact of so ancient a date, may be reminded, that seven hundred years, (and it is not more since the death of Rufus) make no extraordinary period in the existence of an oak. About fifty years ago however, this tree became so decayed, and mutilated, that, in all pro∣bability, the spot would have been forgotten, if some other memorial had not been raised. Before the stump therefore was eradicated, a triangular stone was erected, by the late lord Delaware, who lived in one of the neigh∣bouring lodges; on the three sides of which stone the following inscriptions are engraven.

1. Here stood the oak-tree, on which an arrow, shot by sir Walter Tyrrel at a stag, glanced, and struck king William II. surnamed Rufus, in the breast, of which stroke he instantly died, on the 2d of august 1100.

2. King William II. being thus slain, was laid on a cart, belonging to one Purkess; and

drawn from hence to Winchester, and buried in the cathedral church of that city.

3. That the spot, where an event so memorable, happened, might not hereafter be unknown; this stone was set up by John lord Delaware, who has seen the tree growing in this place.

Lord Delaware asserts plainly, that he had seen the oak-tree; and as he lived much on the spot, he had probably other grounds for the assertion, besides the tradition of the country. That matter however rests on his authority.

The next tree I shall exhibit from New-forest, is the groaning-tree of Badesly; a village about two miles from Lymington. The history of the groaning-tree is this. About forty years ago, a cottager, who lived near the centre of the village, heard frequently a strange noise, behind his house, like that of a person in extreme agony. Soon after, it caught the attention of his wife, who was then confined to her bed. She was a timorous woman, and being greatly alarmed, her hus∣band endeavoured to persuade her, that the

noise she heard, was only the bellowing of the stags in the forest. By degrees, however, the neighbours, on all sides heard it; and the thing began to be much talked of. It was by this time plainly discovered, that the groaning noise proceeded from an elm, which grew at the end of the garden. It was a young, vigorous tree; and to all appearance perfectly sound.

In a few weeks the fame of the groaning tree was spread far and wide; and people from all parts flocked to hear it. Among others it attracted the curiosity of the late prince, and princess of Wales, who resided, at that time, for the advantage of a sea-bath, at Pilewell, the seat of Sir James Worsley, which stood within a quarter of a mile of the groaning tree.

Tho the country people assigned many super∣stitious causes for this strange phenomenon, the naturalist could assign no physical one, that was in any degree satisfactory. Some thought, it was owing to the twisting and friction of the roots. Others thought it pro∣ceeded from water, which had collected in the body of the tree—or perhaps from pent air. But no cause that was alledged, appeared equal to the effect. In the mean time, the tree

did not always groan; sometimes disappoint∣ing it's visitants: yet no cause could be as∣signed for it's temporary cessations, either from seasons, or weather. If any difference was observed; it was thought to groan least, when the weather was wet; and most when it was clear, and frosty: but the sound at all times seemed to arise from the root.

Thus the groaning tree continued an object of astonishment, during the space of eighteen, or twenty months, to all the country around: and for the information of distant parts a pamphlet was drawn up, containing a par∣ticular account of all the circumstances re∣lating to it.

At length, the owner of it, a gentleman of the name of Forbes, making too rash an experiment to discover the cause, bored a hole in it's trunk. After this it never groaned. It was then rooted up, with a further view to make a discovery: but still nothing appeared, which led to any investi∣gation of the cause. It was universally how∣ever believed, that there was no trick in the affair: but that some natural cause really existed, tho never understood.

The last celebrated tree, which I shall present to the reader from New-forest, is the Cadenham oak, which buds every year in the depth of winter. Cadenham is a village, about three miles from Lyndhurst, on the Salisbury road.

Having often heard of this oak, I took a ride to see it on the 29th of december, 1781. It was pointed out to me among several other oaks, surrounded by a little forest stream, winding round a knoll, on which they stood. It is a tall, straight plant of no great age, and apparently vigorous; except that it's top has been injured; from which several branches issue in the form of pollard shoots. It was intirely bare of leaves, as far as I could discern, when I saw it; and undistinguishable from the other oaks in it's neighbourhood; except that it's bark seemed rather smoother; occasioned, I apprehended, only by frequent climbing.

Having had the account of it's early budding confirmed on the spot, I engaged one Michael Lawrence, who kept the white hart, a small

ale-house in the neighbourhood, to send me some of the leaves to Vicar's hill, as soon as they should appear. The man, who had not the least doubt about the matter, kept his word; and sent me several twigs, on the morning of the 5th of january, 1782; a few hours after they had been gathered. The leaves were fairly expanded; and about an inch in length. From some of the buds two leaves had unsheathed themselves; but in general only one.

Through what power in nature this strange, premature vegetation is occasioned, I believe no naturalist can explain. I sent some of the leaves to one of the ablest botanists we have, Mr. Lightfoot, author of the Flora Scotica; and was in hopes of hearing something satis∣factory on the subject. But he is one of those philosophers, who is not ashamed of igno∣rance, where attempts at knowledge are mere conjecture. He assured me, that he neither could account for it in any way; nor did he know of any other instance of premature vegetation, except the Glastonbury-thorn.

The philosophers of the forest, in the mean∣time, account for the thing at once, through the influence of old Christmas-day; univer∣sally

believing that the oak buds on that day, and that only. The same opinion is held with regard to the Glastonbury-thorn by the common people of the west of England. But without doubt, the germi∣nation there is gradual; and forwarded, or retarded by the mildness, or severity of the weather. One of it's progeny, which grew in the gardens of the duchess dowager of Portland, at Bulstrode, had it's flower-buds perfectly formed, so early, as the 21st of december, 1781; which is fifteen days earlier than it ought to flower, according to the vulgar prejudice* 1.46.

This early spring however of the Cadenham oak is of very short duration. The buds, after unfolding themselves, make no farther

progress; but immediately shrink from the season, and die. The tree continues torpid, like other deciduous trees, during the re∣mainder of the winter, and vegetates again in the spring, at the usual season. I have seen it, in full leaf, in the middle of summer, when it appeared both in it's form, and foliage, exactly like other oaks.

I have been informed, that another tree with the same property of early germination, has lately been found near the spot, where Rufus's monument stands. If this be the case, it seems, in some degree to authenticate the account which Camden † 1.47 gives us of the scene of that prince's death: for he speaks of the premature vegetation of that very tree, on which the arrow of Tyrrel glanced; and the tree I now speak of, if it really exist, tho I have no sufficient authority for it, might have been a descendant of the old oak, and have inherited it's virtues.

It is very probable however there may be other oaks in the forest, which may like∣wise have the property of early germination. I have heard it often suspected, that people

gather buds from other trees, and carry them, on old Christmas-day, to the oak at Cadenham, from whence they pretended to pluck them. For that tree is in such repute; and resorted to annually by so many visitants, that I think it could not easily supply all it's votaries, without some foreign contri∣butions.—Some have accounted for this phenomenon by supposing that leaves have been preserved over the year by being steeped in vinegar. But I am well satisfied this is not the case. Mr. Lightfoot, to whom I sent the leaves, had no such suspicion.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

Notes

• * 1.1

  See Lawson's Orchard.
• * 1.2

  Nat. hist. Book xvi. chap. 2.
• * 1.3

  Georg. II, 290.
• † 1.4

  Pliny speaking of the different kinds of trees, which were dedicated to different deities, tells us, Jovi esculus, Apolloni laurus, &c. Lib. xii. c. 1. Now we know that the oak was Jupiter's tree. On this point I need only quote Phaedrus.

  Olim quas vellent esse in tutela sua Divi legerunt arbores; quercus Jovi, Et myrtus Veneri placuit—

  Pliny also in another place, Lib. xvi. c. 6. plainly distinguishes between the fagus, and the esculus. "Fagi glans triangula cute includitur. Folium tenue, populo simile, celerrime flavescens, &c. Glandem, quae proprie intelligitur, ferunt robur, quercus, esculus. Continetur hispido calyce. Folia, sinuosa lateribus; nec, cum cadunt, flavescentia, ut fagi. Glans optima in quercu, et grandissima; mox esculo." From this quotation it is plain, that Pliny considers the esculus as a variety of the oak.
• * 1.5

  In some parts of the continent of Europe the ashen billet sells for one half more than any other wood, except beech.
• * 1.6

  Chap. vi. sec. 80.
• † 1.7

  See Nat. hist. Oxf. ch. vi. sec. 82.
• * 1.8

  See Nat. hist. Oxf. ch. vi. sec. 79.
• * 1.9

  We call the forest deep, when we cannot see through it; so that at a distance a thin wood of beeches will have the effect of a large one.
• * 1.10

  Letter 47.
• † 1.11

  See p. 524.
• * 1.12

  See page 20.
• * 1.13

  See Plin. Nat. hist. lib. xvi. ch. 16.
• † 1.14

  See page 35: see also Plin. Nat. hist. lib. xiii. ch. 15.
• * 1.15

  Met. lib. x. v. 1.
• * 1.16

  See four letters on chesnut-trees, read before the royal society 1771.
• * 1.17

  Lib. iv. p. 202.
• * 1.18

  Ezek. xxxi.
• * 1.19

  See lib. ii. p. 510. edit. Caus.
• † 1.20

  After all however, it is probable, that the word 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, which the Latins translate abies, and we translate fir, might appear to be somewhat very different from the tree, which we call a fir, if we had a Grecian botanist to consult.
• * 1.21

  See page 86.
• * 1.22

  As a continuation of this moralizing strain, the following short allegory ventures to appear in a note.

  Ut sylvae foliis pronos mutantur in annos; Prima cadunt; ita — Debemur morti nos, nostraque —

  As I sat carelessly at my window, and threw my eyes upon a large acacia, which grew before me, I conceived it might aptly represent a country divided into provinces, towns, and families. The larger branches might hold out the first—the smaller branches, connected with them, the second—and those com∣binations of collateral leaves, which specify the acacia, might represent families, composed of individuals.—It was now late in the year; and the autumnal tint had taken possession of great part of the tree.

  As I sat looking at it, many of the yellow leaves (which having been produced earlier, decayed sooner) were continually dropping into the lap of their great mother. Here was an emblem of natural decay—the most obvious appearance of mortality.

  As I continued looking, a gentle breeze rusled among the leaves. Many fell, which in a natural course might have enjoyed life longer. Here malady was added to decay.

  The blast increased, and every branch, that presented itself, bowed before it. A shower of leaves covered the ground. The cup of vengeance, said I, is poured out upon the people. Pestilence shakes the land. Nature sickens in the gale. They fall by multitudes. Whole families are cut off together.

  Among the branches was one intirely withered. The leaves were shrivelled; yet clinging to it.—Here was an emblem of famine. The nutriment of life was stopped. Existence was just supported: but every form was emaciated, and shrunk.

  In the neighbourhood stretched a branch, not only shrivelled, and withered; but having been more exposed to winds, was stripped almost intirely of it's leaves. Here and there hung a solitary leaf, just enough to shew, that the whole had lately been alive. Ah! said I, here is an emblem of depopulation. Some violent cause hath laid waste the land. Towns, and villages, as well as families are desolated. Scarce ten are left to bemoan a thousand.

  How does every thing around us bring it's lesson to our minds! Nature is the great book of God. In every page is instruction to those, who read. Mortality must claim it's due. Death in various shapes hovers round us.—Thus far went the heathen moralist. He had learned no other knowledge from these perishing forms of nature, but that men, like trees, are subject to death.

  —Ita Debemur morti nos, nostraque—

  Better instructed, learn thou a nobler lesson. Learn, that that God, who with the blast of winter shrivels the tree, and with the breezes of spring restores it, offers it to thee as an emblem of thy hopes. The same God presides over the natural, and moral world. His works are uniform. The truths, which nature teaches, as far as they go, are the truths of revelation also. It is written in both these books, that, that power, which revives the tree, will revive thee also, like it, with increasing perfection.
• * 1.23

  Praed. rusticum, Lib. v.
• * 1.24

  Many of these trees are mentioned by Mr. Evelin, and the rest are collected from the topographical remarks of travel∣lers, and historians.
• * 1.25

  This account is taken from Elian.
• † 1.26

  Paus. Arcad. c. 23.
• * 1.27

  Lib. xiii. c. 13.
• † 1.28

  Lib. xvi. c. 40.
• * 1.29

  Lib. xii. c. 1.
• † 1.30

  Lib. xvi. c. 44.
• * 1.31

  Plin. Nat. hist. l. xvi. c. ••0.
• † 1.32

  Sylva p. 228.
• * 1.33

  See Brydone's trav. vol. i. p. 117.
• * 1.34

  See Ev. Sylva, page 225.
• * 1.35

  Sylva, p. 225.
• * 1.36

  See Evelin's Sylva, p. 227.
• * 1.37

  Itiner. curios.
• * 1.38

  See Dr. plot's hist. of Oxf. ch. vi. sect. 45.
• * 1.39

  See Evelin's sylva, p. 232.
• * 1.40

  See page 60.
• † 1.41

  See Hutchins's acc. of Dorsetshire, vol. i. with a print of it.
• * 1.42

  See Nimmo's hist. of Sterlingshire, p. 145.
• * 1.43

  See Misson's travels in Italy.
• * 1.44

  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, p. 694. edit. Caus.
• * 1.45

  See Camden's account of New-forest.
• * 1.46

  In the Salisbury journal january 10th 1786, the following paragraph appeared.

  In consequence of a report, that has prevailed in this country for upwards of two centuries, and which by many has been almost considered as a matter of faith, that the oak at Caden∣ham, in the New-forest, shoots forth leaves on every old Christmas-day, and that no leaf is ever to be seen on it, either before, or after that day, during the winter; a lady, who is now on a visit in this city, and who is attentively curious in every thing relative to art or nature, made a journey to Cadenham on monday the 3d instant, purposely to enquire, on the spot, about the production of this famous tree. On her arrival near it, the usual guide was ready to attend her; but on his being desired to climb the oak, and to search whether there were any leaves then on it, he said it would be to no purpose, but that if she would come on the wednesday fol∣lowing, (Christmas-day) she might certainly see thousands. However he was prevailed on to ascend, and on the first branch which he gathered, appeared several fair new leaves, fresh sprouted from the buds, and nearly an inch and a half in length. It may be imagined, that the guide was more amazed at this premature production than the lady; for so strong was his belief in the truth of the whole tradition, that he would have pledged his life, that not a leaf was to have been discovered on any part of the tree before the usual hour.

  But tho the superstitious part of this ancient legend is hence confuted, yet it must be allowed that there is something very uncommon and curious in an oak's constantly shooting forth leaves at this unseasonable time of the year, and that the cause of it well deserves the philosophical attention of the botanist. In some years there is no doubt but that this oak may shew it's first leaves on the Christmas morning, as probably as on a few days before; and this perhaps was the case in the last year, when a gentleman of this neighbourhood, a nice and critical observer, strictly examined the branches, not only on the Christmas morn, but also on the day prior to it. On the first day not a leaf was to be found, but on the following every branch had it's complement, tho they were then but just shooting from the buds, none of them being more than a quarter of an inch long. The latter part of the story may easily be credited, that no leaves are to be seen on it after Christmas-day, as large parties yearly assemble about the oak on that morning, and regularly strip every appearance of a leaf from it.
• † 1.47

  See Camden's account of New-forest.