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LONDON : 
 
 ailEEET ASD BIVIN&TON, PBINTEKS, 
 
 ST. johk'b SQUAEE. 
 
Frontisfiece.'\ 
 
 ' Gilpin's forest scenery.' 
 
 o 
 (J 
 
GILPIN'S FOREST SCENERY. 
 
 WITH NOTES AND AN INTRODUCTION, 
 
 FHANCIS GEORGE HEATH, 
 
 AUTHOK OF 
 
 ' OUBJVOODLAND TKEES," " THE FEUN WORLD," "THE EEBN PAUADISE," 
 
 "BURNUAM BEECHES," "TREES AND I'ERNS," "THE ENGLISH PEASANTRY," 
 
 "THK 'romance' of PEASANT LIFE," ETC., ETC. 
 
 ILontiou: 
 
 JAMES NIS]]E'r & CO., 21 15EKNEKS STllEET. 
 
 1887. 
 
 Mil 
 |yW/ r'uihts rcscni'd.} 
 
477 
 
 4.6255 
 
INTEODUCTION. 
 
 Nearly a century has passed since English readers 
 were first charmed by the perusal of a series of 
 works which, emanating from the pen of a clergy- 
 man, and composed in the quietness and seclusion 
 of an English woodland village, were given to the 
 world under the title of ' Observations relative 
 chiefly to Picturesque Beauty.' Their Author 
 was William Gilpin, ' Prebendary of Salisbury 
 and Vicar of Boldre, in New Forest, near Lym- 
 ington ; ' and the books have been handed down 
 to the present generation, are carefully preserved 
 in select libraries, are prized by book collectors, 
 and are, still, eagerly sought for by those who 
 have heard of Gilpin's fame but have never seen 
 his writings. 
 
 But of all Gilpin's delightful works his ' Forest 
 Scenery ' is the most famous ; and the best proof 
 of the popularity of the particular portion of his 
 ^ Observations on Picturesque Beauty ' published 
 
VI INTEODUCTION. 
 
 under that title, is afforded by the circumstance 
 that, at a period when there was little public 
 interest in aught connected with forestry, this 
 work should have passed through three editions. 
 
 During recent years public feeling on the sub- 
 ject of our wild woodlands has undergone a vast 
 change ; and the reason for this change is not far 
 to seek. Unfeelingly, persistently, remorselessly, 
 the hand of the spoiler has been at work over all 
 our fair island. Primeval woods have been 
 robbed of their ancient splendour. Bricks and 
 mortar have been rapidly choking the country — as 
 God made it. The greenwood shade, over large 
 areas, has given place to hot and dusty streets. 
 Eailways, mines, and manufactures have oblite- 
 rated, all around us, the forest lawn, redolent of 
 the perfume of wild plants; the forest heath, 
 empurpled with the bloom of heather, or golden 
 with flowering gorse; the woodland copse and 
 ancient stately grove which sweetly strained 
 the music of the winds. A population rapidly 
 augmenting, and the increasing necessities of a 
 commercial nation, advancing with rapid strides 
 in the path of prosperity, have — necessarily^evied 
 
INTRODUCTION. VU 
 
 heavy contributions upon the woods and fields. 
 But above and beyond all that has been essential 
 for promoting the advancement of a great people, 
 there has been ruthless destruction of our 
 beautiful woods. Public lands, which should at 
 least have been free from wholesale appropriation, 
 have shared the common fate. Commissioners, 
 armed with power which has been practically 
 despotic, have done their worst by bartering away 
 open rights of common, by enclosing and facilita- 
 ting the enclosure of wayside grounds and village 
 greens, by laying the axe to the roots of grand old 
 trees which sprang into existence before the com- 
 mencement of modern history ; and, in short, by 
 annihilating, remorselessly, whatever their destroy- 
 ing hands could reach of the sylvan picturesque- 
 ness and beauty of our island. 
 
 This work, however, of enclosure and spoliation 
 has, fortunately, of late years, created a strong pub- 
 lic opinion, which before was non-existent, against 
 the further destruction of our woods and forests ; 
 and, though very much of what was beautiful is gone 
 beyond recall, we have, still, some delightful rem- 
 nants left of our primeval trees, of rolling moor- 
 
Vlll JNTKODUCTION. 
 
 land, gorse-clad heath, and open down. The in- 
 habitants of our great and growing cities — grow- 
 ing, unfortunately, at the expense of what God 
 made — ' the country' — now thirst, as they never 
 thirsted before, for green winding lane and sylvan 
 glade, and, in the joyous holiday seasons, turn 
 from the dry, hot air of the street to the breezy 
 field-path with a yearning which was never before 
 experienced in the same degree. 
 
 But long anterior — as we have seen — to the 
 existence of that public feeling, created and 
 strengthened by the action of those worse than 
 modern vandals^men who have ruthlessly de- 
 stroyed what have been beautifully and appro- 
 priately called ' the buildings of God ' — buildings 
 which, once levelled with the ground, no human 
 art can restore — and long before a sense of depri- 
 vation began to' deepen public interest in oxir wild 
 woods and open commons, the public mind was 
 attracted to the subject by the quiet charm and 
 the all-pervading simplicity of Gilpin's writings. 
 The success of these writings, therefore, in the 
 absence of any immediately exciting cause, can be 
 attributed only and solely to their intrinsic merit. 
 
INTEODUCTION. IX 
 
 The first publication (in London) of the most 
 famous of Gilpin's works, under tlie title of ' Re- 
 marks on Forest Scenery and otlier "Woodland 
 Views (relative chiefly to Picturesque Beauty),' 
 took place in 1791. But Gilpin informs us that 
 he had written the manuscript of this work ten 
 years before that date. It was ' printed for R. 
 Blamire, Strand.' A Second Edition, by the same 
 publisher, appeared in 1794. Gilpin died in 1804, 
 but a Third Edition of the ' Forest Scenery ' ap- 
 peared in 1808, and the publishers of this edition 
 were T. Cadell and W. Davies, of the Strand. 
 
 Twenty-six years afterwards, namely, in 1834, 
 a New Edition, with notes, was published by Sir 
 Thomas Dick Lauder, Bart. But, by a strange 
 inadvertence, this Edition was printed fi'om the 
 text of the original Edition of 1791, and the 
 Editor was, evidently, unaware that Gilpin had 
 thoroughly revised the first issue, and had made 
 important alterations in and additions to the work, 
 most of which appeared in the Second Edition of 
 1794. Though he died four years before the pub- 
 lication of the Third Edition, he had made some 
 alterations in the work subsequently to 1794, and 
 
X INTEODUCTION. 
 
 tbese duly appeared in 1808.* It is known that 
 lie was most careful to re-read and correct his 
 ■writings ; for he states that, in the course of the 
 ten years during which he kept the manuscript of 
 his 'Forest Scenery,' it received 'frequent revisal.' 
 The fact that Sir Thomas Dick Lauder omitted 
 the whole of the additions and corrections made 
 by Gilpin greatly detracts, unfortunately, from the 
 value of his Edition, which is, moreover, over- 
 loaded with notes, many of which, though in 
 some degree relevant to the subject-matter of 
 Gilpin's work, are altogether uncalled for, and, 
 in consequence, make constant and unseasonable 
 interruption in the pleasant flow of the text. In 
 the Edition of 1834', in fact, it is not so much 
 Gilpin as Lauder who is prominent throughout, 
 and a considerable portion of the Editor's notes 
 is taken up with a descriptive enumeration of 
 trees, which would have been more in place in a 
 horticultural handbook than amongst the pages of 
 the delightful Author of the ' Forest Scenery.' In 
 many essential points, too, in Lauder's Edition, no 
 
 * We learn from Mr. Garnett that the edition of 1808 is not 
 in the British Museum. 
 
INTEODUOTION, XI 
 
 attempt appears to have been made to correct or 
 explain Gilpin's statements up to the date of the 
 new publication — the most essential part of edi- 
 torial duty. Where an editor approves, he should, 
 in most cases,be silent — for his silence will pre-sup- 
 pose acquiescence. This rule, however. Sir T. D. 
 Lauder continually fails to observe ; and his fre- 
 quent interposition offends the reader. Nor was 
 the First Editor of the ' Forest Scenery ' more 
 happy in his illustrations. He does not attempt 
 to reproduce the charmingly-suggestive landscapes 
 of Gilpin, or the drawings illustrating the portion 
 of the work devoted to trees in combination, but 
 gives, chiefly, a series of inferiorwood engravings of 
 singularly ineffective and clumsy drawings of indi- 
 vidual trees. The letter-press of the First Edition 
 is preserved in its entirety, but the spirit and the 
 charm of Gilpin, in all other respects, are gone. 
 
 The delightful writer on ' Picturesque Beauty ' 
 made no profession to be a botanist. He was an 
 artist, with a true artist's instinctive feelings — a 
 deep love of Nature, an intense dislike of all 
 formality, an intuitive recognition of the beautiful 
 harmony prevailing in the natural world, together 
 
XU INTROD POTION. 
 
 with a keen percepfcion of the picturesqueness 
 produced by the suggestive as well as by the 
 apparent beauty of natural objects. 
 
 But, ere we say more of our Author's work, we 
 must say something of the man himself ; and, for 
 the materials for the brief account (which follows) 
 of his life, we are indebted to a ' Memoir ' of him, 
 written by ' An Admirer of his character and 
 works,' and published in 1851 — at Lymington, 
 by W. L. Galpine, and, in London, by Hamilton 
 and Adams. This memoir only professes to 
 give an outline of Gilpin's life, and it naturally 
 expresses regret that materials for a fuller bio- 
 graphy were not easily accessible, owing, mainly, to 
 the fact that the Author of the ' Forest Scenery ' 
 never kept a diary, ' nor left any papers behind 
 him from which interesting particulars could be 
 gathered of himself.' Here, however, as we have 
 said, we purpose to give a few details only of his 
 life and work. 
 
 "William Gilpin was born on the 4th of June, 
 1724, at Scaleby Castle, near Carlisle, where his 
 family had lived for three generations. His 
 father was Captaia John Bernard Gilpin, a lineal 
 
INTRODUCTION. Xlll. 
 
 descendant of the Kev. Bernard Gilpin, famous in 
 tlie history of the Protestant Reformation as 
 ' The Apostle of the North.' Of the youth of 
 our Author very little is known. Having been 
 designed by his parents for the ministry, he was 
 sent to Queen's College, Oxford, where he 
 graduated as a Bachelor of Arts, November 24th, 
 1744. He was ordained two years later, namely, 
 in October, 1746 ; and the same year was ap- 
 pointed a stipendiary curate by the Rev. James 
 Parish, vicar of Irthington, a parish adjoining his 
 native village of Scaleby. He occupied this 
 curacy for less than two years, and, in May, 1748, 
 he proceeded to Oxford and took his M.A. degree. 
 During the four following years he held, at least, 
 two curacies, one in the diocese of Winchester, 
 and the other in that of London ; but, curiously 
 enough, his biographer has been unable to ascer- 
 tain the names of the parishes in which these 
 appointments were held. In 1 762 Gilpin gave up 
 the Ciurch for a time, and accepted an appoint-' 
 ment as principal assistant in the school of the 
 Rev. Daniel Sanxay, at Cheam, in Surrey — after- 
 wards succeeding, on the retirement of Mr. 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Sanxay, to the entire control of the school. 
 Speaking of him in this capacity his biographer 
 says : — ' Religion was the foundation-stone on 
 which he built the fabric of all instruction that he 
 imparted to his pupils, while he instilled into their 
 minds the noblest sentiments that are deducible 
 from moral principles of the highest nature. On 
 such a superstructure he could hardly fail of 
 success, more particularly so when, to it, he added 
 a gentleness of manners that won the confidence 
 of his pupils, whom he trained to virtue by 
 example tutored with love and disciplined by 
 kindness.' In the same year in which he took 
 up his residence at Cheam, Gilpin married an 
 orphan niece of his uncle. His marriage he after- 
 wards described as one of almost uninterrupted 
 happiness. Two sons aud two daughters were born 
 of this marriage. Of these, the daughters both 
 died whilst young ; one of the sons emigrated to 
 America, and the other — William, the youngest — 
 entered the Church. 
 
 During the year 1770, and subsequently, our 
 Author undertook numerous tours through various 
 parts of England, Scotland, and Wales. His bio- 
 
INTEODUOTION. XV 
 
 grapher says : — ' These tours were made for tlie 
 purpose of admiring the works of creation; and 
 with a view of seeing the most picturesque scenery 
 in this kingdom, he visited those spots that are 
 proverbial for their beauty. One of the leading 
 features in Gilpin's character was his very ardent 
 love of the works of Nature. His numerous 
 writings on picturesque beauty demonstrate that, 
 from the blade of grass to the towering Elm, from 
 the level plain to the stupendous mountain, from 
 the running rivulet to the majestic ocean, his at- 
 tention was directed to investigate their beauties, 
 not merely with the curiosity of the naturalist, 
 but with the reverence of a man who beholds all 
 creation " prompt with remembrance of a present 
 God." ' Whilst on his tours Gilpin adopted the 
 plan of sketching any scenery which struck him 
 as being remarkable, and he thus made a collec- 
 tion of drawings for illustrating his works on 
 picturesque beauty. 
 
 In 1777 he resigned his school at Cheam, having, 
 at the end of the twenty-fivo years during which he 
 had held it, realized a sum of ten thousand pounds. 
 In the same year one of his old pupils — William 
 
XVI TNTEODUOTION. 
 
 Mitford, ttie historian of G-reece — presented him, 
 as a mark of esteem, to the living of Boldre, in 
 the New Forest, near Lymington. There he re- 
 mained until the close of his life, and it was there 
 he wrote nearly the whole of his works, extending 
 to twenty-four volumes. His writings on pictur- 
 esque beauty were all written and published during 
 his residence in that quiet woodland village. 
 
 Of Gilpin, as a preacher of the Gospel, his 
 biographer gives us the following picture : — 
 ' Favoured by nature with a commanding person, 
 dignified manners, and a deep, sonorous voice, 
 and blessed with an education which gave him all 
 the classic proprieties and simple grace of public 
 speaking, his mode of saying the liturgy, reading 
 the Scriptures, and preaching was almost in- 
 imitable. When he said the former, the beauty 
 of its composition appeared to have acquired 
 additional solemnity from the full melody of his 
 voice, and the deep emotion of his solemn and 
 forcible manner ; while reading the Scriptures, 
 in reciting either their awful predictions, or in 
 delivering their terrible denunciations, he seemed 
 to be warmed with a portion of their own fire, or 
 
INTEODUCTION. XVll 
 
 to have received a spark of their inspiration. His 
 style of preaching was most impressive. On 
 ascending the pulpit every eye and ear was 
 rivetted with attention, as with a depth of feeling 
 and power of language of the most impressive 
 nature, he delivered the Gospel message in all its 
 fulness, and in all the plenitude of its divine 
 mission ; but, nevertheless, in words so plain as 
 to be distinctly understood by the most unlettered 
 of his humble flock.' Not less earnest were his 
 private ministrations, for there were no cottagers 
 within the bounds of his extensive parish, who 
 failed to find in their pastor a ready sympathizer 
 in all their troubles and sorrows. 
 
 In 1791 he erected a school at a cost of 400Z., 
 the money having been set apart for this excellent 
 purpose out of the profits of his publications. 
 Eleven years afterwards he determined to endow 
 this school, and, in order to enable him to do so, 
 he sold a number of his drawings, for which 
 he obtained a sum of 1200Z., investing the 
 amount in the public funds. This sum was 
 added to a small amount which had been pre- 
 viously invested with a similar object, and was 
 
 a 
 
xvni INTRODTJOTION. 
 
 further augmented by tlie proceeds of a sale of his 
 drawings — "wMcli, in accordance with, his will, 
 took place immediately after his death, and pro- 
 duced a sum of 1625Z. — the entire amount in- 
 vested bringing in an annual revenue of 87L 
 ' Gilpin's School ' is now amalgamated with a 
 general school, established in Boldre for that and 
 an adjoining parish. 
 
 We must now bring our brief notice of Gilpin 
 and his work to a close. The death of this faith- 
 ful minister, generous benefactor, and delightful 
 writer occurred, as we have seen, in 1804. His 
 widow survived him by only three years, and both 
 were buried in Boldre churchyard, beneath the 
 shadow of the Field Maple, to which he has 
 referred in his ' Forest Scenery.' The inscrip- 
 tion on the joint grave is as follows ; — ' In a quiet 
 mansion beneath this stone, secure from the afflic- 
 tions and still more dangerous enjoyments of life, 
 lye the remains of William Gilpin, sometime vicar 
 of this parish, together with the remains of Mar- 
 garet, his wife. After living above fifty years in 
 haippj union, they hope to be raised in God's 
 due time, through the atonement of a Blessed 
 
INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 Redeemer for their repented transgressions, to a 
 state of joyful immortality. There it will be 
 a new joy to meet several of their good neigh- 
 bours, who lye scattered in these sacred precincts 
 around them.' To this inscription, suggested by 
 Gilpin himself, is added : — ' He died April 5th, 
 1804, at the age of eighty. She died July 14th, 
 1807, at the age of eighty-two.' 
 
 In 1842, a subscription was raised in order to 
 place a monumental tablet to Gilpin in Boldre 
 church. The monument is placed on the north 
 side of the church, and the inscription upon it 
 bears testimony to the fact that the author of the 
 ' Forest Scenery ' was ' a man eminent for the ac- 
 complishments of his mind, the purity of his heart, 
 and the excellence and simplicity of his life ; ' and it 
 records that the monument was dedicated to his 
 memory by his friends and parishioners ' in grate- 
 ful remembrance of his faithful administration of 
 the pastoral office, and of his munificence as the 
 founder of the school in this parish, for the educa- 
 tion of the children of the day labourers of Boldre.' 
 
 From the man to his writings, and, of these, we 
 a 2 
 
XX INTEODUGTION. 
 
 shall notice, here, those only which have made him 
 famous. The first of these Tfas published in 1782, 
 ahd was entitled ' Observations on the River Wje, 
 and several parts of South Wales, relative chiefly 
 to picturesque beauty, made in the summer of the 
 year 1770.' The commendation of the poet 
 Gray had encouraged Gilpin to put this book 
 before the public. Its success gave him still 
 further encouragement. In 1787 he published 
 ' Observations relative chiefly to picturesque 
 beauty, made in the year 1772, on several parts of 
 England, particularly the mountains and lakes of 
 Cumberland and Westmoreland.' In 1789 
 appeared ' Observations on several parts of Great 
 Britain, particularly the Highlands of Scotland, 
 relative chiefly to picturesque beauty, made in the 
 year 1776.' The next work in the order of pub- 
 lication was his ' Forest Scenery,' the date and 
 particulars of which we have already given. In 
 1792 Gilpin published ' Three Essays ; on pic- 
 turesque beauty, on picturesque travel, and on 
 sketching landscape, with a poem on landscape 
 painting.' The last volume published before his 
 death was entitled ' Observations on the Western 
 
INTBODUCTION. XXI 
 
 parts of England, relative chiefly to picturesque 
 beauty, to wHch is added a few remarks on the 
 picturesque beauties of the Isle of Wight.' In 
 1804, the same year in which he died, his trustees 
 published for the benefit of his school at Boldre, 
 in conformance with the Author's will, a volume 
 entitled ' Observations on the Coast of Hampshire, 
 Sussex, and Kent, relative chiefly to picturesque 
 beauty, made in the summer of the year 1774.' 
 Another volume, published in 1809 by Gilpin's 
 trustees, was entitled ' Observations on several 
 parts of the counties of Cambridge, Norfolk, 
 Suffolk, and Essex ; also on several parts of North 
 Wales, relative chiefly to picturesque beauty; in 
 two tours — the former made in the year 1769, and 
 the latter in the year 1773.' These works on pic- 
 turesque beauty were illustrated by the pencil of the 
 Author, and produced as aquatinta engravings by 
 Mr. Aiken, who, in the last century, had acquired 
 a considerable reputation by his skill in executing 
 drawings by that process. 
 
 The PRESENT EDITION comprises the whole of 
 
XXll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that portion of Gilpin's work on picturesque 
 beauty, devoted to general forest scenery. It 
 should be explained that under the general heading 
 of ' Eemarks on forest scenery and other woodland 
 views,' the Author included chapters on 'forest 
 history,' as well as a history and description of 
 the New Forest in Hampshire, as it was in the last 
 /ientury. Strictly speaking, therefore, all that 
 comes properly within the category of ' Forest 
 Scenery ' is included in the present volume, which 
 takes the reader seriatim through the first ten 
 sections of the Third Edition of 1808. All the 
 important corrections made by Gilpin subsequently 
 to the publication of the First Edition in 1791, 
 appear for the first time in a New Edition after a 
 lapse of seventy-one years — for, as already stated. 
 Sir Thomas Dick Lauder's Edition of 1834, 
 was printed from the unrevised issue of 1791. 
 
 We confess to feelings of unusual pleasure in 
 making the present endeavour to bring again into 
 prominence, after so long an interval of time, one 
 of the most delightful books in the English lan- 
 guage. "We confess, too, to the feelings of surprise 
 which we experienced on discovering that no 
 
INTEODOCTION. XXUl 
 
 edition worfhy of the man and of the book had 
 been presented to English readers for nearly three 
 quarters of a century, notwithstanding the reputa- 
 tion which the work had made, and the interest 
 and attraction which it still possessed for all lovers 
 of Nature. We shall never forget our own plea- 
 sure when we made our first acquaintance with 
 the ' Forest Scenery.' The book had for us the 
 charm of romance, and we turned page after page 
 with absorbing interest. Do we mistake the feel- 
 ings of English readers if we venture to think that 
 wherever our language is spoken, ' Gilpin's Forest 
 Scenery ' will be welcomed — in England, in our 
 colonies, and in America ? for its ' observations,' 
 couched in a style pre-eminent for its Anglo- 
 Saxon simplicity and beauty, are redolent of the 
 forest air, and will surely give pleasure and afford 
 delight, wherever, in the wide world, exists an 
 Englishman's love for rolling wood and forest lawn. 
 We would add that our publishers have heartily 
 co-operated with us in the endeavour to make this 
 book worthy of the man who wrote it — for no 
 expense has been spared in the preparation of the 
 present Edition. 
 
XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 For ourselves we have the pleasant reflection 
 that our editorial labour has been a labour of love. 
 And here it will be appropriate to state that the 
 utmost care has been taken in the work of supple- 
 menting the original text with such notes of 
 explanation as were necessary to bring the book 
 up to date, whilst we have given a verbatim tran- 
 scription of Gilpin's work with all his foot-notes, 
 quotations, and italicised words and expressions, 
 — deeming it our duty to interpose our own com- 
 ments as seldom as might be. The orignal text 
 is in large, and our editorial notes in smaller, type. 
 For the information conveyed in these notes we 
 are indebted to the courtesy of a large number of 
 correspondents. Amongst these our obligations 
 are especially due to Lieut. -Colonel Esdaile, of 
 Burley Manor, one of the verderers of our beauti- 
 ful New Forest, who has rendered us material 
 assistance in the prosecution of our inquiries — ■ 
 sparing no labour to promote an object in which 
 he heartily sympathizes, and working 'for the 
 very love of the thing.' 
 
 London, August, 1879. 
 
THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 BoLDRE Chuuoh, wliich, for twenty-seven years, 
 "vvas the scene of Gilpin's public ministrations, 
 forms the subject of the frontispiece, which is 
 engraved from an admirable drawing very kindly 
 made for us by Mrs. Lister Kay. ' Gilpin's Maple' 
 is seen on the right, by the church, and under its 
 shadow is his grave. Eeference to this famous 
 tree will be found at page 82, where Gilpin says, 
 ' One of the largest Maples I have seen stands in 
 the churchyard of Boldre, in New Forest.' Our 
 especial acknowledgments are due to Mrs. Lister 
 Kay for this drawing, for, during two visits 
 which she made to the churchyard for the pur- 
 pose of her sketch, the rain, on both occasions, 
 came down with unceasing persistency. But the 
 artist worked, perseveringly, under an umbrella, for 
 ,she had to leave England for a three months' tour 
 
XXVI THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 abroad, and time pressed. Mr. James D. Cooper 
 is the engraver, and his work, we think, has done 
 full justice to the skill of the fair delineator. 
 
 The full-page illustrations, consisting chiefly of 
 landscapes, interspersed throughout the volume, 
 have all been redrawn from the subjects furnished 
 by Gilpin himself. To the superintendence of 
 this work — most essential to a worthy repro- 
 duction of the 'Forest Scenery' — we have de- 
 voted the utmost care and attention. We have 
 already stated that Gilpin illustrated his own 
 books, and that the illustrations were executed in 
 aquatinta. An excellent description of the cha- 
 racter of the drawings is given by Gilpin's 
 biographer, who says (page 219 of the Memoir) — 
 ' His productions as an artist are of no ordinary 
 merit, and are principally distinguished for their 
 peculiar style of composition, in which he conveys 
 the general idea of an object, without giving its 
 specific delineations. The ahsence oi portraiture 
 is supplied by the picturesque. Hence, none of 
 his drawings are minutely finished, but are mere 
 spirited sketches.' 
 
 Looked at, at a distance, and without minute 
 
.THE ILLUSTRATIONS, XXVU 
 
 inspection, there is a cliarm in these rude 
 sketches — something which strongly touches the 
 imagination. But neither the drawing nor en- 
 graving will compare with the work of the 
 present day. The aquatint, however, which over- 
 spreads them, gives them a peculiarly striking 
 appearance. Of the effect of this colouring, 
 Gilpin himself says : — ' As some people, not much 
 versed in matters of this kind, have conceived 
 the tint, with which these acquatinta drawings are 
 stained, to be an attempt to colour after Nature, 
 I would suggest that nothing less is intended. 
 Some litUe idea of the glow of sunset may be given 
 by it ; and this is attempted only in one or two 
 prints. In all the rest, the design of this wash 
 is only to take off the glaring rawness of white 
 paper, and to harmonize, by a mellow tint, the 
 unpleasant opposition of black and white.' The 
 ' glaring rawness ' of white paper and the ' un- 
 pleasant opposition of black and white ' are not 
 to be discerned in the good drawing and engrav- 
 ing of the present day. Hence, though, at first, 
 we felt inclined to reproduce Gilpin's landscapes 
 in facsimile — and this could have been accom- 
 
XXVlll THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 plished in two -ways — we considered, on reflection, 
 that it would be doing fuller justice to his work to 
 bringinthebest aidsof the artist and wood engraver, 
 by supplying — whilst producing the actual subjects 
 furnished by Gilpin, so characteristic of the spirit 
 and of the charm of his drawings in general — the 
 minutiae of modern artistic work, and the best style 
 of modern wood engraving. It has, therefore, been 
 our most anxious care to see, that in all the details 
 of Gilpin's pictures, the artist should supply what 
 their originator had omitted from his sketches — 
 the filling in of the landscape foregrounds — the 
 proper drawing of the trees and due attention to 
 perspective, to the effects of light and shade, and to 
 the incidental and suggestive beauty added to the 
 scenes by the presence of clouds in the sky — the 
 substitution, in short, of the most skilful artistic 
 work o£ the present day for the conventional 
 drawing and engraving of the eighteenth century. 
 Artist and engraver entered into the work con 
 amore, and they have done their utmost to carry 
 out our suggestions and wishes to the letter. We 
 trust that the result may be considered successful. 
 "With the exception of the ten figures, illustrating 
 
THE ILLUSTEATIOXS. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 the spray of trees, which are engraved from photo- 
 graphs of Gilpin's figures, all the illustrations of 
 the Author of the 'Forest Scenery' have been 
 re-drawn by Mr. Theobald Carreras, and engraved 
 by Mr. J. D. Cooper. 
 
 The illustrations will be found at the pages 
 indicated in the subjoined table: — 
 
 A Pollard, on -vrhioh a single stem has been left to grow 
 into a tree ....... 
 
 An unbalanced tree, bending over a road . 
 
 A withered top, hiding the upper part of a landscape 
 
 A curtailed trunk, hiding the lower part of a landscape 
 
 A blasted tree, on a heath 
 
 Spray and ramification of the Oak . 
 
 Spray and ramification of the Ash . 
 
 Spray of the Elm 
 
 Spray and ramification of the Beech 
 Three ill-shaped trees, formed into a good group 
 A well-balanced group .... 
 An ill-balanced group .... 
 A remote wood, stretching along the horizon 
 An irregular summit, with a regular base . 
 An irregular base and summit regularly varied 
 Effect of a meridian sun in a forest . 
 Effect of an evening sun in a forest . 
 
 13 
 19 
 21 
 31 
 141 
 143 
 147 
 147 
 239 
 243 
 245 
 307 
 307 
 309 
 325 
 329 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 ionh I. 
 
 
 
 TEEES AS SINGLE OBJECTS. 
 
 
 SECTION 
 
 
 PAGB 
 
 I. 
 
 PiOTURESQUii! Beauty op Tubes . 
 
 3 
 
 II. 
 
 Characters of Trees .... 
 
 . 7 
 
 III. 
 
 Sources of Picturesqueness in Trees 
 
 . 17 
 
 IV. 
 
 Descriptive Enumeration of Trees . 
 
 . 41 
 
 V. 
 
 Sprat and Foliage 
 
 . 135 
 
 VI. 
 
 Celebrated Trees 
 
 . 153 
 
 5Book II. 
 
 COMBINATIONS OF TKEES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Trees in Clumps .... 
 
 . 235 
 
 II. 
 
 Park Scenery 
 
 . 251 
 
 III. 
 
 The Copse 
 
 . 263 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Glen 
 
 . 269 
 
 V. 
 
 The Open Grove .... 
 
 . 275 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Forest 
 
 . 285 
 
 VII. 
 
 Forest Lawns and Forest Heaths . 
 
 . 303 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Distant Forest Scenery . 
 
 . 311 
 
 IX. 
 
 Scenery affected by the Weather . 
 
 . 315 
 
 X. 
 
 Effect of the Seasons on Scenery . 
 
 . 341 
 
 
 The Index 
 
 . 355 
 
BOOK L 
 
 TEEES AS SINGLE OBJECTS. 
 
GILPIN'S F0EB8T SCENEEY. 
 
 ^I'ccs iXB single ©bjejrts. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 PICTUEESQUIii BEAUTY OJ? TEEES. 
 
 'iT^C^^^xft"^ is no exaggerated praise to call a 
 
 tree the grandest and most beau 
 tiful of all the productions o£ the 
 earth. In the former of these 
 epithets nothing contends with it ; 
 for we consider rocks and moun- 
 tains as part of the earth itself. And 
 though, among inferior plants, shrubs, 
 and flowers, there is great beauty, yet 
 when we consider that these minuter productions 
 are chiefly beautiful as individuals, and are not 
 
 B 2 
 
4 GILPTN S FOREST SCENERY. 
 
 adapted to form the arrangement of comioosition 
 in landscape, nor to receive tlie effects of light 
 and shade, tliey must give place in point of 
 beauty — of picturesque beauty, at least, wliicli we 
 are here considering — to the form and foliage 
 and ramification of the tree. Thus the splendid 
 tints of the insect, however 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 cha- 
 racter, 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. Though 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 blossom, and the 
 seed — are the same in all trees of the same kind, 
 
PIOTUKESQUE BEAUTX OP TEEES. 5 
 
 while the lai^gei- parts 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 : and it is from these larger parts that 
 the most beautiful varieties result. However, as 
 variety is not alone sufficient to give superiority 
 to the tree, we give the preference, on the whole, 
 to animal life. 
 
SECTION II. 
 
 OHAEACTEBS OF TBEES. 
 
 j'^tEEES 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 
 
8 Gilpin's fokest sceneey. 
 
 same sweeping line, the same contrast, the same 
 ease and freedom. A bough, indeed, may issue 
 from its 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 aAvkward. 
 
 All forms, that ai'o imnatuval, displease. A 
 tree lopped into a may-pole, as you generally see 
 in the hedgerows of Surrey and some other 
 counties, is disgusting. Clipped Yews, Lime 
 hedges, and pollards, for the same reason, arc 
 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 ot 
 a different growth : it is disproportioned, and 
 always imites awkwardly with the trunk. 
 
 Our AutKor here speaks in fclie charactei' of a true lover 
 of Nature, expressing his dislike of the hideous practice 
 of ' trimming ' trees into unnatui'al shapes — a pi-actice 
 which was niiich more common in the last century tban it 
 •is at present. Even now, however, the art of topiary — 
 
'Gilpin's forest scenery.' 
 
 
 A pollard, on which a shiyle stem has been left lo grow into a tree. 
 
 [7%. ! 
 
CHARACTERS OF TREES. 11 
 
 ■wlaichj curiously enough, was amongst the Eomans con- 
 sidered the highest and most valuable accomplishment of 
 the gardener — still finds some admirers in this country. 
 But it is easy to conceive how repugnant it must have 
 been to a man who had passed the greater part of his life 
 amongst some of the wildest and most beautiful scenes of 
 Nature. — Ed. 
 
 Not only all forms that are unnatural, dis- 
 please ; 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 if we should see an 
 Oak or an Elm gi'owing in that, or any other 
 constrained shape, we should take offence. In 
 the Cypress, Nature adapts the spray and branches 
 to the form of the tree. In the Oak and Elm, 
 the spray and branches produce, naturally, a 
 different character. 
 
 Lightness also is a characteristic of beauty in 
 a tree : for though 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 fullness 
 of the foliage which occupies the middle of the 
 
12 Gilpin's poeest scenery. 
 
 tree, or the wliole will only be a large bush. 
 Such is the Horse Chestnut, the form of which is 
 commonly unpleasing.* From position, indeed, 
 and contrast, heaviness, though in itself a defor- 
 mity, may be of singular use in the composition 
 both of natural and of artificial landscape. 
 
 A tree also must be well balanced to be beau- 
 tiful. It may have form, and it may have light- 
 ness, 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 sup- 
 porting its burden with the perpendicular firm- 
 ness of a cohimn. An easy sweep is always 
 agreeable ■■: but, at the same time, it should not be 
 such a sweep as discovers one side plainly over- 
 balanced. 
 
 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 its trunk, as an animal upoA 
 its legs. 
 
 * See page 88.— Ed. 
 
' Gilpin's forest scenery.' 
 
CHAEAOTEES OP TREES. 15 
 
 And yet, in some circumstances, 1 have seen 
 beauty arise even from an unbalanced tree ; but 
 it must arise from some peculiar situation wliich 
 gives it a local propriety. A tree, for instance, 
 hanging from a rock, though totally unpoised, 
 may be beautiful : or it may have a good effect 
 when "we see it bending over a road, because it 
 corresponds -with its 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 instrument through which the 
 effect is produced. 
 
 Without these requisites, therefore, form, light- 
 ness, and a proper balance, no tree can have that 
 species of beauty which we call picturesque. 
 
 ^ 
 
SECTION III. 
 
 SOUECES OP PICTUEESQUENESS IN TREES. 
 
 jBSIDES these requisites of beauty in 
 a tree, there are other things of an 
 adventitious hind which often add 
 great beauty to it. And here I 
 cannot help lamenting the capri- 
 cious nature of picturesque ideas. 
 In many instances they run counter to 
 utility, and in nothing more than in the 
 adventitious beauties ascribed to tree?. 
 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 
 enumerates them. ' How many forests and 
 ■ woods,' says he, ' have we, wherein you shall 
 have, for one lively, thriving tree, four, nay some- 
 
18 Gilpin's pouest scenery. 
 
 times twenty-four, evil thriving, rotten, and dying 
 trees : what rottenness ! what hollowness ! what 
 dead arms ! withered tops ! curtailed trunks ! 
 what loads of mosses ! drooping boughs and dying 
 branches, shall you see everywhere.' * 
 
 Now all these maladies, which our distressed 
 naturalist bemoans with so much feeling, are often 
 capital sources of picturesque beauty, both in the 
 wild scenes of Nature and in artificial landscape. 
 
 What is. more beautiful, for instance, on a 
 rugged foreground, than an old tree with a liollow 
 trunk ? or with a dead arm, a drooping hough, 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 landscape, when 
 we wish to break the regularity of some continued 
 line which we would not entirely 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 
 
 * See Lawson's Orcliard. 
 
'Gilpin's forest scenery.' 
 
 19 
 
 13 
 
' gilptn's forest scenery.' 
 
 21 
 
SOUECHS 01' PICT PEE SQUENESS IN TKBES. 23 
 
 a beautiful circumstance, and its application 
 equally useful in landscape. The withered top just 
 breaks tlie lines of an eminence ! the cv/rtailed 
 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 Eosa, in many of which we find them 
 of great use. Salvator had often occasion for an 
 object on his foregrounds as large as the trunk 
 of a tree, when the whole tree together in its full 
 state of grandeur would have been an incum- 
 brance 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 style of eloquence which the stripling cannot 
 reach; they record the history of some storm, 
 some blast of lightning, or other great event, 
 which transfers its grand ideas to the landscape. 
 
24 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 and, in the representation of elevated subjects, 
 assists tlie 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 appendages of some 
 particular mode of composition. 
 
 The planting of a withered tree, though seldom, if ever, 
 attempted by modern gardeners, would bo perfectly 
 consistent in any portion of a wooded estate to which it 
 was desired to give the aspect of a forest, provided the 
 ground was of sufficient extent. But in such a case the 
 size of the tree would need to be proportioned to the 
 living trees surrounding it. It is^ in fact, a common 
 practice to plant old tree stumps upon lawns, for the 
 reception of ferns and mosses ; for a lawn, in such a case, 
 may be said to represent a forest glade in which one may 
 
 * William Kent, who is regarded as the founder of Englisli 
 landscape gardening, was horn in Yorlcshire in 1684 and died 
 in 1748.— Ed. 
 
SOUECES OP PICTUBESQUENESS IN TJBEES. 25 
 
 often see the graceful fronds of the flowerless plants 
 ■waving from the rotten and curtailed boles of ancient 
 giants of the wood. When, indeed, we strive to imitate 
 Nature, we cannot too closely follow her teachings. — Ed. 
 
 The last, and most beautiful, of tliose diseases 
 wliicli Mr. Lawson ascribes to trees, is moss. Tliis, 
 it is true, is one of Nature's minuti^, and, in 
 painting, touclies not the great parts, composition 
 and effects. Nor is it of use in mere drawing. But, 
 in coloured landscape, it is surely a very beautiful t' 
 object of imitation. The variety of mosses — the 
 green, which tinges the trunk of the Beech ; the 
 brimstone-coloured 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 its furrowed stem. The genuine 
 bark of an Oak is of an ash colour, though 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 appendages. The lower parts, 
 
 
 
26 gilhn's foeest scenery. 
 
 about the roots, are often possessed by that green, 
 velvet moss, whicli in a still greater degree com- 
 monly occupies the bole of the Beech, though 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 dis- 
 tinction : but it sometimes inclines to an olive, and 
 sometimes to a light green. Intermixed with 
 these mosses you often find a species perfectly 
 white. Before I was acquainted with it I have 
 sometimes thought the tree whitewashed. Here 
 and there a touch of it gives a lustre to the trunk, 
 and has its 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 its proper nutriment), it is rarely ac- 
 companied with any of the more beautiful species 
 of its kind ; and, when thus unsupported, always 
 disgusts. This white moss, by the way, is 
 esteemed a certain mark of age; and, when it 
 
SOUECES OF PIOTUEESQUENJjJSS IN TREES. 27 
 
 prevails in any degree, is a clear indication tliat 
 the vigour of tlie tree is declining. We find, also, 
 anotlier species of moss, of a dark brown colour, 
 inclining nearlyto 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 sunshine ; 
 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 be distin- 
 guished 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 lichens : others are 
 called liver-worts. But all these excrescences, 
 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 appendages, is an object which will 
 long detain the picturesque eye. 
 
 2 
 
28 GILPIN S FOREST SCBNEEY. 
 
 But, besides the appearance of moss upon tlie 
 trunhs 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 background, 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 sometime 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 garnished in a way that 
 the painter might copy from. In general, how- 
 ever, 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, 
 
SOUEOBS OP PICTUB.ESQUENESS IN TEBES. 29 
 
 and ranks tliem among the picturesque beauties 
 of Nature, at another he sides with . the wood- 
 man, and brushes them away, Nay, I have 
 known him conjure up some mighty agent, as 
 guardian of his woods, who cries out, — 
 
 ' From Jove I am tlie Power 
 Of this fail- wood, and live in oaken bower. 
 I nurse my sapliiis tall ; and cleanse their rind 
 Prom vegetating filth of every kind. 
 And all ray plants I save from nightly ill 
 Of noisome winds, and blasting vapours chUL' 
 
 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 artificial 
 landscape. In some scenes it is almost essential. 
 When the dreary heath is spread before the eye, 
 and ideas of wildness and desolation are re- 
 quired, what more suitable accompaniment can 
 be imagined than the blasted Oak — ragged, 
 scathed, and leafless — shooting its peeled, white 
 branches athwart the gathering blackness of some 
 rising storm ? 
 
 Thus the poet treats it — 
 
30 gtlpin's forest scenery. 
 
 ' As when heaven's fire 
 Hath scathed the forest Oak or mountain Pine, 
 With singed top its stately growth, though bare, 
 Stands on the Masted heath.' 
 
 Ivy is another miscHef incident to trees, whicli 
 has a good effect. It gives great richness to an 
 old trunk, both by its stem, which often winds 
 round it in thick, hairy, irregular volumes, and 
 by its leaf, which either decks the furrowed bark, 
 or creeps among the branches, or hangs care- 
 lessly 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, itsbushiness is lost in the foliage 
 of the tree ; but in winter, naked branches make 
 a disagreeable appearance staring from a thick 
 hush. And yet, in autumn, I have seen a beautiful 
 contrast between a bush of Ivy, which had com- 
 pletely 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 
 
'GILPIN'S FOREST SCENERY.' 
 
 81 
 
 .i-' ' 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 J3 
 
SOURCES OF PIOTUEESQUENESS IN TREES. 33 
 
 covered with Ivy, and yet not see the tints so 
 happily arranged as to produce an effect. 
 
 We have frequently seen the trunks of deciduous trees 
 in winter densely covered with Ivy ; but we have never 
 been able to regard such an appearance — even when the 
 climbing evergreen had gathered into ' a heavy body ' — 
 as a ' deformity.' Even Gilpin, it will be noticed, half 
 apologizes for venturing so to regard it. By some 
 accident the Ivy clusters may have assumed an unsightly 
 form ; but, to our mind, the natural growth of this delight- 
 ful plant is always beautiful : and the situations it assumes 
 are — with regard to eveiy object in the forest around 
 which it clings — always picturesque. — Ed. •(<,<' 
 
 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, its varied tints are 
 often delightfully contrasted with the deep green 
 of an Ivy bush which has overspread the body 
 and larger hmbs 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.* 
 
 * See page 27, where Gilpin has abeady explained that iu 
 the term 'moss' he includes lichens and liver-worts. — Ed. 
 
34 Gilpin's forest sceneey. 
 
 All tlaese plants are parasitical, as the botanist 
 expressively calls tliem. The tribes of mosses, 
 lichens, 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 indeed is less 
 dependent. He has a root of his own, and draws 
 nourishment from the ground : biit his character 
 is misrepresented, if his little feelers have not 
 other purposes than merely that of showing an 
 attachment to his potent neighbour. Shakespeare 
 roundly asserts he makes a property of him : — 
 
 ' Hg was 
 Tlie Ivy, ■wliicli had hid my princely trunk, 
 And suck'd my verdure out.' 
 
 Gilpin's suggestion and Shakespeare's assumption are 
 both, we think, correct, notwithstanding the opinion of 
 Sir Dick Lauder, the first Editor of the ' Forest Scenery,' 
 and of several modern botanists. We believe that the 
 ' littlo feelers ' of the Ivy are veritable roots, and that, as 
 such, they draw nourishment from the crevices — whether 
 the crannies of rooks or walls, or the fissures in tree 
 trunks — into which they insinuate themselves. In this 
 o pinion we are supp orted_by_authorities of no less_ weight 
 than Sir Joseph Hooker and Mr. Shirley Hibberd. The 
 
SOURCES OP PICftrilESQUBNESS IN TBEBS. 35 
 
 latter, in his delightful ' Monograph of the Ivy/ dis- 
 cusses the subject at considerable length ; and, amongst 
 other reasons for his belief, states the very conclusive fact 
 that if the root of an Ivy that has climbed upon a wall 
 or tree be cut off close to the ground, the plant continues 
 to live and thrive !■. — Ed. 
 
 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 the protection 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, though 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 difi'erent states of their growth, yellow, 
 red, and orange. All these rich touches, how- 
 ever small, produce their effect. Another ele- 
 gant climber, called Traveller's joy, produces 
 indeed no berries ; but its feathered seeds are 
 ornamental. The wild Honeysuckle also comes 
 within this class ; and though, in winding its 
 
36 gilptn's forest scenery. 
 
 spiral coil, it may compress the young tree too 
 tightly, and, in some degree, injure its circula- 
 tion, yet it fully compensates the injury by the 
 beauty and fragrancy of its flowers : — 
 
 ' With, clasping tendrils it invests the branch, 
 Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon, 
 And fragrant chaplet ; recompensing well 
 The strength it borrows with the grace it lends.' 
 
 Under warm suns, where Yines are the off- 
 spring of Nature, nothing can be more beautiful 
 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,' 
 
 In the road between Pisa and Florence, Dr. 
 Smollet informs us, the country is often thus 
 adorned. The Vines are not planted in rows, and 
 propped with sticks, as in France and the county 
 of Nice, but twine naturally around the hedge- 
 row trees, which they almost cover with their 
 foliage and fruit. Extending from tree to tree, 
 they exhibit beautiful festoons of leaves, tendrils 
 and swelling clusters, black and white, hanging 
 
SOURCES OP PICTUEESQUENBSS IN TEEES. 37 
 
 down from every bougli in the most luxm-iant and 
 romantic abundance.* 
 
 Among tlie most beautiful appendages of this 
 hanging kind, which we have in England, is the 
 Hop. In cultivation it is disagreeable : but, in its 
 rude natural state, twisting carelessly round the 
 branches of trees, I know not whether it is not 
 as beautiful as the Vine. lbs leaf is similar ; and 
 though the bunches of hoj), beautiful 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 its growth. 
 
 In artificial landscape indeed, where the sub- 
 ject is sublime, these appendages are of little 
 value. Such trifling ornaments the scene rejects; 
 The rough Oak, in the dignity of its 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 beau- 
 tifully adorn their retreat, or more characteris- 
 tically mark it, than these pendent plants, parti- 
 
 * SmoUet's Travels, vol. ii. page 46. 
 
38 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 cularly the mantling Vine, hanging, as I have here 
 described 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 
 often 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 radical 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 artificial 
 ground), loses half its 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 
 
SOUECES OP PIC'i'URESQUENESS IN TEEES. 39 
 
 liigli as the lower brauclies, and, twisting round, 
 form, in many places, portals so wide, that a man 
 and horse may ride upright through them.* — This 
 indeed is somewhat higher than picturesque beauty 
 requires ; it borders rather on the fantastic. 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 capable, 
 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 l/ 
 Nature the motion of trees is certainly a circum- 
 stance of great beauty. Shakespeare 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 
 
 * l:fat. Hist., Book xvi. chap. 
 
40 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 sooner gotten by heart, if I may so plirase it, than 
 otlier trees ; whicli, yielding to tlie pressure, are 
 every instant assuming new modifications. 
 
 From the motion of the tree, we have also the 
 pleasing circumstance of the cliequered shade, 
 formed under it by the dancing of the sunbeams 
 among its playing leaves. This circumstance, 
 though not so much calculated for picturesque use 
 (as its beauty arises chiefly from its motion), is yet 
 very amusing in nature ; and may also be intro- 
 duced in painting, when the tree is at rest. But 
 it is one of those circumstances, which requires a 
 very artful pencil. In its very nature it opposes 
 the grand principle of massing light and shade. 
 However, if it be brought in properly, and not 
 suffered to glare, it may have its beauty. But, 
 whatever becomes of this circumstance in painting, 
 it is very capable of being pleasingly wrought up 
 in poetry. 
 
 ' The chequer'd eartli seems restless as a flood 
 Bruslx'd by the winds. So sportive is tlic light 
 Shot through the houghs ; it dances, as they dance, 
 Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick, 
 And dark'ning, and enlightening (as the leaves 
 Play wanton) every part.' 
 
SBOTION IV. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE ENUMERATION OP TEBBS. 
 
 ;/AVING thus examined trees in a 
 general view, I shall now particu- 
 larize and endeavour to explain 
 tlie beauties and defects of their 
 several hinds, as they regard land- 
 scape. I shall first consider them 
 as individuals, and afterwards in com- 
 jposition. 
 
 Trees range under two general heads — 
 deciduous and ever-green. In this order I shall 
 take them, confining my remarks to those, chiefly 
 of both kinds, which are of English growth, 
 whether native or naturalized. 
 
 Among deciduous trees, the Oah presents itself 
 first. It is a happiness to the lovers of the 
 
42 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 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 everywhere found. 
 In the choice, indeed, of its soil it is rather 
 delicate. For though it is rather undistinguishing 
 during its early growth, while its horizontal fibres 
 straggle about the surface of the earth, yet, when 
 its tap-root begins to enter the depths of the soil, 
 perhaps no tree is nicer in its discriminations. If 
 its constitution be not suited here, it may multiply 
 its progeny indeed and produce a thriving copse ; 
 but the puny race will never rise to lordly dignity 
 in the forest, nor furnish navies to command the 
 ocean.* 
 
 * How quickly the Oak tegetates in a soil it likes, may be 
 seen from the following instance : — An acorn was sown at 
 Beckett, the seat of Lord Barrington, on the day of his birth 
 in 1717. Tn IN'ovemher, 1790, it contained 95 feet of timber, 
 which at 2s, per foot would sell for 91. 10s. The top was valued 
 at about 11. 15s. The girth, at 5 feet from the ground, was about 
 half an inch more than 8 feet. The increase of girth, in the two 
 last years, was 4 inches and a half. It grows in rich land, 
 worth 11. 5s. an acre. [The present Viscount Barrington informs 
 us that this tree, known as the ' King's Oak,' is still living, and 
 has ' a fine straight stem : ' and that its girth, as ascertained by 
 the Eev. G. W. Murray, Vicar of Shrivenham, was, on May 27, 
 1879, 13 feet at 5 feet from the ground.— Eo.] 
 
■DESCKIPTIVE ENUMERATION OP TREES, 43 
 
 The particular, and most valued, qualities of the 
 Oak are hardness and toughness. Shakespeare uses 
 two epithets to express these qualities, which are, 
 per-haps, stronger than any we can find. 
 
 ' Thou rather with thy sharp and sulph'rous bolt 
 Split'sfc the unwedgeahle, and gnarled Oak, 
 Than the soft Myrtle.' 
 
 Many ]dnds 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 gi'eat a degree as 
 British Oak. Almost all arts and manufactures 
 are indebted to it ; but, in ship-building and bear- 
 ing burdens, its elasticity and strength are applied 
 to most advantage. I mention these mechanic 
 uses only because some of its 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, form- 
 ing short turns and elbows, which the shipwrights 
 and carpenters commonly call hnee-timber. This, 
 too, is generally the most picturesque. Nor is it 
 the straight, tall stem, whose fibres run in parallel 
 
 D 
 
44 Gilpin's li-oBEST scenery. 
 
 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 different 
 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 its 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 
 encounters and hardy conflicts, assumes form and 
 character, and becomes, in a due course of cen- 
 turies, a picturesque tree. 
 
 Virgil has given us the picture of an Oak, in 
 which its principal characteristics are well touched. 
 
 ' Esculus imprimis, quae, quantum vertice ad auras 
 j'Ethereas, tantum radice in Tartara tendit 
 
DESCRIPTIVE ENUMERATION 01' TREES. 45 
 
 Ergo noil hiemes illam, non flabra, iieque imbres 
 Convelluiifc : inimota mauet, multosque per annos 
 ]\Iulta virCim volvens durando secula viucit. 
 Turn fortes late ramos, et brachia tendens 
 Hue illuo, media ipsa ingentem sustiiiet umbram.' * 
 
 SubjoJuecl is Gilpin's translation of Virgil's lines on the 
 Oak. The assumption in the translation that by the 
 word Esculus a species of Oak is intended, is, we think, 
 fully justified — as Gilpin shows — by the description itself. 
 The word is derived from esca, food, and has reference to 
 the edible fruit of the Oak. Pliny uses the word in the 
 same sense; and though some persons have considered 
 that the Beech, which has, of course, also an edible nut, 
 was intended, there can be little doubt that both of the 
 classical authors really referred to the Italian Oak, the 
 Quercus esculus of botanical nomenclature. — Ed. 
 
 ' Deep in the bowels of the earth, the Oak, 
 With hardy effort, drives his vigorous root, 
 And rears his head as high. No winter storm 
 Can touch a trunk so founded. Years revolve ; 
 The puny generations of mankind, 
 Each after each, expire ; yet firm he stands. 
 And stretching, far and wide, his sinewy arms, 
 With comprehensive span and sweep of shade, 
 O'erspreads a district.' 
 
 I sliall not enter into a criticism oa the word 
 esculus, wliicli cannot, on any good authority, I 
 
 * Georg. ii. 290. 
 D 2 
 
46 gilpin's forest scenbhy. 
 
 think, signify the Beech; and Pliny's authority,* 
 may he decisive in favour of its being the Oak. 
 But were it not so, "Virgil's description is so 
 strongly marked with the character 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 qualities 
 of this most noble plant, in one point of view. 
 
 The first characteristic which Yirgil mentions 
 is its firmness, or the power and strength with 
 which it takes hold of the ground, driving its 
 
 * Pliny, speaking of the different kinds of trees -which were 
 dedicated to different deities, tells us, ' Jovi esculus, Apolloni 
 lanrus,' &c. Lib. xii. c. 1. Now we know that the Oak was 
 Jupiter's tree. On this point I need only quote Phtedrus. 
 
 ' Olim quas vellent esse in tutela sua 
 Divi legerunt arbores ; quercus Joviy 
 Et myrtus Veneri placuit.' 
 
 Pliny also in another place. Lib. xvi. c. G, plainly distinguishes 
 between the fagus and the esculus. ' Pagi glans triangula cute 
 includitur. Folium tenue, populo simile, celerrime flavescens,' 
 &c. ' Glandem, quse proprie intelligitur, ferunt robur, quercus, 
 esculus. Continetur hispido calyce. Folia, sinuosa lateribus ; 
 nee, cum cadunt, flavesoentia, tit fagi. Glans optima in querou, 
 et grandissima; mox esculo.' From this quotation it is plain 
 that Pliny considers the esculus as a variety of the Oalc. 
 
DESOllIPTIVE BNUMEEATION OF TREES. 47 
 
 tap-root, in tlie 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 umhram : that is, I appre- 
 hend, it preserves its 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 
 weakness. ("The sea air, like a pestilential disease, 
 attacks the strongest constitutions. It acts by 
 injuring the early bud, which destroys the spray, 
 and, of course, the branch.N 
 
 A second characteristic of the Oak, of which 
 Virgil takes notice, is the stoiUness of its limbs ; 
 its fortes ramos. We know no tree, except 
 perhaps the Cedar of Lebanon, so remarkable in 
 
 * J\lr. "Wise, in his valuable work on the Nevf Torest (London, 
 Smith, Elder, and Co., 1862) refers to the extraordinary effect 
 of the Channel winds on the Oaks on the southern side of the 
 Forest, where he says (page 10) that the trees are ' strained and 
 tortured as they are nowhere else in England.' He adds in a 
 footnote : ' In the lower part of the forest, near the Channel, 
 the effect is quite painful, all the trees being strained away from 
 the sea, like Tennyson's thorn.' — Ed. 
 
48 Gilpin's forest scbneey. 
 
 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 
 often scarcely know which is stem and which is 
 branch; and, towards the top, the stem is entirely 
 lost in the branches. This gives particular pro- 
 priety to the epithet fortes in characterizing the 
 branches of the Oak ; and hence its sinewy elbows 
 are of such peculiar use in ship-building. Who- 
 ever, therefore, 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 nurslings 
 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 its natural 
 state, insulated, and without any lateral pressure. 
 In a forest, trees natm-ally 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 nest characteristic of the Oak taken notice 
 
DBSOBIPTIVE ENUMEEATION OF TEBES. 49 
 
 of by tlie poet; is tlie kulsting of its brandies : 
 bracMa tendit hue illuo. Examine the Ash, the 
 Elm; the Beech, or almost any other tree, and you 
 may observe in what direct and straight Knes the 
 branches in each shoot from the stem. Whereas 
 the limbs of an Oak are continually twisting, hucy 
 illuc, in various contortions ; and, like the course 
 of a river, sport and play ia every possible direc- 
 tion — sometimes in long reaches, and sometimes in 
 shorter elbows. There is . not a characteristic 
 more peculiar to the Oak than this. 
 
 Another peculiai-ity, of which Virgil takes notice 
 in the Oak, is its expansive spread. 
 
 ' Media ipsa ingentem sustiuet unibram.' 
 
 By ingentem mnhraon, I do not suppose the poet 
 means a thick, compact, close-woven fohage, 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 impHed in the expression, just before 
 used, ramos late tendens. This indeed is a just 
 
50 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 characteristic of tlie Oak ; for its boughs, however 
 twisted, continually take a horizonal direction, and 
 overshadow a large space of ground. Indeed, 
 where it is fond of its situation, and has room to 
 spread, it extends itself beyond a,ny other tree ; 
 and, hke a monarch, takes possession of the 
 soil. 
 
 The last Virgilian characteristic of the Oak is 
 its longevity, which extends, I suppose, beyond 
 that of any other tree. 
 
 'Multa virum volvens diirando secula vincit.' 
 
 Perhaps the Yew may be an exception. I mention 
 the circumstance of its longevity as it is of a 
 nature singularly picturesque. It is through age 
 that the Oak acquires its greatest beauty, which 
 often continues increasing even into decay, if 
 any proportion exist betv/een the stem and the 
 branches- When the branches rot away, and the 
 forlorn trunk is left alone, the tree is in its 
 decreptitude — the last stage of life — and all beauty 
 is gone. 
 
 To such an Oak Lucan compares Pompey in 
 his declining state. 
 
DESCRIPTIVE ENUMERATION OE TREES. 51 
 
 ' Stat magni nominis umbra. 
 Qualis fi'ugifero quercus sublimis in agro 
 Exuvias veteres populi, sacrataque gestans 
 Dona ducum ; uec jam validis radicibus hiBrens, 
 Pondere fixa suo est, nudosque per aera ramos 
 Effundens, trunco, non frondibus efficit umbram.' 
 
 Spenser has given us the same picture, but 
 with a few more circumstances. 
 
 ' A huge Oak, dry and dead. 
 Still clad with reliques of its trophies old, 
 Lifting to Heaven its aged, hoary head, 
 Whose foot on earth hath got but feeble hold, 
 And half disbowell'd stands above the ground. 
 With vi^reathed roots, and naked arms, 
 And trunk all rotten, and unsound.' 
 
 I have dwelt the longer on the Oak, as it is, con- 
 fessedly, both the most picturesque tree in itself, 
 and the most accommodating in composition. It 
 refuses no subject either in natural or in artificial 
 landscape. It is suited to the grandest, and may 
 with propriety be introduced into the most pastoral. 
 It adds new dignity to the ruined tower and 
 Gothic arch : by stretching its wild, moss-grown 
 branches athwart their ivied walls it gives them a 
 kind of majesty coeval with itself. At the same 
 time its propriety is still preserved, if it throw its 
 
52 Gilpin's foeest sceneey. 
 
 arms over the purling brook, ortlie mantling pool, 
 where it beliolds 
 
 ' Its reverend image in the expanse below.' 
 
 Milton introduces it happily even in the lowest 
 
 scene. 
 
 ' Hard by, a cottage cliimney smokes 
 Erom botween two aged Oaks.' 
 
 After the Oalc, let us examine the Ash. This 
 tree, in point of utility, is little inferior to the Oak. 
 Its uses are infinite. To the ashen spear the 
 heroes of antiquity were indebted for half their 
 prowess. In the arts of peace as well as of war, 
 in architectiu-e, tillage, and manufactures, the Ash 
 objects to business of no kind : while even its very 
 refuse spars are accounted the best fuel in the 
 forest.* The ashen billet produces a steady, bright, 
 lambent flame ; and, as Mr. Evelyn tells us, may be 
 reckoned among the aKanva fvXa, fuel with little 
 smoke. 
 
 I have sometimes heard, the Oak called the 
 Hercules of the forest; and the Ash, the Yenus. 
 
 * In some parts of the continent of Europe the ashen billet 
 sells for one half more than any other wood, except Beech. 
 
DESCEIPTIVB ENUMBEATION OP TEEES. 53 
 
 Tlie comparison is not amiss : for the Oak joins 
 tlie idea of strength to beauty, while the Ash 
 rather joins the ideas of beauty and elegance. 
 Virgil marks the character of the Ash, as particu- 
 larly beautiful. 
 
 ' Fraxinus in sylvis pulcbevrima — ' * 
 
 The Ash generally carries its principal stem 
 higher than the Oak, and rises in an easy, flow- 
 ing line. But its chief beauty consists in the 
 lightness of its whole appearance. Its 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 loose- 
 ness of the leaves corresponding with the light- 
 ness of the spray, the whole forms an elegant 
 depending foliage. Nothing can have a better 
 efiect than an old Ash hanging from the corner . 
 of a wood, and bringing off the heaviness of the 
 other foliage with its loose pendent branches. 
 And yet, in some soils, I have seen the Ash lose 
 much of its beauty in the decline of age. Its 
 foliage becomes rare, and meagre; and its 
 
 * Tlie Asli is tlie most beautiful of all the trees iu the wood. 
 
54 Gilpin's poeest scenery. 
 
 brandies, 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. Its leaf 
 is much tenderer than that of the Oak, and 
 sooner receives impression from the winds, and 
 frost. Instead of contributing its tint, therefore, 
 in the wane of the year, among the many-coloured 
 offspring of the woods, it shrinks from the blast, 
 drops its leaf, and in each scene where it pre- 
 dominates, leaves wide blanks of desolated boughs, 
 amidst foliage yet fresh and verdant. Before its 
 decay, we sometimes see its leaf tinged with a 
 fine yellow, well contrasted with the neighbour- 
 ing greens. But this is one of Nature's casual 
 beauties. Much oftener its leaf decays in a dark, 
 muddy, unpleasing tint. And yet sometimes, 
 notwithstanding tliis early loss of its foliage, we 
 see the Ash, in a sheltered situation, when the 
 rains have been abundant and the season mild, 
 retain its green (a light pleasant green), when 
 
DESOEIPTIVE ENUMEEATION OF TREES. 55 
 
 the Oak and the Elm, in its neighbourhood, have 
 put on their autumnal attire. 
 
 Another disagreeable circumstance attends the 
 Ash, which is indeed its misfortune rather than 
 its fault. Its leaf and rind are nutritive to 
 deer, and much used in browsing them in 
 summer. The keepers of the forest, therefore, 
 seek out all the Ash trees they can find, which 
 are for this purpose mangled and deformed. 
 
 One thing more I should mention with regard 
 to the Ash, as it is of a picturesque nature, and 
 that is the beauty of its roots, which are often 
 finely veined and will take a good polish. Dr. Plot, 
 in his Natural History of Oxfordshire,* speaks 
 of certain knotty excrescences in the Ash, called 
 the hrusca and mollusca, which, when cut and 
 polished, are very beautiful. He particularly 
 mentions a dining-table, made of the latter, which 
 represents 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 
 
 * Chap. vi. sec. 80. 
 
56 gflpim's forest scenery. 
 
 them mucli 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 its own fancy and picking out re- 
 semblances of its 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 sup- 
 poses, from too quick an ascent of the sap :* or, 
 as other naturalists imagine, from the puncture 
 of some insect in the tender twig, Avhich diverts 
 
 * See Nat. Hist. Oxf., ch. vi. sec. 82. , 
 
DESCEIPTIVH ENUMEEATION OF TEBES. 57 
 
 the sap from its usual channel and makes the 
 branch monstrous. The wreathed fascia is some- 
 times found in other wood, in the Willow par- 
 ticularly, and in the Holly; but most commonly 
 it is an excrescence of the Ash. I have a fas- 
 ciated 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 * speaks of a piece of vegetable 
 violence of this kind, which is rather extraordi- 
 nary. An Ash-key, rooting itself on a decayed 
 Willow, and finding, as it increased, a deficiency 
 of nourishment in the mother plant, began to 
 insinuate its fibres, by degrees, through the trunk 
 of the Willow into the earth. There receiving 
 an additional recruit, it began to thrive and ex- 
 pand itself to such a size that it burst the 
 
 * See Nat. Hist. Oxf., oh. vi. sec. 79. 
 
58 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 Willow in pieces, whicli fell away from it on every 
 side ; -and what was before tlie 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 
 Boan Tree,- should be mentioned. Its name de- 
 notes the place of its usual residence. Inured 
 to cold and rugged scenes, it is the hardy in- 
 habitant of the northern parts of this island. 
 Sometimes it is found in softer climes : but there 
 it generally discovers, by its 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 its sacred shade. Its 
 chief merit now consists in being the ornament 
 of landscape. In the Scottish Highlands it be- 
 comes a considerable tree. There, on some rocky 
 mountain covered with dark Pines and waving 
 
DBSCEIPTIVE ENUMEEATION OF TEEBS. 69 
 
 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 beautifully with 
 the deeper green of the Pines : and, if they are 
 happily blended, and not in too large a propor- 
 tion, they add some of the most picturesque 
 furniture with which the sides of those rugged 
 mountains are invested. 
 
 The Mouu taia Ash [Pyrios aucuparia) is not, as Gilpin 
 supposes, a variety of the Common Ash {Fraxinus excel- 
 sior), but a tree ■which belongs to a different genus, being, 
 in fact, as its generic name Pyrus indicates, a relation of 
 the Pear and the Apple. Its common name has been 
 suggested by the general resemblance borne by its leaves 
 to those of the Ash, and by the fact that it grows in 
 mountainous districts. — Ed. 
 
 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, dividing 
 into abrupt, twisting, irregular limbs — yet compact 
 in its foliage — and the easy sweep of the other, 
 
60 Gilpin's forest soenert. 
 
 tlie simplicity of its brandies and the looseness of 
 its hanging leaves, characterize both these trees 
 with so much precision, that, at any distance at 
 which the eye can distinguish the form, it may also 
 distinguish the difference. The Elm has not so 
 distinct 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 ; though 
 the Oak, I mean such an Oak as is strongly 
 mai-ked with its peculiar character, can never be 
 mistaken for the Elm. This is certainly a defect 
 in the Elm; for strong characters are a great 
 source of picturesque beauty. 
 
 This defect, however, appears chiefly in the 
 skeleton of the Elm. In full foliage its character 
 is better marked. No tree is better adapted to 
 I receive grand masses of light. In this respect it 
 is superior, not only to the Oak and the Ash, but 
 perhaps to every other tree. Nor is its foliage, 
 , shadowing as it is, of the heavy kind. Its 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 
 
DESOillPTIVE ENUMERATION OF TREES. 61 
 
 meets witli a soil it loves, rises liiglier than the 
 generality of trees ; and, after it has assumed the 
 dignity and hoary roughness of age, few of its 
 forest brethren (though, properly speaking, it is 
 not a forester) excel it in grandeur and beauty. 
 
 The Elm is the first tree that salutes the early 
 spring with its 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 its light green is very 
 discordant with the gloomy hue of its 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 \vith the orange of the Beech, the ochre 
 of the Oak, and many of the other fading hues of 
 the wood. 
 
 A species of this tree called the Wych Elm, is 
 perhaps generally more picturesque than the com- 
 mon sort, at least on a foreground, as it hangs 
 more negligently ; though, at the same time, with 
 
 E 2 
 
62 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 this negligence it loses in a good degree that 
 happy surface for catching masses of light which 
 we admire in the common Elm, and which adapts 
 it better to a distance. We observe, also, when we 
 see this tree in company with the common Elm, that 
 its bark is somewhat of a lighter hue. The AYych 
 Elm is a native of Scotland, where it is found not 
 only in the plains and valleys of the Lowlands, but 
 is hardy enough to climb the steeps and flourish in 
 the remotest Highlands, though it does not attain, 
 in those climates, the size which it attains in 
 England. Naturalists suppose the "Wych 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 its 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 its branches 
 are more pensile, and its leaves of smaller 
 dimensions, than those of the common Elm. 
 
 We have made particular inquiry as to the trees still 
 
DESCRIPTIVE ENUMERATION OE TREES. 63 
 
 growing in St. John^s walks at Cambridge, and we are 
 indebted especially to the courtesy of Mr. B. H. Sanders, 
 Dr. Bateson, tbe Master of St. John's College, and other 
 gentlemen for investigating the subject. We learn that 
 several of the oldest trees in St. John's walks have lately 
 been blown down ; but there are other fine old Elms still 
 standing, which are, Mr. Sanders believes, actual remnants 
 of those referred to by Gilpin. — Ed. 
 
 An old Elm, wliicli grew formei^ly in the grove 
 at Magdalen College in Oxford, was by some 
 accident disbarked entirely round. A malady of 
 tbis kind is generally reckoned fatal to all tbe 
 vegetable race. But tbis tree flourisbed after it 
 as well as any tree in tbe grove. Tbe probable 
 reasons of tbis uncommon appearance are given 
 us by tbe learned autbor of tbe Natural History 
 of Oxfordsbire in a long pbilosopbical inquiry 
 wbicb may be found in tbe 166tb page of tbat 
 work. I bave beard, also, but . I know not on 
 wbat autbority, of another disbarked Elm growing 
 at tbis time vigorously at Kensington. 
 
 Tbe Oak, tbe Ash, and tbe Elm are commonly 
 dio-nified, in our English woods, as a distinct class, 
 by the title of timber trees. But tbe picturesque 
 eye scoi-ns the narrow conceptions of a timber- 
 
64 Gilpin's torbst scenery. 
 
 merchant, and, witli equal complacency, takes in 
 tlie wliole offspring of tlie wood ; though, 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 
 licturesque beauty coincides with that of utility, 
 s the two ideas are often at variance. 
 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 its wood is of a soft, spongy 
 nature, sappy and alluring to the worm. And 
 yet I have heard that it has lately been found to 
 answer as well as Elm in forming the keels, stems 
 and stern-posts of the largest ships. 
 
 The wood of the Beech has advanced in general estima- 
 tion since Gilpin's timej and is now largely used, especially 
 for the manufacture of articles of furniture. Loudon re- 
 marks that the durability of its vrood is said to be increased 
 by steeping it in water ; and ' according to some, by dis- 
 barking the tree while standing.' He adds, ' In England, 
 at the present time, the Beech is principally employed in 
 making bedsteads and chairs ; and it is also in great de- 
 mand for panels for cai-riages, and for various purposes in 
 joinery, cabinet-making, and turnery.' — Ed. 
 
DBSORIPTIVE ENUMERATION OF TREES. 65 
 
 In point of picturesque beauty I am not inclined 
 to rank tlie Beech much higher than in point of 
 utility. Its skeleton, compared with that of the 
 trees we have just examined, is very deficient. Its 
 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 over- 
 spread, in patches, with a variety of mosses and 
 lichens, which are commonly of a lighter tint in 
 the upper parts, a,nd of a deep velvet-green 
 towards the root. Its 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 illoB ; crescetis amores.' * 
 
 But, having praised the trunk, we can praise no 
 
 * As the letters of our names increase on the Lark, so shall 
 our love. 
 
66 Gilpin's i-'oubst scenery. 
 
 other part of tlie skeleton. The branclies are 
 
 fantastically -^Yreatliedand disproportioned, twining 
 
 a-wkwardly among eacli 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 choosing the Beech for its 
 
 shade. No tree forms so complete a roof. If you 
 
 wish either for shade or shelter, you will find it 
 
 best 
 
 ' Patnlte sub tegmine fagi.' * 
 
 This bushiness gives a great heaviness to the 
 tree, which is always a deformity. What lightness 
 it has, disgusts. You will sometimes see a light 
 branch issuing from a heavy mass; and, though 
 such -pendent branches are often beautiful in them- 
 selves, they are seldom in harmony with the tree. 
 They distinguish, however, its character, which 
 will be seen best by comparing it with the Elm. 
 
 * Under the shelter of a spreading Beech. 
 
DESCEIl-'TIVE ENUMEEATION OF TEBES. 67 
 
 The Elm forms a rounder, the Beech a more 
 pointed foliage. But the former is ahvays in 
 harmony with itself. 
 
 On the whole, the massy, full-grown, luxuriant 
 Beech is rather a displeasing tree. It is made 
 up of littleness, seldom exhibiting those tufted 
 cups, or hollow, dark recesses, which dispart the 
 several grand branches of the more beautiful 
 kinds of trees. Sometimes, however, we see in 
 Beeches of happy composition, the foliage falling 
 in large flakes, or layers, between which the 
 shadows have a forcible effect when the tree is 
 strongly illumined. 
 
 Contrary to the general nature of trees, the 
 Beech is most pleasing in its juvenile state, as 
 it has not yet acquired that heaviness which is 
 its most faulty distinction. A light, airy, young 
 Beech with its spiry branches, hanging, as I have 
 just described them, in easy forms, is often beau- 
 tiful. I have seen also the forest Beech, in a 
 dry, hungry soil, preserve the lightness of youth 
 in the matui-ity of age. 
 
 After all, however, we mean not to repudiate 
 even the heavy, luxuriant Beech in picturesque 
 
68 Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 compositioi] . It has sometimes its beauty and 
 oftener its use. In distance it preserves the 
 depth of the forest ; * 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 onr purpose 
 like the Beech. But at present we are not con- 
 sidering the Beech in composition, but only as 
 an individual, and in this light it is in which we 
 chiefly conceive it as an object of disapprobation. 
 We should not conclude our remarks on the 
 Beech without mentioning its 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, its harmony 
 with the grove is pleasing. 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 oppo- 
 sitions of tint, which perhaps the forest can 
 
 * We call the forest deep, wlieii we cannot see tlirougli it ; so 
 that, at a distance, a thin wood of Beeches will have the effect of 
 a lar^e one. 
 
DESCRIPTIVE BNUMEEATION OF TEEES. 69 
 
 furnish, arise from the union of Oak and Beech. 
 We often see a wonderful effect from this com- 
 bination. And yet, accommodating as its leaf 
 is in landscape, on handling it feels as if it were 
 fabricated with metallic rigour. In its autumnal 
 state it almost crackles : — 
 
 ' Leni crepitabat bractea vento.' * 
 
 For this reason, I suppose, as its 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, not- 
 withstanding my severity, it is a tree of pic- 
 turesque fame ; and I did not choose to condemn 
 without giving my reasons. It has acquired its 
 reputation, I suppose, chiefly from its having a 
 peculiar character ; and this, with all its defects, 
 it certainly Jias. 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. 
 
 * The lidit metal crackled in tlie wind. 
 
70 Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 We cannot avoid the conviction that^ for some reason, 
 our Author entertained a prejudice against the Beech, and 
 such a feeling is strange in so keen a lover of Nature. 
 We have elsewhere expressed our own opinion of this de- 
 lightful tree ; and it may not, perhaps, be inappropriate if 
 in this place we make from that opinion the following 
 quotation : — ' In the largest of our woodland Beech 
 growths the striking and impressive character of the Tree 
 can, of course, he most effectively recognized. The 
 straight pillared stem, smooth and grey, rises with lofty 
 symmetry, sometimes in a single column, sometimes in 
 double columns, and, far up aloft, spreads out against 
 the sky a canopy of graceful foliage. The beautiful and 
 impressive character of the Tree is best seen, however, in 
 a Beech wood ; for the Beech allows no rivals, and even 
 underwood and turf are banished from the shade of its 
 branches. Looking up, then, in a great Beech wood 
 from the withered leaves, which are strewn in profusion 
 on the ground, giving it a character of lifelessness, and 
 letting the eye wander amidst the forest of symmetrical 
 trunks carried up aloft with surpassing grace and beauty 
 until they spread into the heaven of leafiness above, one 
 is strangely moved by the spectacle ; for the wealth of 
 verdure, burnished into silvery gloss by the play of sun- 
 light, tells us of the unseen but patent forces which 
 beneath our feet, where the soil is embrowned by dead 
 leaves, are moving silently upwards through the stately 
 columns, carrying to their summits the life and vigour 
 which give symmetry to stem and branch, grace to clus- 
 
DBSOEIPTIVE BNUMBEATION 01 TEEES. 71 
 
 tering bougli and twig, and tlie beauty of colour to tlie 
 moving forms of glossy leaves.'' * — Ed. 
 
 Nearly allied to the Beecli in a picturesque 
 light, is tlie Hornbeara. It grows like it, when 
 it is suflfered 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. Its wood is 
 white, tough, and flexible. 
 
 The deciduous trees, which I have described, 
 hold certainly the first rank. I shall, however, 
 touch on a few others, which, though 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 — though 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, though inferior, 
 no doubt, to what it attains in its native soil. Its 
 
 * Our Woodland Trees. 
 
72 Gilpin's foeest soeneey. 
 
 stem is very picturesque. It is smooth, and of a 
 light ash., colour, and lias the propei'ty of throw- 
 ing off its bark in scales — thus naturally cleansing' 
 itself, at least its larger boughs, from moss, and 
 other parasitical incumbrances. This would be 
 no recommendation 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, immediately after its excoriation, is 
 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 more in semi- 
 circular laminas. 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 its leaf 
 is large, smooth, of a fine texture, and seldom 
 injured by insects. Its 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 
 
DBSCEIPTIVE ENUMERATION 01' TEEBS. 73 
 
 forms, to fill up every little vacuity -with, shade. 
 At tlie same time, it must be owned, the twisting 
 of its branclies is a disadvantage to this tree, as 
 we have just observed it is to the Beech, when it 
 is stripped of its 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 : though I have heard that in 
 America, where it grows naturally, it grows more 
 freely, and does not exhibit that twisting in its 
 branches. Its foliage, from the largeness of the 
 leaf and the mode of its growth, does not make 
 the most picturesque appearance. One of the 
 finest Occidental Planes I am acquainted with, 
 though I have heard of larger, stands in the 
 vicarage garden at Yicar's Hill, where its boughs, 
 feathering to the ground, form a canopy of above 
 fifty feet in diameter. 
 
 The Glebe House at Boldre — restored by tlie present, 
 vicar — still retains, as during Gilpin's residence there, its 
 name of 'Vicar's Hill.' The Occidental Plane referred to 
 by Gilpin is still in full vigour, and now spans 85 feet. — Ed. 
 
 The Oriental Plane is a tree nearly of the same 
 kind, only its leaf is more palmated ; nor has it 
 
74 Gilpin's poeest soeneey. 
 
 so great a disposition to overshadow the ground, 
 as the Occidental Plane. At least I ncA'-er saw 
 any in our climate form so noble a shade ; though, 
 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 
 only like broomsticks.* In Italy a very noble 
 collection of them form the avenue to the convent 
 of Grotta-Ferrata, near Frascati, which is said to 
 occupy the exact site of TuUy's Tusculan villa, 
 about twelve miles from Rome on the Alban Hill. 
 The tree at the end of the avenue farthest from 
 the convent, and close to a plentiful spring, 
 exceeds the rest in size and beauty. This con- 
 vent is often visited for the sake of a picture by 
 Dominichino. 
 
 The Oriental Plane I believe sheds its bark 
 like the Occidental, and the catkins of both are 
 round, spicated balls about the size of walnuts, 
 and fastened together often in pairs, like chain- 
 
 * Letter 47. 
 
DESCRIPTIA'-E ENUMERATION OF TBEES, 75 
 
 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 * that at Jedo, the capital of 
 Japan, he found a species of this tree, the leaves 
 of which were beautifully variegated, like the tri- 
 colour, with red, green and yellow. An appear- 
 ance 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 summer 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 
 
 * See page 524. 
 
76 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 autumn, their leaves receive a mellow tint whicli 
 harmonizes very -well with the waning colours of 
 the wood. I have heard of other varieties of 
 these foreign Planes ; but if there are, I am 
 unacquainted with them. 
 
 One singularity of this tree may be mentioned, 
 which I believe runs through all its varieties. The 
 stem of every leaf forms, at its insertion into the 
 spray, a little calyx or cup, which covers and de- 
 fends the bud of the succeeding year. In autumn 
 you easily discover it by pulling off a decayed leaf. 
 
 The Poplar tribe shall be considered next. 
 They are numerous, and some of them 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. Its 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 plantations. It seems to 
 like a British soil, and its youth is promising, but 
 I have never seen it in full maturity. Its conic 
 
DESCEIPTIVB ENOMEEATION OF TREES. 11 
 
 form as a deciduous tree, is peculiar. Among 
 evergreens we find tlie same character in tlie 
 Cypress, and botli trees, in many situations, have 
 a good effect. Tlie Cypress often, among tlie 
 ruins of ancient Rome, breaks tlie regularity of a 
 wall or a pediment by its conic form ; and tlio 
 Poplar on tlie banks of the Po no doubt lias the 
 same effect among its deciduous brethren, by 
 forming the apex of a clump, though I have been 
 told that, in its age, it loses its shape in some 
 degree, and spreads more into a head. The 
 oldest Poplars of this kind I have seen are at 
 Blenheim. Tliey 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 pressed 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 
 
 * Three of tliem are still living, — Ed. 
 ir 2 
 
78 Gilpin's fobest scenery. 
 
 brandies coincide in the motion, and the blast 
 often makes an impression npon it when 
 otlier trees are at rest. I have mentioned, 
 among the adventitious beauties of trees, their 
 snscrptihilifi/ of motion ;* 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 is loud and boisterous ; 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 its 
 form from the influence of a sea air, or some 
 other malign impression, and, exhibiting an un- 
 natural appearance, disgusts. One thing more I 
 should mention with regard to the Italian Poplar, 
 which is, that although it sometimes has a good 
 effect, when standing single, it generally has a 
 
 * See page 39. 
 
DESCRIPTIVE ENUMERATION OP TREES. 79 
 
 better wlieii two or three are planted in a 
 group. 
 
 The Walnut is not an unpicturesque tree. The 
 "vyarm, russet hue of its 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 its yellowish hue, when mixed in any quantity 
 with trees of a darker tint ; but it opens its 
 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 its foliage 
 is of the less consequence, as its ramification is 
 generally beautiful. 
 
 The Lime is an elegant tree, where it is 
 suffered to grow at large; but we generally see 
 it in straight bondage, clipped into shape, and 
 forming the sides of avenues and vistas. But in 
 its best state it is not very interesting. It has a 
 uniformity of surface, without any of those breaks 
 and hollows which the most picturesque trees 
 present, and which give their foliage so much 
 beauty. One circumstance, however, should 
 recommend the Lime to all lovers of the imitative 
 
80 Gilpin's forest soenkry. 
 
 arts. No wood is so easily formed under tlie 
 carver's chisel. It is the wood which the inge- 
 nious 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. 
 
 If not, strictly speaking, a picturesque, the Lime is a 
 very beautiful tree ; and not less, as we think, in its leaf- 
 less form than when clothed, in the early summer, with 
 its exquisite golden green foliage. The objectionable 
 custom of clipping it ' into shape ' is almost, if not quite, 
 as much practised now as in Gilpin's time, and, possibly, 
 the unpicturesqueness ascribed to it by our Author may 
 have arisen, in the specimens which he saw, from some 
 previous process of clipping of which he had no know- 
 ledge. We have spoken elsewhere* of the fohage and of 
 the general character of the Lime, and of the tree in its 
 leafless form we may say that it is— more especially in 
 its earlier years, when untouched by the pruning knife 
 of the gardener, and suffered to grow in freedom — 
 unrivalled in symmetry and beauty. There are, for 
 instance, young specimens growing under such circum- 
 stances at the present time in Kew Gardens which will 
 f ally justify this opinion. For ornamental carving Lime 
 
 * In Our Woodland Trees. 
 
DESOEIPTIVE E]vrOMEltA.TI0N OF TEEBS. 81 
 
 wood is superior to any other, and it has the advantage of 
 keeping free from the attacks of insects. — Ed. 
 
 Tlie Maple is an uncommon tree, ttougli a 
 common bush. Its wood is of little value and it 
 is, therefore, rarely suffered to increase. "We sel- 
 dom see it employed in any nobler service than 
 in filling up its part in a hedge, in company with 
 thorns and briars and other ditch trumpery. 
 Yet the ancients held it in great repute. Pliny * 
 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.f 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 ; 
 though 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 suflBcient for the larger 
 species of furniture; but in all smaller cabinet 
 
 * See Pliu. Nat. Hist., lib. xvi. cli. 16. 
 
 t See page 55. See also Plin. Nat. Hist., lib. xiii. ch. 15. 
 
82 Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 work they were inestimable. Indeed the whole 
 tree was esteemed by the ancients, on account of 
 its variegated wood. In Ovid we find it thus 
 celebrated : — 
 
 ' Acerque coloribus impar.' * 
 
 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 beautiful. But I am told that in 
 North America, where it grows wild, it is in much 
 esteem. When the cabinet maker meets with a 
 knotted tree of this kind, which is there called 
 the curled Maple, he prizes it highly. 
 
 In the few instances I have met with of this 
 tree in a state of maturity its form has appeared 
 picturesque. It is not unlike the Oak, but is 
 more bushy, and its branches are closer and more 
 compact. One of the largest Maples I have seen, 
 stands in the churchyard of Boldre, in New 
 Forest : but 1 have not met with specimens 
 enough of this tree to form an opinion of its 
 general character. 
 
 * Met., lit. X. V. 1. The Maple stained with, various hues. 
 
DESCRirTIVE ENUMBEATION OF TREES. 83 
 
 The Field Maple in Boldre cliurchyardj refen-ed to by 
 Gilpiiij was destined to be invested with a peculiar inte- 
 rest, for under its shadow is the grave of this true lover 
 of Nature. Gilpin, as we have already stated, was buried 
 in Boldre churchyard by his own request, and his grave- 
 stone bears an inscription part of which he himself had 
 written some little time before his death. The same 
 grave encloses the remains of Gilpin's wife, who died 
 July 14th, 1807.— Ed. 
 
 The Great Maple, commonly called tlie Syca- 
 more, is a grander and nobler tree than the smaller 
 Maple ; but it wants its elegance ; it is coarse in 
 proportion to its bulk. It forms, however, an 
 impenetrable shade, and often receives well-con- 
 trasted masses of light. Its 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 diflFerent hues, 
 seams and cracks, which are often picturesque. 
 
 The Chestnut, in maturity and perfection, is a 
 noble tree, and grows not unlike the Oak. Its 
 ramification is more straggling; but it is easy, 
 and its foliage loose. This is the tree which 
 
84 gilp;n's fokest , sceneey. 
 
 graces the landscapes of Salvator Rosa. In tlie 
 mountains of Calabria, where Salvator painted, tlie 
 Chestnut flourished. There he studied it in all its 
 forms, breaking and disposing it in a thousand 
 beautiful shapes, as the exigencies of his composi- 
 tion required. I have heard, indeed, ,tliat it is 
 naturally brittle, and liable to be shattered by 
 ■winds, which might be one reason for Salvator's 
 attachment to it. But although I have many 
 times seen the Chestnut 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 
 Tamar, in Cornwall, at an old house, belonging to 
 the Edgcumbe family. I have heard also that at 
 Beechworth Castle, in Surrey, there are not fewer 
 than seventy or eighty Chestnuts, measuring from 
 twelve to eighteen or twenty feet in girth, and 
 some of them of very picturesque form ; but I saw 
 them only at a distance. In Kent also the Chestnut 
 is frequently found. 
 
 Some of the old Chestnuts referred to by Gilpin as 
 standing on the banks of the Tamar have disappeared ; 
 but we have learnt^ on inquiry, that two of them are still in 
 
DESCEIPTIVE ENUMEEATION 01^" TREES. 85 
 
 existence, growing near wliat was once an old stable on 
 Lord Mount Edgcumbe's estate. Tbese trees are believed 
 to be upwards of tbree hundred years old ! — Ed. 
 
 It is said, indeed, that this tree was once very 
 common in England, and tliat 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 Surrey, I have seen 
 beams which are like Oak, yet plainly appear to 
 be of a different kind of timber, and are supposed 
 to be Chestnut. I have often heard also, that the 
 timber of the old houses of London was of 
 Chestnut. Whether this ti-ee was ever indi- 
 genous to this country seems to be matter of 
 speculation. As its timber is said to be service- 
 able, and as its fruit, though 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 exterminated. Some 
 have endeavoured to account for this, by showing 
 that it is not so good a timber tree as is supposed, 
 for it decays at the heart, and will continue decay- 
 ing, till it become merely a shell, and for this 
 
86 GlIiPIN's FORBST SCKNERT. 
 
 reason it has been less sought after and encou- 
 raged. How far this may be true I know not. I 
 rather suspect its truth.* Some years ago Mr. 
 Daines Barrington read a paper to the Royal 
 Society, in which he endeavoured to prove that 
 the Chestnut was not indigenous to this country. 
 Dr. Ducarel answered him, and alleged from 
 ancient records, and other evidences, that Chestnut 
 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 Roger, Earl of Plereford, to Flexley 
 Abbey, of the tithe of all his Chestnuts in the Forest 
 of Dean.f 
 
 Many persons have shared thfe belief of Gilpin that the 
 wood found in a number of the most ancient buildings in 
 this country was that of the Chestnut j and this belief gave 
 rise to the opinion that Gastanea vesca must be indigenous. 
 But Buffon suggested that the timber in old buildings, 
 
 * In the, tenth volume of the Transactions of the Society for 
 the Encouragement of Arts, &c., some instances are given of its 
 being a very useful timber tree. 
 
 t See Four Letters on Chestnut trees, read before the Eoyal 
 Society, 1771. 
 
DBSCEIPTIVJi ENUMEE.ATION OP TEBBS. 87 
 
 supposed to be that of the Chestnut^ was in reaUty the 
 ■wood of the Durmast Oak {Quercus sessiliflora) , and this 
 view has since been adopted by other writers. There is a 
 great similarity in the two kinds of timber, and hence, 
 doubtless, the confusion. The church at Sutton has been 
 wholly rebuilt since Gilpin's time, and the timber of the 
 tower has, the present rector informs us, been 'used 
 agfain in various places.' It is a curious fact that the 
 timber of the Chestnut — unlike that of the Oak — decreases 
 in value as the tree increases in age. — Ed. 
 
 Tlie Horse-Chestnut is a heavy, disagreeable tree. 
 It forms its foliage generally in a round mass, 
 witli little appearance of tliose breaks Avhich, we 
 have observed, 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 its flower, which m itself is 
 beautiful; but the whole tree together in flower 
 is a glaring object, totally unharmonious, and 
 unpicturesque. The park at Hampton Court, 
 planted, I believe, by King William, is a superb 
 specimen of a plantation of Horse-Chestnuts. In 
 some situations indeed, and among a profusion of 
 other wood, a single tree or two, in bloom, may be 
 beautiful. As it forms an admirable shade, it may 
 
88 Gilpin's foeest scenebt. 
 
 be of use, too, in tlaickening distant scenery, or in 
 screening 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. 
 
 It is seldom that we can express disagreement with so 
 true a lover of Nature and so delightful a writer as the 
 Author of this ' Forest Scenery.' But we are impelled to 
 put in a plea for the Horse-Chestnut j for we cannot allow 
 that it is a ' disagreeable tree ■" either in summer or 
 winter. Wild Nature produces nothing unlovely, and it 
 is by her contrastSj as much as by her harmonies, that she 
 charms. Those who love her, and all, indeed, who have 
 an eye for the picturesque, will not judge her pictures by 
 their outlines alone. They will look with earnest and 
 curious eyes into their details. And those who do this 
 can surely not deny that an individual leaf of the Horse- 
 Chestnut is a study in itself and an object of singular 
 beauty. Collectively, the wealth of glorious leafage on a 
 large specimen of ^safZit.? MjDpocastanum presents a mag- 
 nificent spectacle either in the early .^ipring time, when a 
 golden hue overspreads its foliage, or in the season of its full 
 glory, when a greater depth of verdancy makes more fitting 
 contrast with the white and brilliant heads of bloom. — Ed. 
 
 The "Weeping Willow is a very picturesque tree. 
 It is a perfect contrast to what we have just 
 
DESCRIPTIVE ENUMERATION OE TREES. 89 
 
 observed of the Lombardy Poplar. The light airy 
 spray of the Poplar rises perpendicularly. That 
 of the Weeping Willow is pendent. The shape of 
 its leaf is conformable to the pensile character of 
 the tree, and its spray, which is still lighter than 
 that of the Poplar, is more easily put into motion 
 by a breath of air. The Weeping Willow, how- 
 ever, is not adapted to sublime subjects. We wish 
 it not to screen the broken buttresses and Gothic 
 windows of an abbey, nor to overshadow 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 its streaming foliage, — 
 
 ' And dips 
 Its pendent Loughs, 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 its being commonly believed to be so is 
 ground enough to establish it as such, in landscape 
 at least, if not in botany. 
 
90 gilpin's fobest scenery. 
 
 The "Weeping Willow is the only one of its 
 tribe that is beautiful. Botanists, I believe, 
 enumerate sixteen species of the "Willow. Some 
 of them I have seen attain a very remarkable 
 size. I remember seeing one, in a meadow near 
 Witham, in Essex, which spread over a space of 
 ground measuring twenty-nine paces. But, in 
 general, all the trees of this sort are 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 painting, except as pollards to cha- 
 racterize 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 ad- 
 mired has a small narrow leaf, and wears a 
 pleasant, light, sea-green tint, which mixes agree- 
 ably with foliage of a deeper hue. I am not ac- 
 quainted with the botanical name of this species, 
 but I believe the botanists call it the Salix 
 alba. 
 
DESOKIPTIVB ENUMERATION OP TREES. 91 
 
 The Withy, or Salixfragilis, is the most incon- 
 siderable of its tribe. Like others of its kindred, 
 it will grow in any soil, though it loves a moist 
 one. It is of little value in landscape, and. yet 
 there is something beautiful in its 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. 
 
 The art of multiplying species, by giving to plants which 
 slightly differ from each other distinct botanical names, 
 has become very much developed since Gilpin's time. 
 Even botanists in his day w^ere content to divide the 
 genus Salix into sixteen species. But now two hundred 
 varieties are named as existing in English collections, and 
 not less than seventy of these are said to be natives of 
 Britain ! Gilpin is content to describe three species. — Ed. 
 
 Nearly related to the Willow tribe, though in 
 Nature rather than in form, is the Alder. They 
 both love a low moist soil, and frequently the banks 
 of rivers, though it may be alleged 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 its 
 
 G 
 
92 Gilpin's forest sceneey. 
 
 ramification, and in its foliage ; perhaps, indeed, it 
 is the most picturesque of any of tlie aquatic tribe, 
 except the Weeping Willow. He who would see 
 the Alder in perfection, must follow the banks of 
 the Mole, in Surrey, 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 everywhere fringes its meadows, and, in 
 many places, forms 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 Auck- 
 land-castle. The generality of trees acquire pic- • 
 turesque 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 Auckland-castle, when dignified by age, 
 
DESCRIPTIVE ENUMERATION, OF TEEES. 93 
 
 makes a respectable figure. The circumference of 
 tlie largest of these trees is nine feet ten inches, 
 at four feet from the surface. There are many 
 noble Alders, also, in the park at Hagley. 
 
 The Mole still, as when Gilpiu wrote, owes its beauty 
 largely to the Alders which fringe its banks. We referred 
 the passage from the text to the Eev. Samuel L. Warren, 
 the present Vicar of Esher, and have been assured, as 
 the result of painstaking inquiry courteously undertaken 
 for us, that it ' correctly represents the present condition 
 of the river in that particular.' The Rev. Robert Long, 
 the Vicar of Auckland St. Andrew, informs us that all the 
 old Alders in the Bishop's park have disappeared. He 
 adds, ' the stumps remain of some of them to bear witness 
 that they were giants, but their glory is departed.' — Ed. 
 
 The Birch may have several varieties, with 
 which I am not acquainted. The most common 
 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, sometimes called the Lady 
 Birch, or the "Weeping Birch. Its 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 
 
 Q 2 
 
94 Gilpin's forest scbneey. 
 
 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. As the Birch grows old, its bark becomes 
 rough and fui-rowed. It loses all its 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 the Birch is abundant), take advantage ; 
 and shaping it hke tiles, cover their houses with 
 it. How very durable it is, we have a remarkable 
 instance in Maupertuis's travels. When that phi- 
 losopher traversed Lapland to measure a degree 
 of latitude, he was obliged to pass through vast 
 
DESOEIPTIVE ENUMERATION OF TREES. 95 
 
 forests, consisting entirely of Bircli. The soil in 
 some parts of these wastes being very shallow, or 
 very loose, the trees had not a snflBcient 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 surprised to see that in such as 
 had lain long, the substance of the wood was 
 entirely gone ; but the bark remained a hollow 
 trunk without any signs of decay. I have heard 
 that the bark of the Black Cherry Tree in North 
 America, which grows there to a great size, has 
 the same property. 
 
 Among elegant, pendent trees, the Acacia 
 should not be forgotten; though the Acacia 
 which we have in England (called by the botanist 
 the Bobinia) is perhaps only a poor substitute 
 of this plant in its greatest perfection. And yet 
 even ours, when we have it full grown, is often a 
 very beautiful tree, whether it feathers to the 
 ground, as it sometimes does, or whether it is 
 adorned with a light foliage hanging from the 
 stem. But its beauty is very frail. It is, of all 
 trees, the least able to endure the blast. In some 
 
96 gilhn's i-or-ert sceneey. 
 
 sheltered spot it may ornament a garden, but it 
 is by no means qualified, to adorn an exposed 
 country. Its wood is of so brittle a texture, 
 especially when it is encumbered with a weight 
 of foliage, that you can never depend upon its 
 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 its beauty rather 
 than its grandeur, which is a quality much more 
 liable to injury. I may add, however, in its 
 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 Agri- 
 cultural Society at Paris the virtues of this tree 
 are highly extolled. Its shade encourages the 
 growth of grass. Its roots are so tenacious of 
 the soil, and shoot up in such groves of suckers, 
 that, when planted on the banks of rivers, it con- 
 tributes exceedingly to, fix; them as barriers 
 against the incursions of the stream. Acacia- 
 stakqs, too, are as durable as those of any wood. 
 
DESCEIPTIVE ENUMERATION OF TEEES. 97 
 
 In North America this tree is much valued; in 
 proof of which the memoriahst 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, 
 repaiinng by suckers all the losses it received. 
 
 I shall conclude my account of deciduous trees 
 with the Larch, which is a kind of connecting 
 species between them and the race of evergreens. 
 Though it sheds its leaf with the former, it bears 
 a cone, is resinous, and ramifies like the latter. 
 It claims the Alps and Apennines for its native 
 country, where it thrives in higher regions of the 
 air than any tree of its 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 
 
98 gilptn's tobest scenery. 
 
 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 : its unctuous sides soon spread the 
 flame ; and, as the gloom of evening came on, the 
 appendages of a numerous host, elephants, and 
 floating banners and gleaming arms, formed ter- 
 rific 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.* And, at this day, masts of single 
 Larches, measuring from a hundred and ten to a 
 hundred and twenty feet in length, have been 
 floated from Yalais, through the lake of Geneva, 
 and down the Rhone, to Toulon ; though I have 
 
 * Lib. iv., p. 202. 
 
DESCEIPTIVB ENUMEIIATION OF TREES. 99 
 
 heard tliey are in no great esteem among the con- 
 tractors for the French dockyards. 
 
 In the memohs of the Royal Society of Agri- 
 culture 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 usisful 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, 
 though above two hundred years old. The finest 
 trees he knows, of this kind, grow in some parts 
 of Dauphine, and in the forest of Baye in Pro- 
 vence, where there are Larches, he tells us, which 
 two men cannot fathom. I have 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 the most beautiful wainscot. 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. 
 
100 gili'in's forest sceneet. 
 
 Many of RapTiael's pictures are painted on boards 
 of Larct. 
 
 The Larcli we have in England compared witli 
 the Larcli of the Alps is a diminutive plant. It 
 is little more than the puny inhabitant of a 
 garden, or the embellishment of some trifling 
 artificial scene. The characters of grand and 
 noble seldom belong to it. It is, however, an 
 elegant tree, though, in our soil at least, too 
 formal in its growth. Among its native steeps 
 its form, no doubt, is fully picturesque, when the 
 storms of many a century have shattered its equal 
 sides and given contrast and variety to its boughs. 
 
 Sinco Gilpin's time the Larch has been much more 
 extensively cultivated than it used to be, and its timber, 
 also, has come to be held in much greater estimation than 
 it formerly was. It is no longer 'the puny inhabitant of 
 a garden ;' and though in England we have not, perhaps^ 
 very many large specimens, it is far otherwise in Scot- 
 land, upon whose mountains Larix europma grows to grand 
 dimensions. What our Author says of the quality of its 
 timber is fully justified by the results of modern expe- 
 rience. Another reason, however, than that which he 
 appears to suggest, would probably have accounted for 
 the apparent disinclination of the French naval contractors 
 to use Larch for masts — namely the difficulty of transport- 
 
DESCRIPTIVE ENUMBEATION OP TREES. 101 
 
 ing trees of the necessary size. This, at any rate, is the 
 explanation suggested by M. C. de Kirwan, an Inspector 
 in the Forestal Department of France, and the able author 
 of a work on Coniferous trees {Les Coniferes, indigenes et 
 exotiquos. Paris. J. Rothschild) . In an interesting com- 
 munication with which he has favoured us, M, de Kirwan 
 says, ' Malheur eusement le Mel^ae, en France, ne croit que 
 dans des regions montagneuses des plus abruptes et diffi- 
 cilement accessibles. II en resulte que I'exploitation en 
 longues billes et le transport a grandes distances de ceroi 
 des montagnes alpestres est malaise et onereux. C'est 
 probablement pour cette cause que la marine fran9aise 
 n'a pas Phabitude de se servir de cette essence, et c'est 
 dommage, sans doute ; car, outre la souplesse et la resis- 
 tance de son bois, le Meleze, arbre de premiere grandeur, 
 arrive frequemment tlune hauteur de 30 a 40 metres, avec 
 un diametre proportionne. Fortement impregne de resine, 
 le Melfeze defie les outrages du temps comme les attaques 
 et les morsures des insectes.'' A further extract, which 
 we subjoin, from M. de Kirwan's letter, touching the pe- 
 culiar and valuable qualities of Larch wood and its use in 
 shipping, will be read with interest as an appropriate ap- 
 pendix to Gilpin's remarks on this subject. The author 
 of Les Coniferes says, — ' II est certain que le Meleze des 
 Alpes, ayant cru aux altitudes de 1000 il 1900 ou 2000 
 metres, offre des qualites precieuses pour tout espcce de 
 constructions, y compris les constructions maritimes. II 
 est employe, notamment dans la marine du lac de Genfeve, 
 
102 GILPIN S FOREST SCENERY. 
 
 et Ton a pu y constater que les bordages en bois de 
 Meleze ont plus de duree m^me que ceux de Ohene. Pour 
 la mktare, ce bois ne doit pas etre moins avantageux ; car 
 les accroissements annuelsj tres minces, tres regaliers, et 
 formes de zones alteruativement molles et dureSj en acqui- 
 erent une tres grande elasticite qui lui donne h la fois 
 duree et force de resistance.' — Ed. 
 
 From deciduous trees we proceed to ever- 
 greens. Of these tlie Cedar of Lebanon clainls 
 our first notice. To it, pre-eminence belongs, not 
 only on account of its own dignity, but on account 
 of the respectable mention which is everywhere 
 made of it in Scripture. Solomon spake of trees 
 from the Cedar of Lebanon to the Hyssop that 
 springeth out of the wall: that is, from the 
 greatest to the least. The Eastern writers are, 
 indeed, the principal sources from which we are 
 to obtain the true character of the Cedar, as it 
 is an Eastern tree. In the sacred writers par- 
 ticularly we are presented with many noble 
 images drawn from its several qualities. It is 
 generally 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 
 
DESCEIPTIVE ENUJiERxVTION OE TEEES. 103 
 
 hreaheth the Cedars of Lebanon. David cliarac- 
 terizes tlie Palm Tree and the Cedar together, 
 both very sti^ongly. The righteous shall flourish 
 nice a Falm 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 has 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 became long. The Fir trees were 
 not like his boughs, nor the Chestnut trees like 
 his branches, nor any tree in the garden of God 
 like unto him in beauty.'* 
 
 In this description two of the principal charac- 
 teristics 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 
 
 * Ezek. xxxi. 
 
104 gii-pin's forest scenery. 
 
 compass of ground. His houghs are multiplied, as 
 Bzekiel says, and his branches became long ; wliicli 
 David calls spreading abroad. His very boughs 
 are equal to tHe stem of a Fir, or a Chestnut. 
 
 The second characteristic is what Bzekiel, with 
 great beauty and aptness, calls his shadoiving 
 shroiid. No tree in the forest is more remarkable 
 than the Cedar for its close-woven, leafy canopy. 
 
 Bzekiel's Cedar is marked as a tree of full and 
 perfect growth, from the circumstance of its top 
 being among the thich boughs. Bvery young tree 
 has a leading branch or two, which continue spiring 
 above the rest till the tree has attained its full 
 size : then it becomes in the language of the 
 nurseryman clump-headed; but, in the language 
 of Bastern sublimity, its 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 gene- 
 rally, in all trees, the state in which they are most 
 perfect and most beautiful : and this is the state 
 of Bzekiel's Cedar. 
 
 But though Bzekiel has given us this accurate 
 description of the Cedar, he has left its strength. 
 
DESCEIPTIVE ENUMJSEATION OF TREES. 105 
 
 wliicli is its chief characteristic, uiitoached. But 
 the reason is evident. Tlie Cedar is here in- 
 troduced as an emblem of Assyria, -wliicli, tliougli 
 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 
 compared with opposition. The Assyrian was 
 strong compared with the powers on earth, but 
 weak compared with the arm of the Almighty 
 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 axe 
 which cut him off, and left him (as the prophet 
 expresses the vastness of his ruin) spread upon the 
 mountains and in the valleys; while the nations 
 shoolc at the sound of Ids fall. 
 
 Such is the grandeur and form of the Cedar of 
 Lebanon. Its mantling foliage, or shadowing 
 shroud, as Bzekiel calls it, is its greatest beauty, 
 which arises from the horizontal growth of its 
 branches, forming a kind of sweeping, irregular 
 pent-house. And when, to the idea of beauty, that 
 of strength is added by the pyramidal form of the 
 
106 Gilpin's fokest scenery. 
 
 stem and the robustness of the Umbs, the tree is 
 complete in all its 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 its growth is perfect ; yet we may in some 
 degree conceive its beauty and majesty from the 
 paltry resemblances of it at this distance from its 
 native soil. In its 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 its natural course 
 and guide the stem after it in some irregular 
 waving line, it is often an object of great beauty. 
 But, in its maturer age, the beauty of the English 
 Cedar is generally gone, it becomes shrivelled, 
 deformed and stunted ; its body increases, but its 
 limbs shrink and wither. Thus it never gives us 
 its two leading qualities together. In its youth 
 Ave have some idea of its beauty without its 
 strength, and in its advanced age we have some 
 idea of its strength without its beauty : the 
 imagination, therefore, by joining together the two 
 different periods of its age in this climate, may 
 
DESCmPTIVE ENOMEEATION OE TUBES. 107 
 
 form some conception of the gi-andeur of tlie 
 Cedar in its own climate, wliere its strength and 
 beauty are united. The best specimen of this 
 tree I ever saw in England was at liillington, near 
 Uxbridge. The perpendicular height of it was 
 fifty three feet, its horizontal expanse ninety six, 
 and its 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. Its 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, though 
 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 pic- 
 turesque Pine.* There it always suggests ideas of 
 
 * Tliis SGGins to bo a disputod point. Millar believes it is 
 not indigenous in Italy ; and indeed 1 never heard any traveller 
 say lie liad mot with it in any of the uncultivated parts of that 
 country. 
 
 H 
 
108 Gilpin's foeest scjunert. 
 
 broken porticos, Ionic pillars, triumphal arches, 
 fragments of old temples, and a variety of classic 
 ruins, which, in Italian landscape, it commonly 
 adorns. 
 
 The Stone Pine promises little in its infancy in 
 point of picturesque beauty. It does not, hke 
 most of the Kr species, give an early indication of 
 its future form. In its 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 
 its formal shape. But as it attains maturity, its 
 picturesque form increases fast. Its lengthening 
 stem assumes commonly an easy sweep. It seldom, 
 indeed, deviates much from a straight line, but that 
 gentle deviation is very graceful, though, above 
 all other lines, difl&cult to trace. 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 generally stumps, which, standing out 
 in various parts of the stem, break the continuity 
 of its lines. 
 
DESCEIPTIVB ENUMEEA.TION 01? TEEES, 109 
 
 Tlie bark is smoother tlian tliat of any other 
 tree of the Pine kind, except the "Weymouth; 
 though we do not esteem this among its pic- 
 turesque beauties. Its hue, however, which is 
 warm and reddish, has a good efEect; and it 
 obtains a kind of roughness by peehng off in 
 patches. 
 
 The foliage of the Stone Pine is as beautiful as 
 the stem. Its colour is a deep, warm green ; 
 and its 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, its 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 pic- 
 turesque beauty in age which we admire so much 
 in the Oak. The Oak continues long vigorous 
 in his branches, though his trunk decays : but the 
 resinous tree, I believe, decays more equally 
 through all its parts ; and, in age, oftener presents 
 the idea of vegetable decrepitude than of the 
 stout remains of a vigorous constitution. And 
 
 H 2 
 
110 Gilpin's forest sceneet. 
 
 yetj 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 Avhich the lateral 
 branches have been stripped, as is the practice in 
 some countries, we are apt to thinlc 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 production of this kind of object. The Cab- 
 bage Tree, I suppose, is as ugly as the Stone Pine 
 is picturesque. The best specimen of the Stone 
 Pine I ever saw was growing in the botanical 
 garden at Oxford. For the sake of the ground it 
 occupied (I have never heard any other reason 
 suggested) it was lately cut down. 
 
 The most beautiful succedaneum of the Stone 
 Pine which these climates afford is the Pinaster. 
 The sweep of its stem is similar, its broken lateral 
 
DESCKIP'JIVE KNUMKEATION 01'" TREES. Ill 
 
 branches likewise, and its clump-liead. Botli 
 trees, also, arc equally irregular in their growth ; 
 but tlie Pinaster is perhaps more picturesque in 
 the roughness of its 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 its 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 per- 
 fection. 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. Its 
 cones, too, which it bears in clusters, from whence 
 it derives its name, are a great ornament to it. 
 In composition, indeed, such minutite are of little 
 value; but we are now considering trees as in- 
 dividuals. 
 
 The Piiiastei" and the Cluster Piue are oue and the 
 
112 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 same tree {Finns pinaster), and it is curious that Gilpin 
 sliould have referred to them as distinct. His mistake 
 may possibly have arisen on account of its irregular 
 growthj and from the fact, perhaps, of his having made the 
 acquaintance of the tree under each of its common names 
 and under differing circumstances of growth. — Bd. 
 
 I The Weymouth Pine has very Httle picturesque 
 I beauty to recommend it. lb is admired for its 
 polished bark. The painter's eye pays little 
 attention to so trivial a circumstance, even when 
 the tree is considered as a single object. Nay, 
 its polished bark rather depreciates its value : for 
 the picturesque eye dwells with more pleasure on 
 rough surfaces than on smooth: it sees more 
 richness in them and more variety. But we 
 I object, chiefly, to the Weymouth Pine on account 
 j of the regularity of its stem, and the meagreness 
 I of its foliage. Its stem rises with perpendicular 
 exactness : it rarely varies ; and its branches issue, 
 with equal formality, from its sides. Its foliage 
 too is thin, and wants both richness and effect. 
 If I were speaking, indeed, of this tree in com- 
 position, I might add, that it may often appear 
 to great advantage in a plantation. Contrast, we 
 
DESCRIPTIVE ENUMERATION OP TREES. 113 
 
 know, produces beauty even from deformity itself. 
 Opposed therefore to the wildness of otlier trees, 
 the regularity of the Weymouth Pine may have 
 its beauty. Its formality may be* concealed. A 
 few of its branches, hanging from a mass of 
 heavier foliage, may appear light and feathery, 
 while its 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 (though I apprehend it con- 
 sists 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 its manner of 
 growth, than it does any of its nominal class. 
 As this tree, therefore, seems to be of ambiguous 
 nature, at least as to its form, I shall place it 
 here — that is immediately 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. 
 
114 . gilhn's foeest scenery. 
 
 Botanically (according to tlie arrangement of modern 
 authorities) tlie Pines — or those trees amongst the order 
 of Conifers included under the genus Pimis — are dis- 
 tinguished from the Firs (comprised under the genus 
 Ahies) by the greater length of their needle-shaped leaves, 
 and by the grouping of the latter in sheaths enclosing 
 two, three, and sometimes five individuals. These sheaths 
 oncloso the groups of loaves at their bases only. In the 
 genus Abies tho leaves are solitary, sometimes growing 
 equally upon all sides of the twigs, and sometimes arranged 
 in rows on each side. Another feature distinguishing 
 Finns from Abies consists in the circumstance that, in the 
 former, the cones grow erect on the twigs, whilst, in the 
 latter, they are pendulous. The Scotch Fir, as it is popu- 
 larly called, is, in reality, a Pine, being the Finns sylvestris 
 of modern scientific nomenclature. — Ed. 
 
 The Scotch Fir is supposed to be the only indi- 
 genous terebin thine tree in this island ; and yet, 
 though it abounds, and, when seen in perfection, 
 is a very picturesque tree, we have little idea 
 of its beauty. It is generally treated with great 
 contempt. It is a hardy plant, and therefore put 
 to every servile office. If you wish to screen your 
 house from the soiith-west wind, plant Scotch 
 Firs, and plant them close and thick. If you 
 want to shelter a nursery of young trees, plant 
 
DESOEIPTIVE ENOMEKATION OP TREES. 115 
 
 Scotcli Firs ; and tlie phrase is, you may after- 
 wards weed them out as you please. This is 
 ignominious. I wish not to rob society of these 
 hardy services 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 its character as a 
 picturesque tree. For myself, I admire its foli- 
 age — both the colour of the leaf, and its mode of 
 growth. Its ramification, too, is irregular and 
 beautiful, and not unlike that of the Stone Pine, 
 which it resembles also in the easy sweep of its 
 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 its 
 stripling state, is less an object of beauty. Its 
 pointed and spiry shoots, during the first years of 
 its growth, are formal ; and yet I have sometimes 
 seen a good contrast produced between its spiry 
 points, and the round-headed Oaks and Elms in 
 its neighbourhood. "When I speak, however, of the 
 Scotch Fir as a beautiful individual, I conceive it, 
 
116 Gilpin's forest soenert. 
 
 wlien it has outgrown all the more unpleasant cir- 
 cumstances of its youtli — when it has completed 
 its full age — and when, like Ezekiel's Cedar, it has 
 formed its head among the Ihich Iranches. I may 
 be singular in my attachment to the Scotch Fir ; 
 I know it has many enemies, and that may per- 
 haps induce me to be more compassionate to it : 
 however, I wish my opinion in its favour may weigh 
 no more than the reasons I give to support it. 
 
 The great contempt, indeed, in which the 
 Scotch Fir is commonly held, arises, I believe, 
 from two causes. 
 
 People object first to its colour. Its dark, 
 murky hue, we are told, is unpleasing. With 
 regard to colour in general, I think I speak the 
 language 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 entirely from their harmony 
 with other colours in their neighbourhood. So 
 that, as the Fir Tree is supported, combined, or 
 stationed, it forms a pleasing tint or a murky spot. 
 
DESOEIPTIVE ENUMERATION OF TREES. 117 
 
 A second source of tliat contempt in wHcli tlie 
 Scotcli Eir is commonly held, is our rarely seeing 
 it in a picturesque state. Scotcli Firs are seldom 
 planted as single trees, or in a judicious group ; but 
 generally in close, compact bodies, in thick array, 
 •wliicli 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 centre. Whereas if 
 the tree had grown in its natural state, all mis- 
 chief had been prevented. Its stem would have 
 taken an easy sweep, and its lateral branches, 
 which naturally grow with as much beaiitiful 
 irregularity as those of deciduous trees, would 
 have hung loosely and negligently ; and the more 
 so, as there is something pecidiarly light and 
 feathery in its foliage. I mean not to assert that 
 every Scotch Fir, though in a natural state, would 
 possess these beauties ; but it would at least have 
 the chance of other trees, and I have seen it, 
 though indeed but rarely, in such a state as to 
 equal in beauty the most elegant Stone Pine. 
 
 All trees, indeed, crowded together, naturally 
 
lis GILrm's FOEJUST SCENERY. 
 
 rise in perpendicular stems ; but the Fir has this 
 peculiar disadvantage, that its lateral branches, 
 once injured, never shoot again. A grove of 
 crowded saplings — 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 de- 
 serted and ruinous mansion of Basilsleigh, in 
 Berkshire. The soil is a deep, but rich sand, 
 which seems to be adapted to them ; and, as they 
 are here at perfect liberty, they not only become 
 large and noble trees, but expand themselves like- 
 wise in all the careless forms of Nature. Very 
 noble Scotch Firs, also, may be seen at Thirkleby, 
 near Thirsk, in Yorkshire. Nor has any man, I 
 think, a right to depreciate the Scotch Fir till he 
 has seen it in a perfect state of Nature. 
 
 An undoubted claim can be made, by those wlio have 
 seen it in a perfect state of nature, to rank the Scotch Fir 
 (Pinus sylvestris) as both a beautiful and a picturesque 
 tree. Yet, the popular prejudice against it, referred to by 
 
DBSOEIPTIVJ]! BNUMBEATION OP TREES. 119 
 
 Gilpin still exists, in a certain degree, in England : and | 
 nothing, perhaps, has tended more to increase that preju- 
 dice during recent years than the proceedings adopted by 
 the Commissioners of Woods and Forests in dealing with 
 the beautiful woodlands endeared to the Author of this 
 ' Forest Scenery ' by an acquaintance extending over a 
 long period of years. Since 1851 and until the work of 
 destruction was condemnecT by the united voice"of public 
 opinion, and finally stopped by Parliament, gF^tTracts of 
 theNew Forest_were_c]^Tj:ed ofth^^ 
 
 of ancient and picturesque trees to make room for m ono- 
 tonous plantations of Scotch„Fii; . This tree, therefore, is 
 associated, in the public mind, with attempts to destroy the 
 most beautiful remnants of primeval wood existing in this 
 country, and to wrest from the people of England one of the 
 dearest and most prized of the heritages of ancient times. 
 Mr. E. K. Lenthall, of Bessels Leigh Manor (a descen- 
 dant of Speaker Lenthall), informs us that one only of 
 the Scotch Firs at Bessels Leigh is now standing, and 
 that it (with the others, which were cut down by his 
 grandfather, about the year 1800) was ' probably planted 
 either by Speaker Lenthall or his son. Sir Charles Lent- 
 hall, in the reign of Charles L' Of the Thirkleby Firs— 
 we learn from the Eev. T. H. Smith, the vicar of the 
 parish — there are still standing at least seventeen or 
 eighteen in the Park, the seat of Sir W. P. Gallwey, 
 Bart.— Ed. 
 
 The Spruce I'ir is generally esteemed a more 
 
120 Gilpin's porest sceneey. 
 
 beautiful and elegant tree tlian 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. Biit this, in a pic- 
 turesque light, is a principal objection to it. It 
 wants both form and variety. We admire its 
 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. Its perpen- 
 dicular stem, 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. Sometimes a 
 lateral branch, taking the lead, 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 the effect is as 
 good, and, in many circumsta,nces, better, when 
 the contrast appears still stronger — when the tree 
 is shattered by some accident, has lost many of 
 
DESOEIPTIVE ENUMBEATION OF TREES. 121 
 
 its brandies, and is scathed and ragged. A 
 featliery branch here and there, among broken 
 stumps, has often a good effect, but it must arise 
 from the wild situation of the tree. On an 
 embelhshed lawn it would be improper. In all 
 circumstances, however, the Spruce Fir appears 
 best either as a single tree, or unmixed with any 
 of its fellows, for neither it, nor any of the spear- 
 headed race, will ever form a beautiful clump 
 without the assistance of other trees. 
 
 The Silver Eir has very little to boast in point 
 of picturesque beauty. It has all the regularity 
 of the Spruce, but without its 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 its 
 form, when broken and shattered, but it will rarely 
 get rid of its formality. In old age it stands the 
 best chance of attaining beauty. We sometimes 
 see it under that circumstance, shattered by 
 winds, adorned with Ivy, and shooting out a 
 few horizontal branches, on which its meagre 
 
122 gii.pin's forest scen^eey. 
 
 foliage and tufted moss appear to advantage. I 
 may add, tliat tlie Silver Fir is perliaps tlie hardiest 
 of its tribe. It will out-face tlie soutli-west vyind ; 
 it will bear witliout shrinking even tlie sea-air ; so 
 that one advantage, at least, attends a plantation of 
 Silver Mrs ; you may have it, where you can have 
 no other, and a plantation of Silver Firs may be 
 better than no plantation at all. At the same 
 time I have heard that it is nice in its soil, and that 
 an improver may be liable to disappointment who 
 plants it in ground where the Oak will not thrive. 
 I know of no other species of Fir in England 
 that is Avorth 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 cha- 
 racter, however, it is often beautiful, and its 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 probably 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 
 
DESOEIPTIVE ENUMERATION OE TREES. 123 
 
 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 of an immense size. Later 
 accounts make some of these Pines, which have 
 been measured by a quadrant, to have attained the 
 wonderful height of two hundred and thirty feet. 
 They bear cones ; but the wood, from a sample 
 brought into England (in the possession of Sir 
 Joseph Banks), does not appear like deal, but is 
 much heavier, the grain considerably closer, and 
 the colour browner. The girth of the tree, from 
 which this sample was cut, was eighteen feet. 
 The first branches were at the elevation of thirty 
 yards, but I could not learn whether this circum- 
 stance was a general character of the tree, or 
 peculiar only to that individual. 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 
 
 I 
 
124 Gilpin's foxiest scenert. 
 
 tells us, it is never found, though on the European 
 side it is so common, that tlie Scythians, who 
 inhabit those parts, use it always in making 
 arrows. He treats Eratosthenes with some con- 
 ternpt for asserting that when Alexander was in 
 India, he used Eir in constructing his navy.* 
 Strabo's accuracy is generally much respected, but 
 in this instance his observations 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 Mou.nt Lebanon, as 
 the Cedar itself.f 
 
 Neither tlie Hemlock SiDruce {Ahies canadensis) nor the 
 Black Spruce (Ahies nigra) can be properly described as 
 ' dwarfish,' as they reach a height of seventy or eighty 
 feet, the latter sometimes rising a hundred feet. — Ed. 
 
 After the Pine and Eir tribes, the Yew deserves 
 our notice. The Yew is a pure native of Britain, 
 and was formerly what the Oak is now, the basis 
 
 * See lib. ii., p. 510, edit. Caus. 
 
 t After all, however, it is probable that the word eXarr], which 
 the Latins translate ahies, and we translate j^Z?', might appear to 
 he somewhat very different from the tree which we call a fir, if 
 we had a Grecian botanist to consult. 
 
DBSOEIPTTVB ENUMEEATION OP TEJ5ES. 125 
 
 of our strength. Of it tlie old Bnglisli yeoman 
 made his long-bow, which, hev aunted, nobody but 
 an Englishman 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 bend- 
 ing a how, and the French of drawing one. 
 
 Nor is the Yew celebrated only for its tough- 
 ness and elasticity, but also for its 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 
 among the inhabitants of New Forest, that a post 
 of Yew will outlast a post of iron. 
 
 Thus much for the utility and dignity of the 
 Yew. As to its picturesque perfections-, I profess 
 myself (contrary I suppose to general opinion) a 
 great admirer of its form and foliage. The Yew 
 is of all other trees the most tonsile. Hence all 
 
 * Soo Ep. LaUincr's Sormons, Scrm. vi. 
 
 I 2 
 
126 Gilpin's porest soeneuy. 
 
 the indignities it suffers. We everywhere see it 
 cut and metamorphosed into such a variety of de- 
 formities, that we are hardly brought to conceive 
 it has a natural shape, or the power, which other 
 trees have, of hanging with ease. Yet it has this 
 power in a great degree, and, in a state of Nature, 
 except in exposed situations, is perhaps one of 
 the most beautiful evergreens we have. Indeed, 
 I know not whether, all things considered, it is 
 not superior to the Cedar of Lebanon itself — I 
 mean to such meagre representatives 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 unprotected 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 immediately divides into several massy limbs, 
 
DESOEIPTIVE ENUMERATION OP TEEBS. 127 
 
 each of wbict, hanging in grand loose fohage, 
 spreads over a large compass of ground, and yet 
 the whole tree forms a close, compact body : that 
 is, its 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 a half 
 in circumference : nor indeed the size of many 
 others on record ; but it has suflBLcient size for all 
 the purposes of landscape, and in point of pic- 
 turesque 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 
 landmarks, I doubt not but he may find it, at any 
 time, within the space of these two or three cen- 
 tui^ies, in great perfection if it suffer no external 
 injury. If such trees were common, they would 
 
128 Gilpin's porest sceneby. 
 
 recover tlie character of the Yew Tree among the 
 admirers of picturesque beauty. 
 
 But though we should be able to estabhsh its 
 beauty with respect to form and foliage, there re- 
 mains one point still, which we should find it hard 
 to combat. Its colour unfortunately gives of- 
 fence. Its dingy, funereal hue, people say, makes 
 it fit only for a churchyard. 
 
 This objection, I hope, I have already answered 
 in defending the colour of the Scotch Fir.* An 
 attachment to colour, as such, seems to me an 
 indication of false taste. Hence arise the nu- 
 merous absurdities of gaudy decoration. In the 
 same manner, a dislike to any particular colour 
 shows 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 pre- 
 ference to some soft, pleasant tint in opposition to 
 a glaring, bold one ; but when colours act in con- 
 cert (as is the case in all scenery), red, blue, 
 yellow, light-green, or dingy green, are all alike. 
 
 * See page IIG. 
 
DESOEIPTIVE ENUMERATION OE TREES. 129 
 
 The virtue of each consists solely iu its agreement 
 with its neighbours. 
 
 I have only to add in commendation of this tree, 
 that its veins exceed in beauty those of most 
 other trees. Tables made of Yew, when the grain 
 is fine, are much superior to Mahogany ; and its 
 root vies in beauty with the ancient Citron. 
 
 The famous Yew at Portiugall (Gilpin spells tlie word 
 Fotlieriugal) is still in existence, and we liave been 
 favoured by Mr. James Gaudie, of Perth, with some 
 interesting particulars of it, gathered during a visit which 
 he paid to it in 1876. He found, he says, very little of 
 the original tree existing, ' there being only about seven 
 or eight feet of the trunk still standing, or rather reclin- 
 ing, on the dyke which now encloses it from the farther 
 inroads of relic hunters.' ' It stands,' he adds, ' at the 
 end of the parish church, in the burying ground.' What 
 remains of it now, however, affords but little indication of 
 the enormous proportions it is said once to have possessed. 
 Round the trunk, and from the remains of the trunk, 
 shoots have sprung up, and are growing luxuriantly to a 
 height of about fifteen or twenty feet, bidding fair, in 
 time, to rival the venerable antiquity of the parent tree.' 
 This singularly ancient sylvan ruin is computed to be 
 between 2500 and 2700 years of age ! The Rev. Edward 
 H. Elers, the present vicar of JBoldre, and the occupier of 
 
130 Gilpin's forest scbnert. 
 
 Gilpin's ' Vicar's Hill,' informs us that the yew referred 
 to by Gilpin as being 'of peculiar beauty/ and as grow- 
 ing between Roydon Farm and Boldre Church, is still ' in 
 a flourishing condition/ and ' stands isolated as before.' 
 It is situated, he tells us, 'about one hundred yards 
 beyond the mill on the church side.' — Ed. 
 
 The Ilex, or Evergreen Oak, presents a cliaracter 
 very different from that of the Yew. The Yew is 
 a close-bodied, compact tree. The Ilex is gene- 
 rally thin and straggling, though we sometimes 
 see it, in soils which it likes, form a thicker foliage. 
 Both the Yew and the Ilex are beautiful, but in dif- 
 ferent 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 evergreen, a late production of singular 
 origin, called the Luccomb Oak, from the person 
 who raised it. It was produced from an acorn of 
 the common Turkey Oak — from which all the 
 Luccomb Oaks have been grafted — as I understand 
 the seed of accidental varieties never produce the 
 same plant. I have heard much of the beauty of 
 this tree, and of the acquisition it will be to 
 
DESOBIPTIVE ENUMEEATION OF TREES. 131 
 
 winter scenery, by tlie introduction of a new and 
 beautiful evergreen. It may be so. Its 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, though 
 it is a large shrub. It is a plant, however, of 
 singular beauty. Mr. Evelyn, in his ' Sylva,' 
 cries out with rapture : ' Is there under heaven a 
 more glorious and refreshing object of the kind 
 than an impenetrable hedge of about four hundred 
 feet in length, nine feet high, and five in diameter, 
 which I can show in my garden at Say's Court, at 
 any time of the year, ghttering with its armed and 
 varnished leaves ; the taller standards at orderly 
 distances blushing with their natural coral — shorn 
 and fashioned into columns and pilasters, archi- 
 tectionally shaped, at due distance ? ' 
 
 Though we cannot accord with the learned 
 naturalist in the whole of this rapturous enco- 
 mium 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 its armed and var- 
 nished leaves, and blushing with its natural coral. 
 
132 Gilpin's toeest soenbet. 
 
 But we could, wisli 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 its 
 combined state we shall have occasion hereafter 
 to mention it. At present we shall only observe 
 that, as far as an individual 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 situations. At Dungeness, in Kent, 
 I have heard, it flourishes even among the pebbles 
 of the beach. 
 
 Oar British Holly {Ilex aquifolium) can fally claim the 
 honour of being called a tree, though, ordinarily, it is seen 
 only as a shrub. Some of the finest examples of its tree 
 growths are to be found in the New Porest. But what 
 are now trees in that beautiful woodland were probably 
 shrubs only in Gilpin's time. Specimens with trunks 
 from three to five feet in circumference are plentful, and 
 we recently saw and measured one Holly near Lyndhurst 
 with a girth near the ground of nine feet ! We heartily 
 agree with Gilpin, in his admiration of the beauty of Ilea; 
 
DESCRIPTIVE ENUMEEATION OF TfiEBS. 133 
 
 oquifolium, and we pi-efer to see it, as he does, growing 
 not in a thick-set aad impenetrable hedge of a regular 
 length, breadth, and height, but in the freedom of the 
 forest. On the beach called the Holmestone, within the 
 district of Dungeness, there is still a very large number 
 of Holly bushes growing. Within the memory of persons 
 still living in the neighbourhood, there wore large Holly 
 trees there, but they have been cut down and carried 
 awaj'-, and the highest of those now existing do not 
 exceed fifteen feet. It is believed that these Hollies were 
 originally planted on this beach, and it is said that at one 
 time herons used to build their nests in them. — Ed. 
 
 The Hawthorn should not entirely be passed 
 over amidst the minuter plants of the forest, 
 though it has little claim to picturesque beauty. 
 In song, indeed, the shepherd may with propriety 
 
 ' TeU his tale 
 Under the Hawthorn in the dale.' 
 
 But when the scenes of Nature are presented to 
 the eye, it is but a poor appendage. Its shape is 
 bad. It does not taper and point hke the Holly, 
 but is rather a matted, round, heavy bush. Its 
 fragrance indeed is great ; but its bloom, which 
 is the source of that fragrance, is spread over it 
 in too much profusion. It becomes a mere white 
 
134 gilhn's forest scenery. 
 
 sheet — a bright spot, wlaicli is seldom found in 
 harmony with the objects around it. In autumn 
 the Hawthorn makes its best appearance. Its 
 glowing berries produce a rich tint, which often 
 adds great beauty to the corner of a wood or the 
 side of some crowded clump.' 
 
 We mnst here venture to differ from our Author in his 
 estimation of the Hawthorn ; for we consider it, not as a 
 ' poor appendage ' to the scenes of Nature, but as-ameagg^ 
 one of the most picturesque. Nor is it a bush merely, 
 though commonly seen in this form, but a tree of fair 
 dimensions when growing in a forest. "We have indeed 
 seen some fine specimens of Cratagus oxyacantha in the 
 New Forest and also in Epping Forest, and have been 
 struck by the remarkahlo picturesqueness of their gnarled 
 and twisted stems and branches. Sir Dick Lauder, in the 
 edition of the ' Forest Scenery,' which he published in 
 1834, mentions a large Hawthorn growing near the village 
 of Duddingstone, in the county of Edinburgh. He says 
 he measured this tree in the year 1.818, and found it, at 
 three feet above the root, nine feet in girth, and, a little 
 way above the roots, twelve feet round ! The Hawthorn 
 too, is, we think, extremely beautiful in leaf, flower, and 
 fruit, and one of the most delightful sights in the forest, 
 in the early spring, is that afforded by the contrast be- 
 tween the golden green foliage of the Hawthorn and the 
 more sombre colours of the woodland. — Ed. 
 
SECTION V. 
 
 SPRAY AND POLIAGE. 
 
 ^fB have tlius endeavoured to mark 
 the 'principal characteristics of pic- 
 turesque beauty, in tlie most com- 
 mou trees we have in England. 
 But to have a more accurate idea 
 of their nice peculiarities and dis- 
 tinctions, 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 discovers the nicer 
 
136 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 parts of tlie ramification — tlie little tender 
 spray on wticli the hanging 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 its ob- 
 ject — composition — or the massing of light and 
 shade : but we consider it as necessary for those 
 to understand, who wish either to be acquainted 
 with the particular character of each tree, or 
 its general effect. 
 
 Nor is it an unpleasing study. There is much 
 variety in the ramification of each species ; and 
 much also in that of each individual. We see 
 everywhere so many elegant lines, so much oppo- 
 sition and rich intersection 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 amusement, I think I should 
 almost prefer it in winter. 
 
Sl'EAT AND FOLIAGE. 137 
 
 If a man were disposed to moralize, the rami- 
 fication and spray of a thriving tree afford 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 settlement : so that the whole is 
 everywhere full and complete. There too, as is 
 common in all communities, are many little elbow- 
 ings, justlings, thwartings, and oppositions, in 
 which some gain and others lose.* 
 
 * As a continuation of this moralizing strain, the following 
 short allegory ventures to appear in a note : — 
 
 TJt sylva3 foliis pronos mutantur in annos ; 
 
 Prima oadunt ; ita 
 
 Dehemur morti nos, nostraque 
 
 As I sat carelessly at my window and threw my eyes npon 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 
 
138 Gilpin's forest sceneey. 
 
 In examining the spray of trees, I shall con- 
 fine myself to the Oak, the Ash, the Elm, and the 
 
 dropping into the lap of their great motlior. Here was an emblem 
 of natural decay — the most ohvious appearance of mortality. 
 
 As I continued looking, a gentle breeze rustled 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 entirely 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 entirely of its leaves. Here and there hung a 
 solitary leaf, just enough to show 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 everything around us bring its lesson to our minds ! 
 Nature is the great book of God. In every page is instruction 
 to those who read. Mortality must claim its 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. 
 
SPRAT AND FOLIAGE. 139 
 
 Beecli. It would be endless to run through the 
 ■whole forest. Nor is it necessary. The exami- 
 nation of these few principal trees will show 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 particular. 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 en- 
 deavour 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 prin- 
 ciple, which is, that the mode of growth in the 
 
 Ita 
 Debemur morti nos, nostraque 
 
 Better instructed, learn tliou 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 saiije 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' ih both these books' that that power which revives 
 the tree will revive thee also, like it, with increasing perfection. 
 
14<0 Gilpin's toeest, scenery. 
 
 spray corresponds exactly witli that of the larger 
 branches, of which, indeed, the spray is the origin. 
 Thus the Oak divides his boughs from the stem 
 more horizontally than most other deciduous 
 trees. The spray makes exactly, in miniature, the 
 same appearance. It breaks out in right angles, 
 or in angles that are nearly so, forming its 
 shoots, commonly, in short lines, the second year's 
 shoot usually taking some direction contrary to 
 that of the first. Thus the rudiments are laid of 
 that abrupt mode of ramification for which the 
 Oak is remarkable. When two shoots spring 
 from the same knot they are commonly of un- 
 equal 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 the Oak becomes thick, close, 
 and interwoven ; so that, at a little distance, it 
 has a full, rich appearance, and more of the pic- 
 turesque roughness than we observe in the spray 
 of any other tree. The spray of the Oak, also, 
 generally springs in such directions as give its 
 branches that horizontal appearance which they 
 generally assume. 
 
'GILPIN'S FOREST SCENERY.' 
 
 Ill 
 
 Spray of the Oak. 
 
 \_rage 140. 
 
 Ramification of the Oak. 
 
 {Page 140. 
 
oiu'in's forest scenery.' 
 
 143 
 
 Spray of the Ash. 
 
 IPac^e 145. 
 
 Ramification of tlie Ash. 
 
 [Pa^e 145. 
 
SPBAY AND FOLIAGE. 145 
 
 The spray of the Ash is very different. As the 
 boughs of the Ash are less complex, so is its 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 its course, form- 
 ing 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, notwith- 
 standing 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 picturesque 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 
 
146 Gilpin's forest sceneky. 
 
 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 seldom shoots from the under- 
 sides of the branches ; and it is this, chiefly, which 
 keeps the branches in a horizontal form. But 
 the spray of the Ash, often breaking out on the 
 underside of the branch, forms very elegant 
 pendent boughs, f U'- ^f*" "1' • '^1 'i '^-^/-i^'^ij^^ ) 
 
 The branch of the Elm has neither the 
 strength nor the various abrupt twistings of the 
 Oak, nor does it shoot so much in horizontal 
 directions. Such also is the spray. It has a 
 more regular appearance, not starting off at right 
 angles, but forming its 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 
 
'GIU'IN'S I'OKliST SCENERY.' 
 
 147 
 
 Spiay of tlie Elm. 
 
 iPase 146. 
 
 Spray of the Beech. 
 
 [.Page 149- 
 
 Ramification of the Beech. 
 
 [Page 149. 
 
SPRAY AND POLIAGB. 149 
 
 and strength of the Oak enable it to stretch 
 out its branches horizontally to the very last 
 twig. I have seen an Oak with pendent branches, 
 but it is not common. 
 
 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 
 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 its 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 per- 
 plexed, matted appearance. The whole tree gives 
 US something of the idea of an entangled 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 
 nothing squalid in it, and yet hangs in loose and 
 easy curls. 
 
 The spray of trees puts on different appear- 
 
150 Gilpin's foe-est scenery. 
 
 ances as tlie spring advances. When tlieir 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 beatitiful aspect. Aboiit the end 
 of March or the beginning of April, it throws out 
 a knotty bloom which, opening gradually, not 
 only enriches the spray, but is itself one of the 
 most beautiful among the miniature appearances 
 of Nature. The seminal stems are of an olive 
 tint, and each of them is tipped with a black seed. 
 Often, too, the spray of the Ash is enriched by the 
 1 ragged remnants of the keys and tongues of the 
 i last year, which, mixed with the bloom, have a 
 good effect. 
 
 The Elm, too, throws out a beautiful bloom, in 
 form of a spicated ball, about the bigness of a 
 nutmeg, of a dark crimson colour. This bloom 
 sometimes blows in such profusion as to thicken 
 and enrich the spray exceedingly, even to the 
 fulness almost of foliage. It is not, however, 
 often seen in such perfection. In the sprino- 
 of the year 1776 it was more than commonly 
 profuse. Indeed the bloom of forest trees in 
 
SPEAY AND FOLIAGE. 151 
 
 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, perhaps, 
 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 appearances which I have here 
 marked. In the general mode of growth which 
 each species observes, no doubt she is uniform ; 
 but in the particular m,anner 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 circumstances will make 
 a difference, soil and climate especially. These 
 have the same effect on the form of trees which 
 they have on animal life. We not only see distant 
 
152 gilpin's forest scenebx. 
 
 parts of the earth, but even contiguous countries 
 exhibit varieties in the same species of animals. 
 The Enghsh and Scotch horse are very different 
 creatures ; and, as chmates and soils are still 
 more connected with trees than with animals, we 
 may observe a greater difference produced within 
 a smaller distance. The Oak of one country 
 diflTers in form from the Oak of another. In one, 
 it carries an erect stem for many yards from the 
 ground; in another, its branches begin 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. The observa- 
 tions therefore which we have made on the form 
 of trees cannot, in many minute circumstances, be 
 supposed to suit the individuals of every country. 
 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. 
 
SECTION VI. 
 
 CELEBRATED TEEES. 
 
 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 distin- 
 guished themselves in the world, it 
 seemed proper to dedicate a few pages 
 to the particular mention of some of 
 these celebra.ted 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 
 
154 Gilpin's forest soeneey. 
 
 for all the purposes of distant 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 pic- 
 turesque perfection. The beauty of almost every 
 species of tree increases after its prime ; and, 
 unless it have the good fortune to stand in some 
 place of difficult access, or under the protection 
 of , some patron whose mansion it adorns, we 
 rarely see it in that grandeur and dignity which it 
 would acquire by age. 
 
 Gilpin's lament mighty unfortunately, be truthfully 
 re-echoed in our own day. In few places, indeed, can 
 we now find trees in full perfection except where they are 
 ' under the protection of some patron,' whose mansion they 
 adorn, or who takes a pride in possessing and preserving 
 them ; or when they stand in some public park or in the 
 few woodlands which are still left to us. So called ' utility ' 
 — wbich is often another name for private or corporate 
 greed — is very commonly made an excuse for the destruc- 
 tion of beautiful trees. Many of the trees which still 
 remain with us in public places owe their existence to 
 the large-hearted efforts of public- spirited individuals 
 who, however, are seldon successful in saving noble trees 
 except by the matter-of-fact method of purchasing their 
 
CELEBRATED TREES. 155 
 
 redemption of the owners and would-be destroyers. 
 Happily, it is not difficult to discern that a better spirit 
 is getting abroad, and we hope that before very long the 
 desire for tree planting and preservation may every-' 
 where overcome the mania for cutting thom down. — Ed. 
 
 Some of the noblest Oaks in England were at 
 least formerly found in Sussex. They required 
 sometimes a score of oxen to draw them, and 
 were carried in a sort of wain, which in that deep 
 counti'y is expressively called a tug. Two or 
 three years was not an uncommon space of time 
 for a tree to spend in performing its journey to 
 Chatham. One tug carried the load but a little 
 way, and left it for another tug 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 tug 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.* 
 
 * To the lover of landscape it is almost a matter of regret that 
 the circumstances of the time are now so vastly altered as, by 
 the greatly increased facilities of land carriage, to make it so 
 much more easy than it used to be to compass the destruction 
 and removal of trees. — Ed. 
 
156 Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 In this fallen state alone, it is true, the tree 
 becomes the basis of England's glory. Though 
 we regret its 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 hore 
 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 hoast and pride. 
 Victorious in some future contest ride.' 
 
 Nobody, that I know, has more pathetically 
 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, densa quam nuhilus arbore lucus. 
 Sylvarum studiosa, suos cum Gallia quondam 
 Vix aleret cives, patria migi-are relicta, 
 Atque peregrinos alio deferre penates 
 Maluit, excisis victum quam quterere sylvis. 
 Hsec uhi jam nemorum reverentia tanta, hipennes 
 TJt teneat t nostros uhi grandior ulla per agros 
 Quercus ad annosam, ferri secura, senectam 
 
CELEBRATED TREES. 157 
 
 Durat 1 inaccessis nisi consita montibus, ipso 
 Se defensa loco tueatur : si c[ua supersunt 
 A patribus neniora ad seros transmissa nepotes, 
 Ilia neo eestivo frondent impervia soli, 
 Nobile nee coelo caput abdant, qualia quondam 
 Vulgus adorabat truncis procera verendis. 
 Sed veteri de stirpe, novo aurgentia ranio, 
 Et quatuor post lustra nigros visura caminos, 
 Vix lepori hospitium prsebent, sylvestribus oliiri 
 QusB tiniidas latebris damas ursosque tegebant. 
 Ecquis konos ruris, nemorum si gratia desit ; 
 Obsessusque domi maneas, cum Sirius ardens 
 Debaccbatur agris ; viridique sub ilicis umbra 
 Irriguo possis neo traders fessa sopori 
 Membra, nee asstivos ramorum frigore soles 
 Erangere, nee taciti per arnica silentia luci, 
 Multisonos avium coneentus inter, ad ajjtos 
 Sponte sua veniens numeros, contexere carmen.' * 
 
 Gilpin's translation of these lines is as follows : — 
 
 ' No greater beauty can adorn 
 The hamlet, than a grove of ancient Oak. 
 
 Ah ! how unlike their sires of elder times 
 The sons of Gallia now ! They, in each tree, 
 Dreading some unknown power, dared not to lift 
 An axe : though scant of soil, they rather sought 
 Eor distant herbage than molest their groves. 
 
 Now all is spoil and violence. Where now 
 Exists an Oak whose venerable stem 
 Has seen three centuries ? unless some steep, 
 
 * Pra3d. rusticum, lib. v. 
 
158 Gilpin's poeest sceneuy. 
 
 To human footstep inaccessible, 
 
 Defend a favour'd plant. Now, if some sire 
 
 Leave to his heir a forest-scene : that heir 
 
 With graceless hands hews down each awful trunk, 
 
 Worthy of Druid reverence ; there he rears 
 
 A paltry copse, destined, each twentieth year, 
 
 To blaze inglorious on the hearth. Hence woods. 
 
 Which shelter'd once the stag and grisly hoar. 
 
 Scarce to the timorous hare sure refuge lend. 
 
 !Farewell each rural virtue with the love 
 
 Of rural scenes. Sage Contemplation wings 
 
 Her ilight. 'No more from burning suns she seeks 
 
 A cool retreat. No more the poet sings. 
 
 Amid re-echoing groves, his moral lay.' — Ed. 
 
 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 fre- 
 quently 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 beginning 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 
 
CELEBRATED TEEES. 159 
 
 circumscribed, and has not room to expand its 
 vast limbs, as Nature directs. When we wish, 
 therefore, to find the most subHme sylvan cha- 
 racter — the Oak, the Elm, or the Ash in perfec- 
 tion, we must not look for it in close, thick woods, 
 but standing single, independent of all connexions, 
 as we sometimes find it in our own forests, though 
 oftener in better protected places, shooting its 
 head wildly into the clouds, and spreading its 
 arms towards every wind of heaven. 
 
 ' Tlie Oak 
 Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm. 
 Pie seems indignant ; and to feel 
 The impression of the blast with proud disdain : 
 But, deeply-earth'd, the unconscious monarch owes 
 Plis iirm stability to what he scorns ; 
 More fix'd below, the more disturb'd above.' 
 
 There is not, perhaps, in all this country such 
 an Elm as was, in the year 1674, cut down in the 
 park of Sir Walter Bagot, in Staffordshire. The 
 particulars recorded in the family are that two 
 men were five days in felling it ; it measured forty 
 yards to the top in length ; the stool was fifteen 
 yards two feet in circumference ; fourteen loads 
 were broken in the fall ; forty-eight loads were 
 
160 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 contained in the top ; there were made out of it 
 eighty pair of naves for wheels, and 8660 feet of 
 boards and planks. It cost, at a time when 
 labour was much lower rated than it is now, 
 101. 17s. for sawing. The whole substance was 
 computed to weigh ninety-seven tons. 
 
 If I chose to lengthen my catalogue of cele- 
 brated trees, I might produce an innumerable 
 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 supposes was as ancient as the 
 times of Agamemnon — that, also, by which So- 
 crates 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 Cali- 
 fornia, measuring sixty feet in circumference, and 
 rising to the height of one hundred and fifty feet 
 
CELEBRATED TREES, 161 
 
 without a single knot — solid trees -wliiclL have been 
 scooped into canoes, capable of holding thirty or 
 forty men ; particularly one on record, at Congo, 
 which held two hundred. I might add, also, Arthur's 
 table, in the county hall of Winchester, which has 
 been cut out of a tree of immense girth.* The 
 Cheltenham Oak also might be introduced, which 
 as near its roots as you can walk, exceeds twenty 
 paces round ; the Cawthorpe Oak, likewise, 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 circum- 
 ference ; the Swilcar Oak in Needwood Foi'est, 
 which, I believe was equal to any of them.f 
 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- 
 
 * King Artlmr's round table is now suspended over tlie 
 judge's seat in the Nisi Prius Court in St. Stephen's Hall at 
 Winchester. — Ed. 
 
 t Many of these trees are mentioned by Mr. Evelyn, and the 
 rest are collected from the topographical remarks of travellers 
 and historians. 
 
162 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 mercliant's rule. And yet all these liave 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, ha-^ing 
 a reverence for them all. "Where one tree attains 
 this noble growth, and makes itself conspicuous, 
 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 annexed to them. 
 
 Of the four oaks, last-mentioned in the preceding para- 
 graph, two are still living — the famous Cowthorpe Oak' 
 near Wetherby, Yorkshire, and the Swilcher (spelt Swil- 
 car by Gilpin) Oak. In a note to his edition, published in 
 1834, of this ' Forest Scenery,' Sir T. Dick Lauder stated, 
 that, at three feet from the ground, the Cowthprpe Oak 
 measured sixteen yards, and that, close to the ground, it 
 measured twenty-six yards in girth, its principal limb ex- 
 tending forty-eight feet from the truuk. In the year 1718 
 this tree had its principal branch rent off by a storm — and 
 the branch was found, on being accurately measured, to 
 contain upwards of five tons of timber ! Sir T. D. Lauder 
 adds, ' This magnificent vegetable production is still in 
 wonderful preservation, though its foliage be thin.' His 
 statement of the girth of this celebrated tree agrees with 
 
CELEBRATED TEEES. 163 
 
 that given by Gilpin. In a statement of the girth — at 
 the ground — published in 1807, the measurement gives 
 seventy-eight feet. But, in the one published in 1842, in 
 Mr. Charles Bmpson's ' Descriptive Account ' of the Cow- 
 thorpe Oak, the Author of that work gives his own 
 measurement of the girth, at the ground, in the same year, 
 as being sixty feet only. The apparent discrepancy, how- 
 ever, in the two measurements is accounted for by the fact 
 of the projections near the base of the tree having been 
 covered with earth at some time during the half-century 
 preceding 1842. The Rev. Thomas White, of Oowthorpe 
 Rectory, in a letter to us dated the 2 7th of May last says : — 
 ' The outline of the dear old tree is very irregular at the 
 base/ and this circumstance, taken in conjunction with 
 the natural decay of an old tree, detracts, of com'se, from 
 the comparative value of recent admeasurements. Mr. 
 White adds : — ' I have been minister here nearly thirty-five 
 years, and I think the venerable tree has failed very much 
 in that time.' A year or two ago, he informs us, a wood- 
 ranger measured its present main branch and found it 
 contained two and a half tons of wood ! The age of this 
 specimen of sylvan magnificence is believed to be nearly 
 1650 years I The Swilcher Oak at Need wood in Stafford- 
 shire, is still a magnificent tree. In 1771 it was nineteen 
 feet round at six feet from the ground. It increased but 
 very slowly from that time to 1825, when it was exactly 
 twenty-one feet four inches and a half in girth at the same 
 distance from the ground. Sir T. D. Lauder, nine years later, 
 said that though still ' a fine, shapely, characteristic tree, 
 
 L 2 
 
164 Gilpin's forest soeneby. 
 
 it was nevertheless ' certainly in decay.' He added, that 
 by historical documents^ it was known to be six hundred 
 years old ! The present vicar of Needwood, the Rev. John 
 E. A. Penwick, informs us that there is a tradition that 
 the tree was named after one Swilcher, a Danish poet. To 
 give us some indication of its present enormous size, Mr. 
 Penwick added that he placed his sixteen-hand horse 
 sideways against one side of the tree, and on going him- 
 self to the other side he was unable to see either the horse's • 
 head or tail. — Ed. 
 
 One of the most celebrated trees on ancient 
 record was an Oriental Plane, wliicli grew in 
 Phrygia. Its 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 expe- 
 dition his route led him near this noble tree. 
 Xerxes, it seems, was a great admirer of trees. 
 Amidst all his devastations in an enemy's country, 
 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 aston- 
 ishment of all his of&cers, orders were despatched 
 to the right and left of his mighty host to halt 
 three days, during which time he could not be 
 
CELEBRATED TREES. 165 
 
 drawn from the Phrygian Plane. His pavilion 
 was spread under it, and he enjoyed the luxury of 
 its delicious shade, while the Greeks were taking 
 measures to defend Thermopjlse. The story may 
 not speak much in favour of the Prince ; but it is 
 my business only to pay honour to the tree.* 
 
 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 Oaphise ; and, just above it, rose a fountain, 
 called the Menalaid fountain; by the side of which, 
 Pausanias tells us,t grew a Plane Tree of extra- 
 ordinary 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 a thousand three hundred years. 
 
 I shall next exhibit another Plane Tree of 
 
 * This account is taken from Elian. f Paus, Arcad., c. 23. 
 
166 Gilpin's foeest scbneby. 
 
 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 consequence of a large tree, 
 and, at a distance, the whole together exhibited 
 the appearance of a grove. Its branches still 
 flourished, while its trunk decayed. This, in 
 process of time, mouldered 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 frequently ; men- 
 tioning particularly his remarks on Egyptian 
 paper,* and also on that kind of wood of which 
 the statue of Diana at Bphesus was made.f 
 With the Lycian Plane Licinius was exceedingly 
 pleased, and often enjoyed the company of his 
 friends under its shade. It was great luxury, he 
 
 * Lib. xiii. o. 13. f Lib. xvi. c. 40. 
 
CBLBBEATED TREES, 167 
 
 would say, to dine in its trunk on a sultry- 
 summer day ; and to hear a heavy shower of rain 
 descending through the several stages of its 
 leaves. As a naturalist, he left it on record that 
 himself and eighteen other persons dined com- 
 modiously around the benches in the body of it. 
 
 Caligula had a tree of the same kind at his villa 
 near Velitrge. But Caligula's tree appears to 
 have been more complex than the Lycian Plane. 
 It had not only a hollow cave in its trunk, which 
 was capable of holding fifteen persons at dinner, 
 Avith a proper suit of the emperor's attendants ; 
 but, if I understand Pliny rightly,* 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,t still existing in his time, which 
 were of great antiquity. Three of them, he says, 
 stood upon the site of the ancient Tibur, which 
 was a city older than Rome ; and these trees were 
 not only older than Tibur, but were trees of con- 
 sequence in the days of Tiburtus, who founded it. 
 
 * Lib. xii. c. 1. f Lib. xvi. c. 44. 
 
168 Gilpin's forest sceneet. 
 
 For tradition assures us, says Pliny, they were 
 the very trees on which that hero observed 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 
 calculation, must have been fourteen or fifteen 
 hundred years old in the time of Pliny. Though 
 this is far from being incredible, yet, as it rests 
 wholly on tradition, we pay it the less attention. 
 Wliat Pliny says in favour of the fourth tree, how- 
 ever, has somewhat more of weight. This tree, he 
 tells us, grew in the Vatican, and had its age in- 
 scribed in old Tuscan characters upon its trunk ; 
 from which inscription it appeared that, before 
 the city of Rome had its existence, this Holm 
 was a celebrated tree. 
 
 When Tiberius biailt 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 oceasion, the trunk of a Larch was 
 of so prodigious a size, that the emperor, instead 
 
CELEBEATED TREES. 169 
 
 of using it in his works, ordered it to be laid up 
 as a curiosity. It measured a hundred and twenty 
 feet in length, carrying a diameter of two feet 
 to the very end.* When this Larch was alive, 
 with all the furniture of its 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 mainmast of the 
 ' Royal Sovereign,' in Queen Anne's time. It was 
 ninety feet long, and thirty-five inches in dia- 
 meter, t 
 
 Mr. Evelyn, 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 a hundred and 
 twenty feet long, which is the length of Tiberius's 
 Larch, though it had not probably the circum- 
 ference 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 
 
 ■ * Plin. Nat. Hist., 1. xvi. c. 40. j ^ylva, p. 228. 
 
170 GiLPm's roiiKST sgeneet. 
 
 close to each other, to bind thera tight at proper 
 distances with pitched ropes and collars of iron. 
 But a very noble Fir was lately brought into 
 England, which was not spliced in the common 
 mode, but was converted, in its 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 mountain. ' 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 its 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 wbich Maundrel mentions. He 
 observed them, he says,, to be of very different 
 
CELEBRATED TBEES. 171 
 
 ages. The old standards had low stems, growing 
 like fruit-trees, whereas the younger made a 
 much more stately appearance, not a httle resem- 
 bling 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. Under one 
 of them was erected an altar, where the clergy of 
 Tripoli and the neighbouring convent of Massurki 
 sometimes celebrated mass. From this tree spread 
 five limbs, resembling substantial trees, each being 
 about a hundred feet in length, and inserted into 
 the main trunk about fourteen or fifteen feet from 
 the ground. 
 
 These are noble dimensions, though 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 occa- 
 sionally 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 those which either Maundrel or Van Egmont 
 measured. 
 
 Gilpia's reference to the ancient Cedars of Lebanoa 
 
172 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 suggests au inquiry of very great interest. Are tlie 
 oldest of the species now standing on Mount Lebanon con- 
 temporaries of Solomon's Cedars, with the timber of which, 
 hewn from the mountain by fourscore thousand men, he 
 built the temple of Jerusalem ; or are they not ? Where 
 travellers and historians disagree, who shall decide ? 
 Decision' on this point, by which we mean conclusive 
 judgment and not mere dogmatic assertion, is doubtless 
 impossible. The subject is nevertheless, we repeat,, one 
 of extreme interest; and we need offer no apology for 
 alluding to the accounts and opinions of one or two 
 travellers. And first we will refer to Lamartine's account, 
 given in his ' Yoyage en Orient,' of his visit, made on 
 the 13th of April, 1833, to the Cedars of Lebanon. The 
 Arab Scheik of Eden, the last inhabited village of Leba- 
 non, had despatched, on the arrival of Lamartine, three 
 of his men on the road to the Cedars, to ascertain if the 
 snow would allow of the trees being approached. The 
 messengers reported on their return that access to them 
 was impossible, as there were fourteen feet of snow lying 
 in an intervening narrow valley, which afforded the only 
 way of approach. Lamartine, however, was determined to 
 get as near to the Cedars as possible, and accordingly, 
 accompanied by guides, he set out on the journey. The 
 party got to within about 500 or 600 yards of them, but 
 were then compelled to halt, the horses sinking up to their 
 shoulders in snow. 'We descended,' he says (we are 
 quoting from the translation of the ' Voyage en Orient,' 
 published in 1850 by Messrs. W. and R. Chambers), 'to 
 
CBLEBUATBD TREES. 173 
 
 the village of Bescherai by a patli liewn in the rock, and 
 so deep that it seems inconceivable that men should hazard 
 themselves upon it. Many fatal accidents occur. A stone 
 thrown from the crest we were winding down would fall 
 on the roofs of these villages, which we did not, however, 
 reach iu less than an hour's continued descent. Above 
 the cascade and the snow immense fields of ice undulate 
 like vapours of alternate green and blue; and about a 
 mile to the left, in a sort of semicircular vale, formed by 
 the highest cliffs of Lebanon, we perceive a large black 
 spot on the snow; it is the renowned group of cedars. 
 They crown like a diadem the brow of the mountain, and 
 look down vipou the out-branchings of the numerous large 
 valleys which fall from it : the sea and the sky are their 
 horizon.^ ' These trees,' exclaims Lamartine, ' are the 
 most celebrated natural monuments in the universe. 
 Religion, poeti'y, and history, have equally consecrated 
 them.' fie follows with an eloquent passage, continuing, 
 later on ; — ' This is the only spot on the chain of Lebanon 
 where they grow, and here they take root far above the 
 region where all considerable vegetation ceases. . . . But 
 alas ! Bassan languishes, Carmel and the flowers of 
 Lebanon are fading. These trees are diminished every 
 age. Travellers formerly counted thirty or forty, after- 
 wards seventeen, and at a later date but twelve. There 
 are not more than seven, which, from their massiveness, 
 can be pronounced contemporaries of the biblical era. 
 Around these aged witnesses of times past — who know 
 the history of the earth better than history herself, who 
 
174 Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 would tell us, if they could speak, of so many empires, 
 religions and human races swept away — there still remains 
 a small forest of younger Cedars, which appear to me to 
 form a group of 400 or 500 trees or bushes/ Mr. 
 Kinglake in his ' Bothen ' appears to discredit the belief 
 that the existing trees have survived from the days of 
 Solomon. He says;— 'The group of Cedars remaining 
 on this part of the Lebanon is held sacred by the Greek 
 Church, on account of a prevailing notion that the trees 
 were standing at the time when the Temple of Jerusalem 
 was built. They occupy three or four acres on the moun- 
 tain's side, and many of them are gnarled in a way that 
 implies great age ; but, except these signs, I saw nothing 
 in their appearance or conduct that tended to prove them 
 contemporaries of the Cedars employed in Solomon's 
 Temple.' In his work 'The Crescent and the Cross,' 
 Eliot Warburton gives a description of his visit to the 
 historic Cedars. He maintains that there were, when he 
 visited the Lebanon forest, twelve of the old trees remain- 
 ing. His words are, — ' There are twelve old trees, or 
 Saints as they are called, being supposed to be coeval 
 with those that furnished timber for Solomon's Temple — 
 yes, twelve, I will maintain it, notwithstanding all the 
 different computations on the subject, are there standing 
 now. It is natural that there should be diversity of 
 opinion, perhaps, as the forest consists of about one thou- 
 sand trees, among which there is a succession of all ages ; 
 nevertheless, there is the apostolic number, first-rate in 
 size and venerable appearance. The largest of these is 
 
CELEBRATED TEEES. 175 
 
 forty-five feet in circumference ; the second is forty-four. 
 Many of them are scarred with travellers' names/ If 
 the most ancient of the Cedars now growing on Mount 
 Lebanon are contemporaries of King Solomon's treeSj 
 they would be more than 3000 years old ! The Cedar 
 is known to grow to a great age, and tree life has been 
 known to extend much beyond 3000 years, so that the 
 hypothesis is not an unreasonable one, that the existing 
 Cedars of Lebanon were growing when the Temple at 
 Jerusalem was being built. — Ed. 
 
 One of the noblest trees on record is tlie Chest- 
 nut upon Mount Etna, called the Gastagna de cento 
 cavalli. It is still alive, but has lost muchi of its 
 original dignity. Many travellers take notice of it. 
 Brydone was one of the last who saw it. His 
 account is dated about sixteen or seventeen years 
 ago.* It had tlien the appearance of five distinct 
 trees. The space within them, he was assured, 
 had once been filled with, solid timber, when tlie 
 whole formed only one tree. The possibility of 
 this lie could not at first conceive, for the five 
 trees together contained a space of two hundred 
 and four feet in circumference. At length, how- 
 
 * Gilpin wrote this, it must be remembered, in 1791. — Ed. 
 
176 gtlpin's l'orest scenery. 
 
 ever, lie was convinced, not only by tlie testimony 
 of the country, and the accurate examination of 
 the Canon Recupero, a learned naturalist in those 
 parts, but by the appearance of the trees them- 
 selves, none of which had any bark on the inside. 
 This Chestnut is of such renown, that Brydone 
 tells us he had seen it marked in an old map of 
 Sicily, published a hundred years ago.* 
 
 Among other authors who mention this tree, 
 Kircher gives us the following account of its con- 
 dition in his day, which might be about a century 
 befoi'o Brydone saw it : — ' Ostendit mihi vise dux, 
 unius castanias corticem, tantas magnitudinis, ut 
 intra earn integer pecorum grex, a pastoribus tan- 
 quam in caula commodissima, noctu interclude- 
 retur.' t From this account, one should imagine 
 that in Kircher' s days the five trees were more 
 united than when Brydone saw them. 
 
 In his interesting work on Mount Etna, published last 
 
 * See Brydone's Trav., vol. i. p. 117. 
 
 t My guide showed me here, -what I can call only the shell, 
 or hark of a Chestnut tree, hut of such amazing circumference, 
 that one of the shepherds of the country used it as a fold for 
 a large flock of sheep. 
 
CELEBRATED TREES. 177 
 
 year^ Mr. G. F. Eodwell writes concerning tlie gigantic- 
 and famous Chestnut, as follows; 'The celehrated Gastagno 
 di Oenio OavalU, one of the largest and oldest trees in the 
 world, is in the forest of Oarpinetto, on the east side of 
 the mountain, five miles from Giarre. This tree has the 
 appearance of five separate trunks united into one, but 
 Ferrara declares that, by digging a very short distance 
 below the surface, he found one single stem. The public 
 road now passes through the much-decayed trunk. 
 Captain Symth measured the circumference a few feet 
 from the ground, and found it to be 163 feet, which would 
 give it a diameter of niore than fifty feet. The tree 
 derives its name from the story that one of the Queens of 
 Aragon took shelter in its trunk with a suite of 100 
 horsemen, Mr. Eodwell adds : — ' Near this patriarch arc 
 several large Chestnuts, which, without a shadow of doubt, 
 are single trees ; one of these is eighteen feet in diameter^ 
 and a second fifteen feet, while the Gastagno della Galea, 
 higher up on the mountains, is twenty-five feet in diameter, 
 and probably more than 1000 years old.' — Ed. 
 
 At Niestadt, in the Ducliy of Wirtemberg, 
 stood a Lime wHcli was for many ages so re- 
 markable that the city frequently took its de- 
 nomination from it, being often called Niestadt 
 an der grossen Linden, or Niestadt near the Great 
 Lime. Scarce any person passed near Niestadt 
 without visiting this tree, and many princes and 
 
 M 
 
178 Gilpin's fobest sceneey. 
 
 great men did honour to it by building obelisks, 
 columns, and monuments of various kinds around 
 it, engraved with their arms and names, to which 
 the dates were added, and often some device. 
 Mr. Evelyn,* who prociired copies of several of 
 these monumental inscriptions, tells ns 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 unwieldy. Thus this mighty plant 
 stood many years in great state, the ornament of 
 the town, the admiration of the country, and sup- 
 ported, as it were, by the princes of the empire. 
 At length it felt the effects of war. Niestadt 
 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 its 
 spreading boughs, how far its limits had once 
 extended. 
 
 * See Ev. Sylva, p. 225. 
 
CELEBRATED TREES. 179 
 
 A Plane of the same enormous growth, is men- 
 tioned by a late traveller * at the city of Cos. It 
 stands in the centre of the market-place, and over- 
 spreads the whole area of it. But its vast limbs, 
 bending with their own weight, require support ; 
 and the inhabitants of Cos have supported them 
 in a still grander style than the Lime at Niestadt 
 is supported. The whole city is overspread with 
 the I'uius of antiquity, and some of the choicest 
 columns of marble and granite, which had formerly 
 adorned temples and porticoes, have been collected 
 and brought to prop the limbs of this vast tree. 
 Though the picturesque eye is not fond of these 
 adventitious supports, and would rather see the 
 boughs bending to the ground under their own 
 weight, yet, if they are proper anywhere, they are 
 proper in such a situation as this, where the tree 
 fills the whole area of a market-place with its 
 extended boughs, and is connected with the houses 
 on every side by the pillars which support them. 
 Some such idea as this very probably gave birth 
 to that beautiful form in Gothic architecture of a 
 
 * Voyage. Pit toresque de la Grece. 
 M 2 
 
180 Gilpin's eoebst scenery. 
 
 circular room whose dome is supported by a single 
 column rising from the centre and ramifying over 
 the roof. We have two or three such appendages 
 of cathedrals in England, under the name of 
 chapter -houses. The most beautiful I know is at 
 Salisbury, which I scruple not to call one of the 
 most pleasing ideas in architecture. The Plane at 
 Cos is greatly revered by all the inhahitants of the 
 city. Much of their public business is transacted 
 in the markct-placo. There, too, they liold tlieir 
 little social meetings, and we may easily conceive 
 the luxury, in such a climate, of a grand leafy 
 canopy to screen them from the fervour of the 
 sun. To add to the beauty and convenience of 
 this very delicious scene, a fountain of limpid water 
 bubbles up near the roots of the tree. 
 
 As a parallel to these trees, I shall nest 
 celebrate the Lime of Oleves. 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 burgomaster of his day 
 had it surveyed with great accuracy, and trimmed 
 into eight broad, pyramidal faces. Each corner 
 
CELEBBATED TEEKS., 181 
 
 was supported by a handsome stone pillar, and in 
 tlie middle oE the tree, among the branches, was 
 cut a noble room, which the vast space con- 
 tained within easily suffered, without injuring the 
 regularity of any of the eight faces. To crown all, 
 the top was curiously clipped into some kind of 
 head, and adorned artificially ; but in what manner, 
 whether with the head of a lion, or a stag, a 
 weather-cook, or a sun-dial, we are not told. It 
 was something, however, in the highest style of 
 Dutch taste. This tree was long the admiration 
 and envy of all the states of Holland, and Mr. 
 Evelyn, from whom we have the relation, seems to 
 have thought it a piece of excellent workmanship. 
 ' I needed not,' says he, ' have chax-ged this para- 
 graph with half these trees, but to show how 
 much more the Lime Tree seems disposed to be 
 wrought into these arboreous wonders than other 
 trees of slower growth.' * 
 
 In the wars between Henry II., King of England, 
 and Philip of France, the two kings had a confer- 
 ence in the year 1188, near Gisors, under an Elm 
 
 * Sylva, p. 225, 
 
182 Gilpin's toeest scenery. 
 
 whicli, we are told, covered several acres of land.* 
 Tlie truth, I suppose, is, that it was an immense 
 tree. Under its canopy so numerous a train of 
 the prelates and nobility of both nations, who 
 attended the two kings, were assembled, that 
 perhaps no tree ever before sheltered so magnificent 
 a company. Some time afterwards, hostilities 
 again commencing between these princes, Philip 
 ordered the Elm to bo cut down. As it appeared 
 to be in no shape an object to him, people were 
 apt to say he did it in a fit of spiteful revenge 
 against Henry, who often, when his army lay 
 encamped in those parts, took a pleasure in sitting 
 under its shade. 
 
 The Oaks of Chaucer are celebrated, in the 
 annals of poetry, as the trees under which — 
 
 ' The laiighing sage 
 CaroU'd his moral song.' 
 
 They grew in the park at Donnington Castle, 
 near Newbury, Avhere Chaucer spent his latter life 
 in studious retirement. The largest of these trees 
 was called the King's Oah, and carried an erect 
 
 * See Smollett's Hist, of England, vol. ii. p. 210. 
 
OBLBBEATBD TBEES. 183 
 
 stein 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 Oah, and sur- 
 vived the calamities of the civil wars in King 
 Charles's time, though Donnington Castle and 
 the country around it were so often the scene of 
 action and desolation. Its 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 straight, four 
 feet square at the butt end, and near a yard at 
 tlie top. The third of these Oaks was called 
 Chaucer'' s, of which we have no particulars; in 
 general, only, we are told that it was a noble tree, 
 though inferior to either of the others.* None of 
 them, I should suppose from this account, was a 
 tree of picturesque beauty. A straight stem, of 
 forty or fifty feet, let its head be what it will, can 
 hardly produce a picturesque form. When we 
 admired the Stone Pine, we supposed its stem to 
 
 * See Evelyn's Sylva, p. 227. 
 
184 Gilpin's foeest soeneey. 
 
 take a sweeping line, and to be broken, also, witli 
 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 sapling, when Alfred the 
 Great founded the university. Tliis 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 
 completing its growth, is not worth recording in 
 the early part of its existence. It is then only a 
 common tree, and, afterwards, when it becomes 
 remarkable for its age, the memory of its youth 
 is forgotten. This tree, however, can almost pro- 
 duce historical evidence for the ag'e it boasts. 
 
 * In. most exogenous trees, or those ■which, increase by addi- 
 tions of tissue outwards from the central column or pith, a very- 
 near approximation to tlieir age may be obtained by counting 
 the conoontrio ' rings ' shown on the trunk, though only, of 
 course, when the latter is cut across — each ' ring ' representing 
 the tissue added during one year's growth. — Ed. 
 
CELEBRATED TREES. 185 
 
 About five liundred years after the time of Alfred, 
 William of Waiufleet, Dr. Stukely tells us, ex- 
 pressly ordered his college to be founded near 
 the great Oalc,^' and an Oak could not well 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 its glory, or rather, 
 perhaps, it had attained a green old ago. But it 
 must have been manifestly in its decline at that 
 memorable era, when the tyranny of James gave 
 the fellows of Magdalen so noble an opportunity 
 of withstanding bigotry and superstition. It was 
 much injured in Charles II.'s time, when the 
 present walks were laid out. Its roots were 
 disturbed, and, fi'om that period, it decHned fast, 
 and became reduced by degrees to little more than 
 a mere trunk. The oldest members of the uni- 
 versity can scarce recollect it in better plight. 
 But the faithful records of history f have handed 
 
 * Itiner. Curios. 
 
 t Sec Dr. Plot's Hist, of Oxf. cli. vi. sect. 45. 
 
186 Gilpin's toeest sceneky. 
 
 down its ancient dimensions. Through, a space 
 of sixteen yards, on every side from its trunk, it 
 once flung its boughs, and under its magnificent 
 pavilion could have sheltered, with ease, three thou- 
 sand men, though in its decayed state it could, for 
 many years, do little more than shelter some luck- 
 less individual whom the driving shower had over- 
 taken in his evening walk. In the summer of the 
 year 1788, this magnificent ruin fell to the ground, 
 alarming the college with its rushing sound. It 
 then appeared how precariously it had stood for 
 many years. Its 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 its ruins a 
 chair has been made for the president of the 
 college, which will long continue its memory. 
 
 The chair referred to by our Author as having been 
 made out of the ruins of the famous Magdalen College 
 Oak stands, wo arc informed by the Rev. Frederic Bulley, 
 the president of the College, ' in the Hall of the President's 
 lodgings, where it may be seen by visitors.' Dr. Bulley 
 adds, ' It is in the gothic style of architecture, and a fine 
 specimen of the carving of ninety years ago.' Subjoined 
 
CBLEBEATED TREES. 187 
 
 is a copy, courteously furnished to us by Dr. Bulley, of the 
 iuscription ou a brass plate attached to the seat. 
 
 Quercus Magdalenensis Corruit 
 
 Festo S. Petri a.d. MDOCLXXXIX. 
 
 Cujus B Liguo, 
 
 Ne Arboris 
 
 Usque A. Collegio Pundato 
 
 Notissim^ 
 
 Prorsus abolescat Memoriaj 
 
 Hanc Sellam 
 
 Prsesidens Sociique 
 
 Pabricandam Curaveruut 
 
 A.D. MDCCXCI. 
 
 Juxta Exemjplar 
 
 A. Hicardo Paget A.M. Semicom. 
 
 Delineatum, 
 
 Cselavit 
 
 Eobertus Archer Oxoniensis. — Ed. 
 
 l^eav "Worksop grew an Oak, wliicli, in respect 
 both to its own dignity and tlie dignity of its 
 situation, deserves lionourable mention. In point 
 of grandeur few trees equalled it. It overspread 
 a space of ninety feet from tlie extremities of its 
 opposite boughs. These dimensions will produce 
 an area capable, on mathematical calculation, of 
 covering a squadron of two hundred and thirty- 
 
188 Gilpin's ioeest scenbet. 
 
 five horse. The dignity of its station was equal 
 to the dignity of the tree itself. It stood on a 
 point "where Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and 
 Derbyshire unite, and spread its 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 Oah, by which 
 appellation it w^s marked among cities, towns, 
 and rivers, in all the larger maps of England.* 
 
 In the garden at Tortworth, in Gloucestershire, 
 an old family-seat belonging to Lord Ducie, grows 
 a Spanish Chestnut 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 whicli place it in 
 the same honourable station in the reiscn of King- 
 Stephen. How much older it may be we know 
 not. Considerably older it probably was, for we 
 rarely make boundary-trees of saplings and off-sets, 
 which are liable to a thousand accidents, and are 
 
 * See Evelyn's Sylva, p. 232. 
 
CJ5LEBEAT15D TEEES. 189 
 
 unable to maintain, with proper dignity, the 
 station delegated to them. This tree is at 
 present in hands which justly value and protect 
 its age. It was barely included within the garden 
 wall, which bore hard upon it. Lord Ducie has 
 lately removed the incumbrance, and at the same 
 time applied fresh earth to the roots of the tree, 
 which seems to have enlivened it. So late as in the 
 year 1788 it produced great quantities of chestnuts, 
 which, though small, were sweet and well- flavoured. 
 In the great Chestnut cause, mentioned a little 
 above,* between Barriugton and Ducarel, this 
 venerable tree was called upon as an evidence, and 
 gave a very respectable testimony in favour of the 
 Chestnuts. 
 
 Nothing is more remarkable in connexion with this 
 account of ' celebi'ated trees ' than the fact that the 
 renowned Tortworth Oliestnut is still alive. The Eev. 0. 
 Greswell, of Tortworth, has expressed the opinion^ in' an 
 interesting communication with which he has favoured us, 
 that during his residence of thirty-eight years in the 
 neighbourhood the old tree has not much changed. He 
 says, ' The trunk of the original tree is, of course, hollow 
 and much decayed, but it has surrounded itself with a 
 
 * See page 86. 
 
190 oilpin's foeest scbnert. 
 
 numerous progeny of strong and healfcliy suckers which, 
 give it, still, a very imposing appearance, especially in 
 summer, when it is in full leaf. Like the Phoenix; of 
 antiquity, it may be said to have risen again out of its own 
 ashes.' It is believed to be more than a thousand years 
 old ! and is, in all probability, the oldest tree of its kind in 
 England. In an account of it, published in 1825, in a 
 work entitled ' Sylvan Sketches ' by the author of The 
 Flora Domestica, it is stated that even in the year 1150 it 
 was called the great or the old Chestnut of Tortworth, a 
 statement which would agree with Gilpin's information 
 that it was ' a boundary- tree in the time of King John,' 
 or even in the earlier reign of Stephen. In 1720 it 
 measured fifty-one feet in girth at six feet from the ground. 
 In 1779 it had measured fifty-four feet in girth. Very old 
 trees, however, naturally diminish in girth after a certain 
 period by the decay and falling off of portions of the lower 
 part of the trunk. This has happened, though not in a 
 noticeable degree, in the case of the Tortworth Chestnut. 
 Mr Greswell kindly obtained for us from Lord Ducie's 
 gardener about the end of last May, an exact measurement 
 of the Tortworth Chestnut at the jDresent time. The 
 result is as follows : — Girth, at three feet from the 
 ground, forty- nine feet : at six feet from the ground, fifty 
 feet : north and south, eighty-six feet through : east 
 and west, eighty-eight feet through. 'These latter 
 statements,' Mr. Greswell explains, ' give an idea of the 
 extent of space covered by the branches which have shot 
 out from the trunk.' — Ed. 
 
CELEBRATED TBEES. 191 
 
 After mentioning this Chestnut, which has been 
 celebrated so much, I cannot forbear mentioninof 
 another, which is equally remarkable for having 
 never been celebrated at all, though it is one of the 
 largest trees that perhaps ever existed in England. 
 If it had ever been noticed merely for its bulk, I 
 should have passed it over among other gigantic 
 plants that had nothing else to boast, but as no his- 
 torian or antiquarian, so far as I have heard, has 
 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 Chestnut grows at a place called 
 Wimley, near Hitchin Priory in Hertfordshire. 
 In the year 1789, at five feet above the ground, 
 its girth was somewhat more than fourteen yards. 
 Its trunk was hollow, and in part open. But its 
 vegetation was still vigorous. On one side its 
 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. 
 
192 Gilpin's forest scbneby. 
 
 But for the marvellous longevity of the Chestnut tree it 
 would be scarcely conceivable^ from Gilpin's description^ 
 that the one growing near Hitchin, first made famous by 
 his mention, ninety years ago, could still be living. Tet 
 such is the fact, the place where it stands being Little 
 Wymondley (Gilpin's spelling of the name, Wimley, 
 being doubtless suggested by the pronunciation). The 
 tree is situated near Little Wymondley Church, and is 
 visible from the Railway, the nearest station being 
 Stevenage, from which it is distant a little more than a 
 mile. The Rev. Lewis Hensley, the vicar of Hitchin, 
 courteously sent to us a photograph of the tree, taken in 
 1875, since which, he thinks, there has been little change 
 in the appearance of this singular and most remarkable 
 sylvan ruin. Mr. Hensley mentioned in his letter (dated 
 the I9th of May, 1879) that not long ago it put out some 
 fresh shoots. The vicar of Little Wymondley (the Rev. 
 Willoughby J. E. Rooke) is of opinion that the ancient tree 
 has not altered ' in any respect for the last four or five 
 years.' By its side is what looks like a pile of timber. 
 This, Mr. Rooke informs ns, 'is a portion of the trunk 
 which (being hollow) was unable to support the weight of 
 the upper branches, and so gave way, and fell, in a mass, 
 on one side of the tree ; but, being itself so very massive, 
 broke into many longitudinal pieces from the concussion, 
 on reaching the ground, where it has lain ever since un- 
 touched, fortunately, by any one.' Mr. Rooke adds; — 
 ' It is not now easy to take the girth, as more than half 
 the trunk is gone, but the line remains at the base where 
 
OELEBEATED TEEBS. 193 
 
 OQG could trace tlie circumference.' "■ Som.b six or seven 
 years ago/ our correspondent continues, ' I measured the 
 circumference, and made it to be about fifteen yards — 
 fourteen yards would be within the mark/ Last year, we 
 learn from Mr. Rooke, this marvellous tree bore — on what 
 were once the suckers, but are now large limbs or trees — 
 an abundance of fruit. — Ed. 
 
 In a glade of Hainhault Forest in Essex, about 
 a mile from Barkingside, stands an Oak, which 
 has been known through many centuries, by the 
 name of Fairlop. The tradition of the country 
 traces it half way up the Christian era. It is still 
 a noble tree, though it has now suffered greatly 
 from the depredations of time. About a yard 
 from the ground, where its 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 its shade, which overspreads an area of 
 three hundred feet in circuit, an annual fair has 
 long been held on the 2nd of July, and no booth 
 is suffered to be erected beyond the extent of 
 its boughs. But as their extremities are now 
 become sapless, and age is yearly curtailing their 
 
 N 
 
194 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 length, tte liberties of tlie fair seem to be in a 
 desponding condition. Tlie honour however is 
 great. But honours are often accompanied with 
 inconveniences, and Fairlop has suffered from its 
 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. 
 
 Gilpin remarked in a note at the end of the first 
 volume of the edition of the ' Forest Scenery ' published 
 in 1791, — T am doubtful whether the/air here mentioned 
 has not been for some time discontinued.' This note 
 does not appear in the two following editions. Fairlop 
 Fair is still regularly held at the same time of the year, 
 but no longer around the Fairlop Oak, which was blown 
 down during high winds that prevailed in the year 
 1820.— Ed. 
 
 Not far from Blandford, in Dorsetshire, stood 
 very lately a tree known by the name of Damory's 
 Oak. About five or six centuries ago, it was pro- 
 bably in a state of maturity. At the ground its 
 
CELEBBATBD TREES. 195 
 
 circumference was sixty-eiglit feet, and seventeen 
 feet above tlie ground its diameter was four yards. 
 As tliis vast trunk decayed it became lioUow, 
 forming a cavity whicli 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 its noblest limbs having been torn from it. But 
 it was still so grand a ruin, above forty years 
 after, that some of its 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.* 
 
 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 its diameter could not 
 
 * See Hutoliiiis's Aco. ol Dorsctsliire, vol. i., willi a piiut 
 of it. 
 
 N 2 
 
196 Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 have been less than eleven or twelve feet. What 
 its 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 Tvhich 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 importance (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 numbers and his 
 designs, sallying out suddenly on the enemy's 
 garrisons, and retreating, as suddenly, when he 
 feared to be overpowered. While his army lay in 
 those woods, the Oak, which we are now com- 
 
CELEBUATED TREES. 197 
 
 memorating, was commonly liis headquarters. 
 Here the hero generally slept, its hollow trunk 
 being capacious 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.* 
 
 The ' Wallace Oak/ in Torwood Porestj must have dis- 
 appeared very early in the present century ; but at what 
 particular date it is extremely difficult to say, for the reason 
 that its remains were taken away, bit by bit, by that 
 numerous and insatiable class, the relic hunters. In Sir 
 Walter Scott's ' Tales of a Grandfather,' written about 
 the year 1827, occurs a reference to the tree. Scott says : 
 (Chapter VII. ' The Story of Sir William Wallace.') ' A 
 large Oak tree in the adjoining forest (Torwood) was long 
 shown as marking the spot where Wallace slept before the 
 battle ' (of Falkirk), ' or, as others said, in which he hid 
 himself after the defeat. Nearly forty years ago Grandpapa 
 saw some of its roots ; ' (evidently the ' ruins ' referred to 
 by Gilpin as existing about the same time) ' but the body 
 of the tree was, even then, entirely decayed, and there is 
 not now, and has not been for many years, the least 
 vestige of it to be seen.' — Ed. 
 
 * See Nimmo's Hist, of Stirlingshire, p. 145. 
 
198 Gilpin's fobest scenjeky. 
 
 Among these celebrated trees we must not 
 forget Hern's Oak in "Windsor Forest. Shake- 
 speare 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, 
 WaUc round ahout this Oak, with ragged horns ; 
 And then he blasts the trees, destroys the cattle. 
 Makes the miloh-cow yield hlood, and shakes a chain 
 In hideous, dreadful manner.' 
 
 This tree, as far as 'vve can pay credit to tradition 
 and general opinion, still exists. In the little 
 park at "Windsor is a walk, known by the name 
 of Qaeen 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 titne 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 its historical credit. For though 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 
 
CELEBEATED TEEES. 199 
 
 round. Eairies, elves, and that generation of 
 people, universally chose the most ancient and 
 venerable trees they could find to gambol under ; 
 and the poet who should describe them dancing 
 under a sapling, vrould show 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 con- 
 tinue 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 
 its favour, that a pit or ditch is still shown near 
 the tree, as Shakespeare describes it, which may 
 have been preserved Avith the same venera,tion as 
 the tree itself. 
 
 Opinions have difi'ered as to which of two old Oaks in 
 Windsor Park was the veritable ' Heme's ;' but the weight 
 of authority appears to have inclined in favour of a tree 
 which was cut down in 1796, several years after Gilpin 
 wrote his ' Forest Scenery.'' — Ed. 
 
 There is an Oak in the grounds of Sir Gerard 
 Yan Neck, at Heveningham, in Suffolk, which 
 carries us likewise into the times of Elizabeth. 
 
200 Gilpin's forest soeneey. 
 
 But this tree brings its evidence "witli it — evidence 
 wliicli, 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 its honours. 
 But its trunk, which measures thirty-five feet in 
 circumference, still retains its grandeur, though 
 the ornaments of its 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 amuse- 
 ments, 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. 
 
 Though falling fast into the decline of years in the last 
 century, Queen Elizabeth's Oak is still standing upon Lord 
 Huntingfield's property at Heveningham; and the Rev. 
 William Belcher, rector of the parish, informs us that it is 
 ' a magnificent old tree of enormous girth.' The fact of 
 the marvellous prolongation of Oak life finds a singular 
 illustration in the continued existence of a tree, which, if 
 the report of it given by Gilpin be correct, was so hollow in 
 
CELEBRATED TEEES. 201 
 
 Queen Elizabeth's day as to furnish space enough for the 
 Maiden Queen to ensconce herself within its shell. — Ed. 
 
 After celebrating tlie grandeur of tliese sons of 
 the forest, I sliould wisli 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 Pig 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 Pig 
 Trees, which, on good grounds, are supposed to 
 have been planted by Cardinal Pole. They are 
 immense trees of the kind, covering a space of 
 vvall 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. 
 
202 Gilpin's d'okest scenery. 
 
 They are of the white Marseilles kind, and have 
 for many years furnished the tables of the Arch- 
 bishops of Canterbury with very delicious fruit. 
 
 The two Pig Trees at Lambetlij referred to by Gilpin, 
 grew in the garden of the Archbishop's palace ; but they 
 were removed during some extensive alterations which 
 took place in the grounds about half a century ago, not, 
 however, before cuttings from them were taken. Five of 
 these cuttings, planted against the library wall of the 
 palace, have now become five trees, which are greater iu 
 girth than the stocks from which they came. We paid a 
 visit to them on the courteous invitation of the present 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, and, on that occasion, learnt 
 that they continue to furnish the tables of the Archbishops, 
 as did the trees planted by Cardinal Pole, with an abun- 
 dance of ' very delicious fruit.' — Ed. 
 
 Among other remarkable fruit trees may be 
 reckoned a Vine belonging to the late Sir Charles 
 Eaymond, at Valentine House, near Ilford, in 
 Essex. It was planted, a cutting, in the year 1758, 
 of the black Hamburgh sort; and as the fruit of 
 this species will not easily ripen in the open air, it 
 was planted in a hot-house, though without any 
 preparation of soil, which is, in those grounds, a 
 stiff loam or rather clay. The hot-house is a very 
 
CBLEBKATED TREES. 203 
 
 large one, about seventy feet in front; and the 
 Vine, wliicli I understand is pruned in a peculiar 
 mannei-, extends two liundred feet, part of it run- 
 ning 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 wonderfully. 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 produced 
 about four hundredweight of grapes, which used 
 formerly (-when the hot-house, I suppose, was kept 
 warmer) to ripen in March ; though lately they 
 have not ripened till June, when they sell at four 
 shillings a poimd, which produces about eighty 
 pounds sterling. This account I had from Mr. 
 Eden, 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 pro- 
 duced much more than eighty pounds, A gentle- 
 man of character informed me that he had it from 
 Sir Charles Raymond himself, that, after supplying 
 his own table, he has made a hundred and twenty 
 
204 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 pounds a year of tlie grapes; and fhe same 
 gentleman, wlio was curious, inquired of tlie fruit 
 dealers, wlio told him that, in some years, they 
 supposed the profits might have amounted to 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, Avhen the grapes 
 sold at four shillings a pound in June) was eighty- 
 four pounds. At the lowest calculation, the profits 
 were prodigious. The stem of this Yine was, in 
 the year 1789, thirteen inches in circumference. 
 
 We learn from Mr William Earley — a considerable 
 authority on all matters horticultural — that the remark- 
 able vine referred to in the preceding paragraph is still 
 living. Its prolific stem, which, ninety years ago, was 
 ' thirteen inclies in circumference,'' is now dead ; but it has 
 given place to two '' canes,' which, annually, up to and 
 including the past season, bore excellent crops of remark- 
 ably well-flavoured fruit. Mr. Earley adds to his very 
 interesting communication, — ' So popular did this large 
 vine ' (the one mentioned by Gilpin) ' become, that cut- 
 tings of it were taken far and wide ; ' and he states, further, 
 that an enormous grape vine known as the ' Hampton 
 Court ' vine, ' a prodigy of its kind,' has been grown from 
 a cutting from the old vine at Valentine House. — Ed. 
 
CELEBEATJED TEEES. 205 
 
 But tlie Vine, even as a timber tree, has its 
 place in history. Mr. Misson, a traveller, of whom 
 Mr. Addison speaks with particular respect, tells 
 us * that the gates of the great church at Eavenna 
 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 enormous vegetable of its 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 though the town of Eavenna. 
 in his day stood a league from the Adriatic, yet 
 it is an undoubted fact that the sea formerly 
 washed its 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 
 
 * See Missou's Travels in Italy. 
 
206 Gilpin's forest soeneky. 
 
 subjoining an account of a few particular species, 
 wliicli are remarkably singular. 
 
 In tbe memoirs of tbe Frencli academy we find 
 a description of a veiy curious tree, by Mr. 
 Adanson, called tlie 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 pai'ts, seems 
 to have had the best opportunities of being 
 acquainted with it. As to its botanical peculiari- 
 ties, which are great, and its physical uses, which 
 are many, we enter not into them. We have only 
 to do with its external form, which is very uncom- 
 mon. It is supposed to be the largest of Nature's 
 vegetable productions — the behemoth of the 
 forest. From Mr. Adanson's account one should 
 suppose the Boabab to be a kind of natural 
 pollard. He tells us its trunk seldom rises higher 
 than twelve feet, though its diameter exceeds 
 seventy. From this amazing trunk spring a 
 number of massy branches. The centre branch 
 rises perpendicularly sixty or seventy feet; the 
 lateral, branches shoot in angles less and less 
 acute, till the lowest series form right angles 
 
CELEBRATED TEBES. 207 
 
 witli the trunk, and so become 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 con- 
 tact. 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 its picturesque form. It seems to be 
 little more than a monstrous bush. The bark of 
 this tree is of an ash-coloured tint. Its leaves are 
 oval, pointed at the end, and about five inches 
 long. Though 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 negro slave, as it is 
 common among those poor people to carry about 
 them seeds of different kinds, as charms and 
 remedies, and it is certain that many African 
 plants have been propagated in the "West Indies 
 in this accidental manner. 
 
 We have lately had an account of another 
 African tree, which is equally wonderful. In some 
 
208 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 private despatclies to the Cliairman of the Sierra 
 Leone Company, one, relating to the natural his- 
 tory of the country, states that, in the woods con- 
 tiguous to the settlement, is a Silk-cotton Tree, 
 which, at five feet from the ground, measures 
 sixty-eight feet in circumference, and, at fifty feet 
 from the ground, thirty-one. The height of this 
 tree is prodigious ; but the adjoining trees, crowd- 
 ing round, prevent its being accurately taken. 
 This account mentions the trees of this species as 
 the largest in the country. 
 
 Mr. Evelyn gives us the description of another 
 curious tree, called the Arbor de Rays, which is 
 found chiefly in the East Indies, and is remark- 
 able for the manner in which it propagates. From 
 the end of its boughs it distils, in a continued 
 viscous thread, a kind of gummy matter, which in- 
 creases 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 increase into a forest. 
 
 Strabo describes an Indian tree, which I should 
 suppose was the same with Mr. Evelyn's Arbor 
 de Rays; only Strabo accounts more simply for 
 
CELEBRATED TEEES. 209 
 
 the mode of its ^propagation. Its branches, he 
 says, grow horizontally about twelve cubits, and 
 then take a direction to the earth, where they 
 root themselves, and, when they have attained 
 maturity, continue to propagate in the same 
 manner, till the ground is covered with them for a 
 considerable space, or, as Strabo more expressively 
 describes it, till the whole becomes like a tent sup- 
 forted by many columns.* This seems to be the 
 tree of which Milton speaks. 
 
 ' Erancliiiig so broad and long, that in the ground 
 Tlie bended twigs take root ; and daughters grow 
 About the mother tree ; a pillared shade, 
 High over-arched, with echoing walks between. 
 There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, 
 Shelters in cool ; and tends his pasturing herds 
 At loopholes cut through tliickest 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 its 
 mode of propagation it corresponds rather with 
 Strabo's description than Evelyn's. We are in- 
 formed however that, although common in India, 
 
 ■■'' IloXvcTTvXu) a-K-qvi] o/xoioi/, p. 094, edit. Gaus. 
 
 
 
210 
 
 it is not very commonly found in that state of 
 grandeur in -whicli it is here described. Nor, 
 indeed, will it easily take that very regular form 
 without some little assistance from art. Instead 
 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 its 
 trunk, and amuses his leisure by directing its 
 lengthening branches into proper places, and form- 
 ing each into a regular arch. Here, dressed in a 
 long white tunic, the habit of his order, and 
 adorned with a fiowirig beard, he spends his 
 solitary hours in wandering among the verdant 
 alleys of his tree, scarce ever leaving its limits. 
 The inhabitants of the district resort daily to him 
 with the necessaries of life, and receive, in return, 
 his prayers and benedictions. 
 
 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, though the 
 accounts of it are so wonderful, that some have 
 esteemed them fabulous. They are given to the 
 public by a surgeon belonging to the Dutch East 
 India Company, of the name of Foersch, who was 
 
CBLBBEATED TEEES. 211 
 
 stationed at Batavia in tlie year 1774. Surprising, 
 however, as these accounts may be, they are ac- 
 companied with so many pubUc facts and names 
 of persons and places, that it is somewhat difficult 
 to conceive them fabulous. The abridged narra- 
 tive 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, containing 
 a circle of ten or twelve miles round the tree, is 
 totally barren. Nothing that breathes or vege- 
 tates can live within its 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 arei 
 dipped. The procuring, therefore, of this poi- 
 sonous 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 
 
 2 
 
212 Gilpin's forest soenbrt. 
 
 they procure it. Hooded in leathern cases, with 
 glass eyelet-holes, and secured as much as 
 possible from the full effluvia of the air they are 
 to breathe, they undertake this melancholy jour- 
 ney, 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, an honourable instrument of death.. 
 At eleven o'clock in the forenoon, these urihappy 
 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 confe;^sions were finished and a few 
 religious ceremonips, on a sign given by the judo-e, 
 
CELEBHATED TREES. 213 
 
 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. Erom 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 its poi- 
 sonous 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 secas of glass witli gay reflections smile 
 Eound tlio green coasts of Java's palmy isle, 
 A spacious plain extends its upland scene, 
 Eocks rise on rocks, and fountains gusk between. 
 
214 Gilpin's tobest scenery. 
 
 Soft breathes tlie breeze ; eternal summers reign, 
 
 And showers prolific bless the soil — in vain ! 
 
 No spicy nutmeg scents the vernal gales : 
 
 No towering plaintain shades the mid-day vales : 
 
 No grassy mantis hides the sable hills : 
 
 No flowery cbaplet crowns the trickling rills : 
 
 No step, retreating, on tiie sand impressed, 
 
 Invites the visit of a second guest. 
 
 Fierce in dread silence, on the blasted heath 
 
 EeU Upas sits.' 
 
 So long a period has now elapsed since the fabulous 
 story of the Upas valley was exploded that Gilpin's de- 
 scription and the half credence which he gives to the false 
 account of Foersch will probably cause many readers to 
 smile. But it must be remembered that Foersch's story 
 was published about the time that this ' Forest Scenery ' 
 was written. A sufiBcient apology for the credence given 
 by Gilpin to the romantic tale, and an indication, at the 
 same time^ of the hold which it has taken on the popular 
 fancy is furnished by the fact that^ even now, not a few 
 persons will be found amongst the cursory readers of 
 books, who have some dim idea that ' somewhere in Asia ' 
 there exists a blighted valley, where all living things — 
 animals and plants — have been poisoned by the effluvia 
 from the fearful Upas Tree. And many writers who well 
 know the truth of the matter still indulge, from time to 
 time, in imagery suggested by the fable of the poisonous 
 Upas valley. ' Of the dreadful and sudden/ or compara- 
 tively sudden, effect of the prepared juice of the poison 
 
•CELEBEATBD 'lEBBS. 215 
 
 tree, popularly called the Upas Tree, when injected into 
 the blood of an animal, bird, or human being, there is, of 
 course, no donbt, for death ensues almost immediately. — 
 Ed. 
 
 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 two 
 or 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 Rufas. 
 
 Leland tells us, and Camden * 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 probable that Througham might 
 be what is now called Fritham, where the tradition 
 of the country seems to have fixed the spot with 
 more credibility than the tree. The chapel might 
 
 * See Camden's Account of JSTew Forest. 
 
21G Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 only liave been some little temporary oratory, 
 ■wHch, haying never been endowed, might speedily 
 have fallen to decay ; but the tree, it is probable, 
 ■would be noticed at the time by everybody who 
 lived near it, and by strangers who came to see it ; 
 and it is as probable that it could never be for- 
 gotten afterwards. They who think a tree in- 
 suflS.cient 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 probability 
 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 neighbouring 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 
 
CBLEBBATED TREES. 217 
 
 struck King William II., surnamed Rufus, in tlie 
 breast, of which stroke he instantly died, on the 
 2ud 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. 
 
 It is not necessary to add much to the preceding 
 account of the Eufus Tree and the Eufus Stone. It was 
 in 1745 that Lord Delaware had, according to his own 
 statement, seen the fatal Oak standing on the spot where 
 the Eed King is beHeved to have fallen. The same cause 
 
218 Gilpin's forest scbneet. 
 
 wliich, in all probability, promoted tbe disappearance of 
 the tree, facilitated the destruction of the stone erected 
 by Lord Delaware, namely, the depredations of relic 
 hunters. In consequence of the mutilation of the first 
 Memorial Stone, and of the defacement of the original 
 inscription, a new one, encased in iron, with the same 
 inscription as that on the original one, wrought on the 
 iron, was erected on the site of the old stone, in 1841, by 
 Mr. William Sturges Bourne. This is the memorial which 
 now stands in Canterton Glen, the reputed scene of the 
 death of Eufus. We have, in another place,* fully given 
 our own reasons for our belief that the spot marked by 
 the Eufus Stone was the one on which the Eed King 
 actually fell. — Ed. 
 
 The next tree I shall exhibit from New Forest, 
 is the Groaning Tree of Badesley, 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 husband 
 
 * ■ In Our Woodland Trees. 
 
CELEBRATED TREES. 219 
 
 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. 
 
 Though the country people assigned many 
 superstitious 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 proceeded from water, 
 which had collected in the body of the tree, or 
 
220 Gilpin's POEEST SCBNEEY. 
 
 perhaps from pent air. But no cause that wa^ 
 alleged, appeared equal to the effect. In the 
 meantime the tree did not always groan, some- 
 times disappointing its visitants ; yet no cause 
 could be assigned for its 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 particular account of 
 all the circumstances relating 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 its 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 investiga- 
 tion of the cause. It was universally, however, 
 believed that there was no trick in the affair, but 
 
CELEBRATED TEEES. 221 
 
 that some natural cause really existed, though 
 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, Avinding round 
 a knoll on which they stood. It is a tall, straight 
 plant of no great age, and apparently vigorous, 
 except that its top has been injured, fi-om which 
 several branches issue in the form of pollard shoots. 
 It was entirely bare of leaves, as far as I could 
 discern, when I saw it, and undistinguishable from 
 the other Oaks in its neighbourhood, except that 
 its bark seemed rather smoother — occasioned, I 
 apprehend, only by frequent climbing. 
 
 Having had the account of its 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( 
 
222 Gilpin's forest soeneet. 
 
 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 had, the late 
 Mr. Lightfoot, author of the Flora Scotica, and 
 was in hopes of hearing something satisfactory on 
 the subject. But he is one of those philosophers, 
 who are never ashamed of ignorance, where at- 
 tempts at knowledge are mere conjecture. He 
 assured me, that he neither could account for it 
 in any way, nor did he know of a,ny other in- 
 stance of premature vegetation, except the Glas- 
 tonbury Thorn. 
 
 The philosophers of the forest, in the meantime, 
 account for the thing at once, through the influ- 
 
CELELEATED TEEES. 223 
 
 ence of old Christmas-day — universally believing 
 tliat tlie Oak buds on that day, and that only. 
 The same opinion is held with regard to the Glas- 
 tonbury Thorn by the common people of the "West 
 of England. But, without doubt, the germination 
 there is gradual ; and forwarded or retarded by 
 the mildness or severity of the weather. One of 
 its progeny, which grew in the gardens of the 
 duchess dowager of Portland, at Bulstrode, had 
 its 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.* 
 
 * 111 the Salishury Journal, January 10th, 178G, the fol- 
 lowing paragraph appeared : — 
 
 ' In consequence of a report that has prevailed in this country 
 for upwards of two centuries, and which by many has heen 
 almost considered as a matter of faith, that the Oak at Caden- 
 ham, in the New Porest, 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 tliis city, and who is attentively curious in every- 
 thing relative to art or ITature, made a journey to Cadenham, 
 on Monday, the 3rd instant, purposely to inquire, 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 
 
224 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 This early spring, however, of the Cadenham 
 
 desired to climb the Oak, and to search, whether there were any 
 leaves then on it, he said it would he to no purpose, hut that if 
 she would come on the Wednesday following (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. 
 
 ' Eut though 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' philosoiihical attention of the 
 botanist. In some years there is no doubt but that this Oak 
 may show its fird loaves on Iho Cliristmas morning, as probably 
 as on a few days before ; and this, perhaps, was the case in the 
 last year, Avlien 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 its complement, though 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 ajipearance of a leaf from it.' 
 
CELEBRATED TREES. ' 225 
 
 Oak is of very short duration. The buds, after 
 unfolding themselves, make no further progress ; 
 but immediately shrink from the season, and die. 
 The tree continues torpid, like other deciduous 
 trees, during the remainder 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 its form and foliage, 
 exactly like other Oaks. 
 
 I have been informed that another tree, with 
 the same property of early germination, has been 
 lately found near the spot where Eufus's monu- 
 ment stands. If this be the case, it seems, in 
 some degree, to authenticate the account which 
 Camden * 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, though I have no sufficient authority for 
 it, might have been a descendant of the old Oak, 
 and have inherited its virtues. 
 
 It is very probable, however, there may be 
 
 * Soo Camden's Account of Ifew Forest. 
 
 V 
 
226 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 other Oaks in the forest, -which may hkewise have 
 the property of early germination. I have heard 
 it often suspected that people gather bnds from 
 other trees, and carry them, on old Christmas-day, 
 to the Oak at Cadenham, from whence they pre- 
 tended 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 its votaries, without foreign contributions. 
 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. Light- 
 foot, to whom I sent the leaves, had no such 
 suspicion. 
 
 Mr. Wise in his work on the New Forest, already 
 referred to, says concerning this famous tree, 'To the 
 east, about two miles along the Southampton Road, lies 
 the village of Cadenham, famous for its Oak, which, like 
 the Glastonbury Thorn, buds on Christmas Eve. The 
 popular tradition in the neighbourhood runs, that, as the 
 weather is harder, it shows more leaves, and refusing the 
 present chronology, only buds on old Christmas night. 
 As in most things, there is some little truth in the story. 
 Doubtless in some of the mild winters which visit Hamp- 
 
CELEBEATED TEBES, 227 
 
 shirej the tree shows a few buds, as at that time I have 
 seen others do iu various parts of the forest. Of course, 
 they are all nipped by the first approach of severe weather, 
 which, however, seldom happens in the warm south-west 
 coast till the new year/ (Page 110). During a recent 
 visit to the Cadenham Oak — which is still living — (in the 
 present year, 1879) we were satisfied, from inquiries we 
 made, as to the correctness of the statements respecting 
 its budding at Christmas ; though, when we saw it, just 
 putting on its spring foliage, it was, if anything, less for- 
 ward in leaf than the majority of the other Oaks in the 
 forest. Its trunk is now hollow, aud half of the shell is 
 gone. We took the girth of the half bole at three feet 
 from the ground and found it eight and a half feet. 
 Colonel Bsdaile, of Burley Manor, informs us that at 
 Burley is a tree called ' The Miracle Oak,' which, like 
 its congener at Cadenham, also buds at Christmas 
 time. — Ed. 
 
 Anotter tree worth pointing out in New Forest, 
 is an immense Yew, wliicli stands in the churoli- 
 yard at Dibden. It is now, and probably Las 
 been during tlie course of the last century, in the 
 decline of life. But its hollow trunk still supports 
 three vast stems, and measures below them about 
 • thirty feet in circumference — a girth which perhaps 
 no other Yew Ti-ee iu England can exhibit. 
 
 p 2 
 
228 Gilpin's fokest scenery. 
 
 Thougli its age cannot be ascertained, we may 
 easily suppose it lias been a living witness of the 
 funerals of, at least, a dozen generations of the 
 inhabitants of the parish. 
 
 From Mr. W. Gascoigne Roy, of Byams, Marchwood, 
 we learn tliat the old Tew Tree in Dibden Churcliyard has 
 now disappeared. During a severe gale on the 30th of 
 November, 1836, the larger portion of its trunk was up- 
 rooted and fell to the ground. Not very long since a 
 part of its stump was visible, but that has now become 
 lost to sight. A table made from its wood is in the pos- 
 session of the family of Mr. Gray, the late Eector of 
 Dibden. Mr. Roy adds, — 'There is a juvenile Yew, of 
 something under a hundred yeai's old, close to the spot 
 where the old Yew stood, — possibly a seedling from it.' 
 —Ed. 
 
 But it is not only to exhibit these venerable 
 remains of antiquity, that I would draw the curious 
 to this spot ; but for the sake also of the views 
 which it presents. From this lofty stand, the eye 
 looks down, over a woody bottom, upon the bay 
 of Southampton, spread far and wide below it ; 
 covered with shipping, and extending like a vast 
 lake. Far up the bay, on the opposite side, the 
 hazy towers of Southampton appear shooting into 
 
CELBBEATBD TREES. 229 
 
 the water ; and, beyond all, the opening of the 
 river Itching, and the faint streaks of a distant 
 country, stretching away, till it is lost in the high 
 grounds beyond Winchester. In another direction 
 the eye is carried down the bay, along the wooded 
 shores of Netley Abbey, and over a remote dis- 
 tance, till the view is closed by the rising grounds 
 of Portsdown. 
 
 The last tree I shall introduce from New Forest, 
 is remarkable for exhibiting a very uncommon in- 
 stance of the power of vegetation. About ten 
 years ago, among the ruins of the wall which 
 formerly surrounded the Abbey of Beaulieu, stood 
 an Oak, contiguous to a part of the Avail, and 
 extended one of its principal limbs in close con- 
 tact, aloEg the summit of it. This limb, at the 
 distance of about three yards from the parent 
 tree, formed a second stem upon the wall, by 
 shooting a root into some fissure, in which it 
 probably found a deposit of soil. This root, run- 
 ing along the bottom of the wall, and finding 
 some crannies in it, rose twice again through it, 
 and formed a third and a fourth considerable 
 stem, each at the distance of about three yards 
 
230 Gilpin's porbst sgenert. 
 
 from its neiglibonr. The fourtli of these stems 
 shot a branch again along the snmmit of the wall, 
 and in close contact with it, forming a fifth stem 
 in the same manner that the parent tree had 
 formed the second. This last stem is again 
 making an effort on the wall to extend this curious 
 mode of vegetation still further. In a great 
 storm which happened in February, 1781, a part 
 of the wall was blown down, and those two stems 
 with it, which were nearest the parent tree. 
 Each of these stems was about four or five feet in 
 diameter, and the timber of them was sold for 
 thirty shillings, which shows their bulk was not 
 trifling. We seldom meet with an instance of so 
 intimate a connexion between an Oak Tree and a 
 stone wall. 
 
 •Lord Henry Scott has kindly made inquii-ies for us as 
 to the Beaulieu Oakj whose curious mode of growth is 
 described by Gilpin in the preceding paragraph, but with- 
 out being able to find any trace of the tree, or to hear of 
 any tradition relating to it. The whole of the paragraph 
 concerning this Oak was added by Gilpin to the second 
 edition of the ' Forest Scenery/ published in 1 794 ; and 
 though it would appear — from the words, ' This last stem 
 is again making an effort/ &c. — that when Gilpin wrote the 
 
CELEBRATED TREES. 281 
 
 paragrapli tlie Oak was still living, it will be noticed that, 
 in first mentioning it, he says ' About ten years ago,' &c., 
 ' stood an Oak.' Possibly the entire tree may hare dis- 
 appeared before the j^iMication of the 'Forest Scenery,' 
 the manuscript of which was written, as our Author stated, 
 ten years before it was first published. — Ed. 
 
BOOK 11. 
 
 COMBINATIONS OF TEEES. 
 
drnmbiitatioiTB of %xzts. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 TREES IN CLUMPS. 
 
 . ROM considering trees as indi- 
 viduals, we proceed next to con- 
 sider them under their various 
 combinations; among which clumps 
 are the simplest. 
 
 What number o£ trees make a 
 clump no rules of art prescribe. The 
 term has rather a relative meaning. In 
 scenes brought near the eye we call three 
 or four trees a clump ; but in distant and exten- 
 sive scenery we scruple not to use the 'term for 
 any smaller detached part of a wood, though it 
 may consist of some hundreds. But though the 
 term admits not of exact definition, I shall en- 
 
236 Gilpin's fobest scenery. 
 
 deavoiir, by amplification, to make the ideas 
 contained under it as distinct as I can. 
 
 We distinguish, then, two kinds of clumps ; 
 the smaller and the larger ; confining the former 
 chiefly to the foreground, and considering the 
 latter as the ornament of a dista,nce. 
 
 With regard to the smaller clum.p its chief 
 beauty arises from contrast in the parts. We 
 have seen that in single trees each must have its 
 characteristic beauty; it has nothing else to 
 depend on. But in combination the beauty of the 
 individual is not required; the tvliole clump 
 together must produce the effect. 
 
 To enumerate all the sources of beautiful con- 
 trast which contribute to produce this effect 
 might be difficult. I shall cursorily suggest a few. 
 
 In the first place the relative situation of trees 
 with regard to each other should be considered. 
 Three trees, or more, standing in a line, are formal. 
 In the natural wood you rarely see this formality ; 
 and yet even three trees in a line will be greatly 
 assisted by the different directions of the several 
 trunks, and by the various forms, distances, and 
 growth of the trees. 
 
TKEBS IN CLUMPS. 237 
 
 If three trees do not stand in a line they must 
 of course stand in a triangle, "wliich produces a 
 great variety of pleasing forms. 
 
 If a fourth tree be added it stands beautifully 
 near the middle of the triangle, of whatever form 
 the triangle may be. If it be equilateral, and the 
 tree placed exactly in the middle, there are three 
 points, as you walk round the triangle, from 
 which it will appear offensively regular. Ke- 
 marks, however, of this kind affect only young 
 trees, while their stems are tall and similar. As 
 they increase, their different modes of growth, the 
 swelling of their roots, the habits they contract 
 from winds, their ramification, their lateral 
 branches, and other accidental circumstances, 
 introduce endless varieties among them, and blot 
 out many of those little formalities which attend 
 their youth; though, after all, the artificial 
 clump will rarely attain the beauty of the natural 
 
 one. 
 
 If the clump consist of still more trees than 
 four, a greater variety among the stems will, of 
 course, take place — double triangles, irregular 
 qmncunxes, and other pleasing shapes, which 
 
238 Gilpin's forest sceneey. 
 
 may be seen exemplified in every wood of natural 
 growth. 
 
 The branches, also, are as much a source of 
 contrast as the stem. To be picturesque they 
 must intermingle with each other without heavi- 
 ness — they must hang loosely, but yet with varied 
 looseness on every side — and if there be one 
 superior apex there may be two or three others 
 that are subordinate, according to the size of the 
 clump. 
 
 Different kinds of trees, also, in the same clump 
 occasion often a beautiful contrast. There are 
 few trees which will not harmonize with trees 
 of a different kind, though perhaps the most 
 simple and beautiful contrasts arise from the 
 various modes of growth in the same species. 
 "We often see two or three Oaks intermingle their 
 branches together in a very pleasing manner. 
 When the Beech is full grown, it is generally (in 
 a luxuriant soil at least) so heavy that it rarely 
 blends happily either with its own kind or with 
 any other. The Silver Kr too, we have observed, 
 is a very unaccommodating tree. So also are other 
 Firs ; indeed all that taper to a point. Not so the 
 
'gii.pin's forest scenery.' 
 
 339 
 
 Three ill-shaped tiees, formed into a good group. 
 
 [Ptr^e 241. 
 
TBBES IN CLOMPS. 241 
 
 Pine race. They are clump-lieadedj and unite well 
 in composition. With these, also, the Scotch Fir 
 leagues ; from little knots of which we often . see 
 beautiful contrasts arise. "When they are young 
 and luxuriant, especially if any number of them 
 above four or five are planted together, they 
 generally form a heavy, murky spot ; but, as they 
 acquire age, this heaviness goes off, the inner 
 branches decay, the outward branches hang 
 loosely and negligently, and the whole has often 
 a good effect, unless they have been planted too 
 closely. I am rather doubtful ho\v far deciduous 
 trees mix well in a clump with evergreens ; and 
 yet we sometimes see a natural good effect of 
 light and shade from the darkness of the Fir 
 contrasting, agreeably, with the sprightly green 
 of a deciduous tree just coming into leaf. In 
 this, however, I am clear, that, if they are mixed, 
 they ought not to be planted, as they often are, 
 alternately, but each kind together. 
 
 Contrasts again arise from the mixture of trees 
 of unequal growth — from a young tree united with 
 an old one — a stunted tree with a luxuriant one- — 
 and sometimes from two or three trees, which, in 
 
242 Gilpin's FOREST scENEEY. 
 
 themselves, are ill-sliaped, but, when combined, 
 are pleasing. Inequalities of all these kinds are 
 what chiefly give Nature's planting a superiority- 
 over art. 
 
 The form of the foliage is another source of 
 contrast. In one part, where the branches inter- 
 mingle, the foliage will be interwoven and close ; 
 in another, where the boughs of each tree hang 
 separately, the appearance will be light and easy. 
 
 But whatever beauty these contrasts exhibit, 
 the effect is totally lost unless the group be luell- 
 halanced. This is as necessary in a combination 
 of trees as in a single tree.* The clump is con- 
 sidered as one object, and the support of the 
 whole must depend on the several trunks and 
 leading branches of which it is composed. We 
 do not expect the minutise of scale and weight ; if 
 no side preponderate so as to hurt the eye it is 
 enough. Unless, however, the grouj) have suf- 
 fered some external injury it is seldom deficient 
 in point of balance. Nature always conducts the 
 stems and branches in such easy forms, wherever 
 
 * See page 12. 
 
'rjILPlN'S FORKST SCENliUY. 
 
 243 
 
 A well-balanced group. 
 
 \_P<ige 242. 
 
An ill-balanced group. 
 
 [Pa^e 247. 
 
TEEES IN CLUMPS. 247 
 
 there is an opening, and fills up all witli so mucb 
 nice contrivance, and at tlie same tinie with so 
 mucli picturesque irregularity, tliat we rarely 
 wish for an amendment in her works. So true, 
 indeed, this is, that nothing is so dangerous as 
 to take away a tree from a group. You will 
 infallibly destroy the balance, which can never 
 again be restored. 
 
 Thus far we have considered a givup as a 
 single independent object — as the object o? & fore- 
 ground — consisting of such a confined number of 
 trees as the eye can fairly include at once. And 
 when trees strike our fancy, either in the wild 
 scenes of Nature or in the improvements of art, 
 they will ever be found in combinations similar 
 to these. 
 
 "When the group grows larger it becomes 
 quahfied only as a remote object — combining with 
 vast woods, and forming a part of some extensive 
 scene, either as a first, a second, or a third dis- 
 tance. 
 
 The great use of the larger group is to lighten 
 the heaviness of a continued distant loood, and ,^ 
 connect it gently with the plain, that the transi- 
 
 Q 
 
248 ^ Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 tion may not be too abrupt. All we wisli to find, 
 in a group of this kind, is proportion , and general 
 form. 
 
 With, respect to proportion, the detached group 
 must not encroach too much on the dignity of 
 the wood it aids, but must observe a proper sub- 
 ordination. A large tract of country covered 
 with wood will admit several of these auxiliary 
 groups of different dimensions. But, if the wood 
 be of a smaller size, the groups, also, must be 
 smaller and fewer. 
 
 We observed that in a single tree we expected 
 elegance in the paints. In the smaller groups this 
 idea was relinquished, and, in its room, we ex- 
 pected a general contrast in trunks, branches, and 
 foliage. Bat, as the group becomes larger, and 
 recedes in the landscape, all these pleasing con- 
 trasts are lost, and we are satisfied with a general, 
 form. No regular form is pleasing. A group on 
 the side of a hill, or in any situation where the 
 eye can more easily investigate its shape, must be 
 circumscribed by an irregular line, in which it is 
 required that the undulations, both at the base 
 and summit of the group, should be strongly 
 
TEEES IN CLUMPS. 249 
 
 , marked, as the eye, probably, has a distinct view 
 of both. But, if it be seen only on the top of a 
 hill, or along the distant horizon (as in these situa- 
 tions the base is commonly lost in the varieties of 
 the ground) a variation in the line -which forms 
 the summit will be sufficient. 
 
 As a large tract of wood requires a few large 
 groups to connect it gently with thfi plain ; so 
 these large groups themselves require the same 
 service from a single tree, or a few trees, accord- 
 ing to their size. 
 
 These observations respect chiefly the vast 
 scenes of Nature, which are but little under the 
 control of art. "While they assist us, however, in 
 judging of the natural scene, they are, in many 
 respects, applicable to the embellished one. To 
 the painter's use they are most adapted, whose 
 business it is to introduce his trees in the happiest 
 manner, whether he spread them over his canvas 
 in vast woods, or break them into smaller or 
 larger combinations. 
 
 Q 2 
 
SECTION II. 
 
 PAEK SOENEEY. 
 
 EOM clumps we naturally proceed 
 to park scenery, whicli is gene- 
 rally composed of combinations of 
 clumps, interspersed with lawns. 
 When it consists of large districts 
 of wood it rather takes the name 
 of forest scenery. 
 
 The park, which is a species of land- 
 scape httle known, except in England, 
 is one of the noblest appendages of a great house. 
 Nothing gives a mansion so much dignity as 
 these home demesnes, nor contributes more to 
 mark its consequence. A great house, in a course 
 of years, naturally acquires space around- it. A 
 park, therefore, is the natural appendage of an 
 ancient mansion. 
 
252 GILPIN S FOKEST SCBNERy. 
 
 To the size and grandeur of the house the 
 pai^k should be proportioned. Blenheim Castle with 
 a paddock around it, or a small villa in the 
 middle of Woodstock Park, would be equally out 
 of place. 
 
 The house should stand nearly in the centre of 
 the park ; that is, it should have ample room on 
 every side. Petworth. House, one of the grandest 
 piles in England, loses mucli of its grandeur from 
 being 'placed at the extremity of the park, where 
 it is elbowed by a church-yard.* 
 
 The exact spot depends entirely on the ground. 
 There are grand situations of various kinds. In 
 general, houses are built first, and parks are 
 added afterwards by the occasional removal of 
 enclosures. A great house stands, most nobly, on 
 an elevated knoll, from whence it may overlook 
 the distant country ; while the woods of the park 
 screen the regularity of the intervening cultiva- 
 
 * Petworth House has the still further disadvantage of being 
 awk-wardly placed near the town. A very full and interesting 
 account of this mansion occurs in a little volume entitled 
 Petworth : a SJceteJ) of its Historij and Antiquities, by the Eev. 
 F. H. Arnold.— Ed. 
 
PAEK SCENERY. 263 
 
 tion. Or it stands well on the side of a A^alley, 
 wliicli winds along its front, and is adorned Avitli 
 wood, or a natural stream hiding and discovering 
 itself among the trees at the bottom. Or it 
 stands with dignity, as Longleat does, in the 
 centre of demesnes, which shelve gently down to 
 it on every side. Even on a dead flat I have seen 
 a house draw beauties around it. At the seat of 
 the late Mr. Bilson Legge (now Lord Stawel's), 
 in the middle of Holt Forest, a lawn, unvaried by 
 a single swell, is yet varied with clumps of dif- 
 ferent forms, receding behind each other in so 
 pleasing a manner as to make an agreeable scene. 
 By these observations I mean only to show, 
 that, in whatever part of a park a house may have 
 been originally placed, it can hardly have been 
 placed so awkwardly but that, in some way or 
 other, the scenery may be happily adapted to it. 
 There are some situations, indeed, so very un- 
 toward that scarce any remedy can be applied ; 
 as when the front of a house immediately urges 
 on a rising ground. But such awkward situa- 
 tions are rare, and, in general, the variety in 
 landscape is such that it may almost always 
 
264 oilpin's foe^bst sokneuy. 
 
 be brought, in one form or other, to serve the 
 purposes of beauty. The many improvements of 
 the ingenious Mr. Brown, in various parts of 
 England, bear witness to the truth of these obser- 
 vations. The beauty, however, of park scenery is 
 undoubtedly best displayed on a varied surface, 
 where the ground swells and falls — where hanging 
 lawns, screened with wood, are connected with 
 valleys, and where one part is continually playing 
 in contrast with another. 
 
 As the park is an appendage of the house, it 
 follows that it should participate of its neatness 
 and elegance. Nature, in all her great walks of 
 landscape, observes this accommodating rule. She 
 seldom passes abruptly from one mode of scenery 
 to another ; but generally connects different 
 species of landscape by some third species, which 
 participates of both. A mountainous country 
 rarely sinks immediately into a level one; the 
 swellings and heavings of the earth grow gradu- 
 ally less. Thus, as the house is connected with 
 the country through the medium of the park, the 
 park should partake of the neatness of the one 
 and of the wildness of the other. 
 
PAEK SGBNEEY. 255 
 
 As the park is a scene either planted by art, 
 or, if naturally -woody, artificially improved, we 
 expect a beauty and contrast in its clumps which 
 we do not look for in the wild scenes of' Nature. 
 We expect to see its lawns and their appendages 
 contrasted with each other in shape, size, and 
 disposition ; from which a variety of artificial, yet 
 natural, scenes will arise. We expect that when 
 trees are left standing as individuals they should 
 be the most beautiful of their kind, elegant and 
 well-balanced. We expect that all offensive 
 trumpery and all the rough luxuriance of under- 
 growth should be removed, unless where it is 
 necessary to thicken or connect a scene, or hide 
 some staring boundary. In the wild scenes of 
 Nature we have grander exhibitions, but greater 
 deformities than are generally met with in the 
 pohshed works of art. As we seldom meet with 
 these sublime passages in improved landscape, it 
 would be unpardonable if anything disgusting 
 should appear. 
 
 The quaintness of Gilpin^s style is seen in such an 
 expi'ession as that used in the preceding paragraph when 
 he speaks of some of the wild undergrowth of a forest as 
 
256 gilptn's forest scenery. 
 
 'offensive trumpery/ This language merely, however, 
 discovers a certain amount of inconsistency in our Author ; 
 for it is evident that a deep love of Nature underlies all 
 his writing. How delightedly, for instance, he turns his 
 thoughts from the park to the wild wood is shown in the 
 commencement of the succeeding chapter, where he 
 exclaims joyously, 'Prom scenes of art let us hasten to 
 the chief object of our pursuit, the wild scenes of Nature — 
 the wood, the copse, the glen, and open grove.' No doubt 
 convenience requires a certain trimness in the surround- 
 ings of our dwellings ; but, for our part, we cannot allow 
 that Nature ever produces aught but what is beautiful in 
 her forestal undergrowths. — Ed. 
 
 In the park scene we wish for no expensive 
 ornament. Temples, Chinese bridges, obelisks, 
 and all the laboured works of art, suggest in- 
 harmonious ideas. If a bridge be necessary, let 
 it be elegantly plain. If a deer shed or a keeper's 
 lodge be required, let the fashion of each be as 
 simple as its use. Let nothing appear with 
 ostentation or parade. Within restrictions, how- 
 ever, of this kind we mean not to include piles of 
 sttperior grandeur. Such a palace as Blenheim 
 Castle distributes its greatness far and vsdde. 
 There, if the bridge be immense or the obelisk 
 
PARK SCENERY. 257 
 
 superb, it is only what we naturally expect. It 
 is the chain of ideas properly carried on, and 
 gradually lost. My remarks regard only such 
 houses as may be rich indeed and elegant, but 
 have nothing in them of superior magnificence. 
 
 One ornament of this kind I should be inclined 
 to allow, and that is a handsome gate at the 
 entrance of the park ; but it should be pro- 
 portioned in richness and elegance to the house, 
 and should also correspond with it in style. It 
 should raise the first impression o£ what you are 
 to expect. Warwick Castle requires a mode of 
 entrance very different from Lord Soarsdale's at 
 Kedleston, and Burleigh House very different 
 from both. The park gate of Sion House is 
 certamly elegant ; but it raises the idea of a style 
 of architecture which you must drop when you 
 arrive at the house. 
 
 The road, also, through the park should bear 
 the same proportion. It should be spacious, or 
 moderate, like the house it approaches. Let it 
 wind, but let it not take any deviation which is 
 not well accounted for. To have the convenience 
 of winding along a valley, or passing a commo- 
 
258 Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 dious bridge, or avoiding a wood or a piece of 
 water, any traveller would naturally wisli to 
 deviate a little ; and obstacles of this kind, if 
 necessary, must be interposed. Mr. Brown was 
 often Jiappy in creating these artificial obstruc- 
 tions. 
 
 From every part of the approach, and from the 
 ridings and favourite walks about the park, let all 
 the boundaries be secreted. A view of paling, 
 though in some cases it may be picturesque, is in 
 general disgusting. 
 
 If a natural river or a real ruin embellish the 
 scene, it may be a happy circumstance : let the 
 best use be made of it ; but I should be cautious 
 in advising the creation of either. At least, I 
 have rarely seen either ruins or rivers well manu- 
 factured. Mr. Brown, I think, has failed more in 
 river-making than in any of his attempts. An 
 artificial lake has sometimes a good effect, but 
 neither propriety nor beauty can arise from it, 
 unless the heads and extremities of it are perfectly 
 well managed and concealed ; and, after all, the 
 success is hazardous. You must always suppose 
 it a portion of a larger piece of water, and it is 
 
PARK SCENERY. 259 
 
 not easy to carry on th.e- imposition. If the house 
 be magnificent, it seldom receives mucli benefit 
 from an artificial production of tbis kind. 
 ■ Grandeur is rarely produced. 
 
 ' Seldom art 
 Can emulate that magnitude sublime, 
 "Which, spreads the native lake ; and, failing there, 
 Her works betray their character and name, 
 And dwindle into pools.' 
 
 The most natural inhabitants of parks are 
 fallow deer, and very beautiful they are ; but 
 flocks of sheep and herds of cattle are more 
 useful, and, in my opinion, more beautiful. 
 Sheep particularly are very ornamental in a park. 
 Their colour is just that dingy hue which con- 
 trasts with the verdure of the ground, and the 
 flakiness of their wool is rich and picturesque. 
 I should wish them, however, to wear their 
 natural livery ; not patched with letters, nor 
 daubed with red ochre. To see the side of a 
 hill spread with groups of sheep — or to see them 
 through openings among the boles of trees, at a 
 little distance, with a gleam of light falling upon 
 them, is very picturesque. 
 
260 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 As the garden (or pleasure ground, as it is 
 commonly called,) approaches nearer the house 
 than the park, it takes, of course, a higher polish. 
 Here the lawns are shorn, instead of being 
 grazed. The roughness of the road is changed 
 into an elegant gravel walk ; and knots of flowers 
 and flowering shrubs are introduced, yet blended 
 with clumps of forest trees, which connect it with 
 the park. Single trees, also, take their station 
 here with great propriety. The spreading Oak 
 or Elm are no disgrace to the most ornamented 
 scene. It is the property of these noble plants to 
 harmonize with every species of landscape. ■ They 
 equally become the forest and the lawn ; only, 
 here, they should be beautiful in tlieir kind, and 
 luxuriant in their growth. Neither the scathed, 
 nor the unbalanced, Oak would suit a polished 
 situation. 
 
 Here, too, if the situation suits it, the elegant 
 temple may find a place. But it is an expensive, 
 a hazardous, and often a useless decoration. If 
 more than one, however, be introduced in the 
 same view, they crowd the scene, unless it be 
 very extensive. More than two should in no 
 
PARK SCENERY. 261 
 
 case be admitted. In the most polished land- 
 scape, unless Nature and simplicity lead tlie way, 
 the whole will be deformed. 
 
 As a contrast to parks thus laid out in the 
 simplicity of Nature, let us just throw our eyes 
 over a park laid out with the formality of art. 
 The comparison will not injure the principles we 
 establish. 
 
 ' From Yauvrey. recrossing the Seine, we 
 came to Muids. This chateau stands on a rising 
 ground on the north side of it, and commands a 
 fine prospect, having two long avenues of trees 
 running down to the river. Adjoining to the house 
 are pleasure gardens and a paddock, planted with 
 timber trees in form of a star.' * 
 
 * Sec Ducari'd's Norman Antiq., p. 42. 
 
SECTION III. 
 
 THE COPSE. 
 
 ~J4 EOM scenes of art, let us hasten to 
 ''^ tlie cBief object of our pursuit, tlie 
 wild scenes of Nature — the wood, 
 the cojpse, the glen, and open grove. 
 Under the term wood we include 
 every extensive combination of 
 forest, trees in a state of Nature. All 
 such combinations, though without the 
 privilege of forests, compose the same 
 kind of scenery. The description, therefore, of 
 such scenes will come most properly under the 
 head of forest views, on which we shall hereafter 
 dwell at large. At present, let us examine the 
 smaller combinations ; and first the copse. 
 
 The copse is a species of scenery composed, 
 
 E 
 
264 Gilpin's poeest scenery. 
 
 commonly, of forest trees intermixed with brusli- 
 "wood, whicli latter is periodically cut down in 
 twelve, thirteen, or fourteen years. In its dis- 
 mantled state, therefore, nothing can be more 
 forlorn than the copse. The area is covered with 
 bare roots and knobs, from which the brushwood 
 has been cut, while the forest trees intermingled 
 among them, present their ragged stems, despoiled 
 of all their lateral branches, which the luxuriance 
 of the surrounding thickets had choked. 
 
 In a very short time, however, all this injury 
 which the copse has suffered is repaired. One 
 winter only sees its disgrace. The next summer 
 produces luxuriant shoots ; and two summers 
 more restore it almost to perfect beauty. 
 
 It matters little of . what species of wood the 
 copse is composed, for as it seldom, at best, ex- 
 hibits a scene of picturesque beauty, we rarely 
 expect more from it than a shady sequestered 
 path, which it generally furnishes in great per- 
 fection. It is among the luxuries of Nature to 
 retreat into the cool recesses of the full-grown 
 copse from the severity of a meridian sun, and be 
 serenaded by the humming insects of the shade. 
 
THE COPSE. 265 
 
 whose continuous song lias a more refreshing 
 sound than the buzzing vagrant fly, which wantons 
 in the glare of day ; and, as Milton expresses it, 
 
 ' Winds her sultry horn.' 
 
 In distant landscape, the copse has seldom any 
 effect. The beauty of wood in a distant view, 
 arises, in some degree, from its tuftings, which 
 break and enrich the lights — but chiefly from its. 
 contrast with the plain — and from the grand 
 shapes and forms occasioned by the retiring and 
 advancing parts of the forest, which produce 
 vast masses of light and shade, and give effect to 
 the whole. 
 
 These beauties appear, rarely, in the copse. 
 Instead of that rich and tufted bed of foliage, 
 which the distant forest exhibits, the copse pre- 
 sents a meagre and unaccommodating surface. It 
 is age which gives the tree its tufted form, and 
 the forest its effect. A nursery of saplings pro- 
 duce it not, and the copse is little more. Nor 
 does the intermixture of full-grown trees assist 
 the appearance. Their clumpy heads blend ill 
 with the spiry tops of the juniors. Neither have 
 
 It 2' 
 
266 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 they any connexion with each other. The wood- 
 man's judgment is shown in leaving the timber 
 trees at proper intervals, that they may neither 
 hinder each other's growth nor the growth of 
 the underwood. But the woodman does not 
 pretend to manage his trees with a view to pic- 
 turesque beauty ; and, from his management, it is 
 impossible they should produce a mass of light 
 and shade. 
 
 Besides, the copse forms no contrast with the 
 plain, nor presents those beautiful projections and 
 recesses which the skirts of the forest exhibit. A 
 copse is a plot of ground portioned off for the 
 purpose of nurturing wood. Of course, it must 
 be fenced from cattle; and these fences, which 
 are in themselves disgusting, generally form the 
 copse into a square, a rhomboid, or some other 
 figure ; so that we have not only a deformity, but 
 a want also of a connecting tie between the wood 
 and the plain. Instead of a softened, imdulating 
 line we have a harsh fence. 
 
 The best effect which the copse produces is on 
 the lofty banks of a river. I have the "Wye par- 
 ticularly in my view. In navigating such a river 
 
THE COPSE. 267 
 
 the deficiencies of this mode of scenery, as you 
 view it upwards from a boat, are lost ; and, in 
 almost every state, it has a good effect. While 
 it enriches the bank, its uncouth shape, unless 
 the fence is too much in view, and all its other 
 unpleasant appearances, are concealed. 
 
 When a winding walk is carried through a copse, 
 which, as it will grow thin at the bottom and 
 stemmy, must necessarily, in a course of years, 
 even in point of' picturesque beauty, be given to 
 the axe — shall the 'whole be cut down together ? 
 Or shall a border be left, as is sometimes done, 
 on each side of the walk ? 
 
 This is a difficult question; but I think all 
 should go together. Unless the border you leave 
 be very broad it will have no effect, even at 
 present. You will see through it ; it will appear 
 meagre; and will certainly never unite happily 
 with the neighbouring parts, when they begin to 
 grow. At least, let it not stand longer than one 
 year. The rest of the copse will then be growing 
 beautiful ; and the border may be dispensed with, 
 till it is replaced. But the best way certainly is, 
 if you have courage, to cut the whole down to- 
 
268 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 gether. In a little time, as we observed above, 
 it will recover its beauty. 
 
 Nearly related to tbe copse, tliougli more tlie 
 genuine offspring of Nature, is the thiclcet. The 
 thicket is an intermixture of underwood, chiefly 
 of the thorny kind, wholly unprotected, and yet so 
 close as to exclude all entrance. Of this species, 
 however, we need say the less, as it is rarely 
 found of any extension in an English forest. In 
 small patches it is frequent. We often see a few 
 thorns entangled and knit close together, standing 
 out on the forest lawn, forming some pleasing, 
 irregular shape, and frequently adorned with an 
 Oak or two, which, from some casual acorn having 
 struggled, by the force of vegetation, through the 
 interstices of the thickets, gives dignity to what 
 before was only a bush. Of these trees such 
 thickets are often the satellites. 
 
SECTION IV. 
 
 THE GLEN. 
 
 'Ui-'^^^'^fj'!!: ^^^ ^^^ copse we proceed to the 
 ^^ '' ''^ gle7i. A wide, open space, between 
 hills, is called a vale. If it be of 
 smaller dimensions, we call it a 
 valley. But when this space is 
 contracted to a chasm, it becomes a glen. 
 A glen therefore is most commonly the 
 offspring of a mountainous country ; 
 though it is sometimes found elsewhere, 
 with its common accompaniments of woody banks 
 and a rivulet at the bottom. I know few places 
 where the glen may be seen in greater perfection 
 than among the dreary plains of Northumberland, 
 where we frequently find streams winding tln"ough 
 deep, rocky valleys adorned with wood which 
 the lofty screens protect. 
 
270 Gilpin's forest scENEiir. 
 
 Tlie distinction made by Gilpin between a vale and a 
 valley is not consistent with modern custom. The words 
 are really synonymous — vale being only a convenient 
 formj for the purposes of poetry, of valley. If any 
 modern author makes a distinctioUj it is rather, we think, 
 by characterizing the larger depression, between hills, a 
 valley. A chasm is commonly understood to indicate a 
 depression caused by disruption, either by volcanic or 
 other agency. Such a depression might form a glen. A 
 glen is necessarily a valley, but the latter is not neces- 
 tarily a glen. The word glen is, doubtless, a somewhat 
 elastic one, but it is ordinarily used to indicate a steep 
 and narrow valley, of small size, shat in by rocky hills, 
 and characterized by scenery which is more or less wild 
 and impressive. It is just in this sense that Scott uses 
 it in the introduction to the first canto of Marmion : — 
 
 ' Low in its dark and narrow glen, 
 You scarce the rivulet might ken, 
 So thick the tangled. green-wood grew, 
 So feehle trilled the streamlet through : ' — Ed. 
 
 The circumstances which, form the glen, it is 
 evident, admit infinite variety. It may be more 
 or less contracted. It may form one single svreep, 
 or its deviations may he irregular. The wood 
 may consist of full-grown trees, or of underwood, 
 or of a mixture of both. The path which winds 
 
THE GLEN. 271 
 
 througli it may run along tlie upper part, or the 
 lower. Or, lastly, the rivulet may foam among 
 rocks ; or it may murmur among pebbles ; or it 
 may form transparent pools, overhung with 
 wood; or, which is often the case, it may be 
 totally invisible, and an object only of the ear. 
 
 The most beautiful circumstances that attend 
 the internal parts of a glen are the glades, or 
 openings, which are found in it. If the whole 
 were a thicket, like the full-grown copse, little 
 beauty would result. An agreeable shade alone, 
 in that case, must satisfy our expectations. But 
 the glen, whose furniture is commonly of more 
 fortuitous growth than that of the copse, and not 
 so subject to periodical defalcations, exhibits, 
 generally, more beautiful scenery. Particularly it 
 abounds with frequent openings. The eye is 
 carried down, from the higher grounds, to a sweep 
 of the river — or to a little gushing cascade — or to 
 the face of a fractured rock, garnished with 
 hanging wood — or perhaps to a cottage, with its 
 scanty area of lawn falling to the river, on one 
 side, and sheltered by a clump of Oaks on the 
 other; while the smoke, wreathing behind the 
 
272 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 trees, disperses and loses itself as it gains the 
 summit of the glen. Or, still more beautifully 
 perhaps, the eye breaks out, at some opening, 
 into the country, enriched with, all the varieties of 
 distant landscape — a winding stream — plains and 
 woods melting together — and blue mountains 
 beyond. 
 
 As an object of distance, also, the woody glen 
 has often a good effect — climbing the sides of 
 mountains, breaking their lines, and giving variety 
 to their bleak and barren sides. 
 
 In many places you see the glen under the 
 hands of improvement, and, when you happen to 
 have a scene of this kind near your bouse, you 
 cannot well kave a more fortunate circumstance. 
 But great care should be taken not to load it witli 
 ornament. Sucb scenes admit little art. Their 
 beauty consists in their natural wildness ; and the 
 best rule is to add little, but to be content with, 
 removing a few deformities and obstructions. A 
 good walk, or a path, there must be; and the 
 great art will consist in conducting it, in the 
 easiest and most natural way, to the spot where 
 the cascade, tbe rock, or any other object which 
 
THE GLEN. '273 
 
 the glen exhibits, may be seen to the besi; ad- 
 vantage. If a seat or two be thought necessary, 
 let them be of the rudest materials, and their 
 situation no way forced. I have often seen semi-cir- 
 cular areas, on these occasions, adapted to elegant 
 seats, which have been fixed, either where openings 
 happened to be presented, or were purposely cut 
 through the woods. All this is awkward and 
 disgusting. Let no formal preparation introduce 
 a view. A parading preface always injures a 
 story. The eye receives more pleasure from un- 
 expected, casual circumstances than from objects 
 perhaps of more real beauty, forced upon it with 
 parade and ostentation. 
 
 But though we are averse to load these sweet 
 recesses of Nature with false ornaments, yet, if 
 such scenes make a part of the immediate environs, 
 or pleasure ground, of a house, a proper degree of 
 ornament will, of course, be required. The walk 
 must be more artificial — its borders may be spread 
 here and there, as in other decorated places, with 
 flowers and flowering shrubs — the seats may be 
 more elegant, and a temple, or other building, 
 maj perhaps find a place; but still the same chaste 
 
274 Gilpin's fobest scenery. 
 
 spirit must regulate here, wMcli presides over all 
 other improvements. To run into excess in orna- 
 ment is one of the most obvious errors of false 
 taste. "We frequently see the effect both of the 
 natural scene and of the artificial representation 
 destroyed merely by adorning. 
 
SECTION V. 
 
 THE OPEN QEOVE. 
 
 (^S the glen is sometimes found in the 
 country we are about to describe, 
 it was necessary just to mention it 
 as a distinct species of woodland 
 scenery : yet, as it is not one of its 
 common features, we shall dwell 
 no longer upon it, but hasten to the 
 open grove. The open grove is com- 
 posed of trees arising from a smooth 
 area, which may consist either of Pines, or of 
 deciduous trees. I have seen beautiful groves of 
 both. The Pine grove will always be dry, as it 
 is the peculiar quality of its leaves to suck up 
 moisture : but in lightness, variety, and general 
 beauty, the deciduous grove excels. If indeed 
 
276 Gilpin's fobest soeneey. 
 
 you wish to compose your grove in the gloomy 
 style, the Pine race will best serve your purpose. 
 
 The open grove seldom makes a picturesque 
 appearance. In distant scenery, indeed, it may 
 have the effect of other woods ; for the trees, of 
 which it is formed, need not be separated from 
 each other, as they often are in the copse ; but 
 being well massed together, may receive beautiful 
 effects of light. When we enter its recesses, it is 
 not so well calculated to please. There, it wants 
 variety ; and that, not only from the smoothness 
 of the surface, but from the uniformity of the 
 furniture — at least if it be an artificial scene ; in 
 which the trees, having been planted in a nursery, 
 grow all alike, with upright stems. And yet a 
 walk, upon a velvet turf, winding at pleasure 
 among these natural columns, whose twisting 
 branches at least admit some variety, with a 
 spreading canopy of foliage over the head, is 
 pleasing, and, in hot weather, refreshing. Some- 
 times we find the open grove of natural growth. 
 It is then more various, and irregular, and be- 
 comes, of course, a more pleasing scene. And yet, 
 when woods of this kind continue, as they some- 
 
THJll OPEN GnOVJi!. 277 
 
 times do, in unpeopled countries, tlirougli half a 
 province, they become tiresome ; and prove that 
 it is not wood, but variety of landscape, that 
 delights the eye. 
 
 Sometimes the grove, in the neighbourhood of 
 great houses, demands a little embellishment ; 
 and, as it is naturally less rude than the glen, it is 
 therefore more patient of improvement. A seat, 
 or a temple, according to the size and situation 
 of the place, may here be a proper ornament. 
 Bat, if the turf be neat, (though we do not often 
 find it so under trees) or close grazed with sheep, 
 or deer, no artificial walks are necessary. If the 
 scene command no distant landscape, nor any 
 view of consequence at hand, it will require, in 
 itself, a greater share of ornament. But, still, 
 simplicity must be the leading idea. One thing 
 is absolutely necessaiy to complete the idea of a 
 grove ; its boundaries should be concealed. It is 
 intended for a sequestered place, and should 
 answer that idea. 
 
 I remember meeting with an ornamented scene 
 of this kind, which was very pleasing. The grove 
 extended along the brow of a gentle declivity ; 
 
278 Gilpin's forest sceneey. 
 
 and assumed, from that circumstance, a dark, 
 close, gloomy appearance, in its deeper recesses : 
 though, its opening on the lawn was light, and 
 airy, and agreeably connected with the ground. 
 In the front of the grove stood a rude temple of 
 Pan ; and the lawn, being a neat sheep walk, the 
 whole, though highly polished, was characteristic, 
 harmonious, and beautiful. 
 
 The pleasing tranquillity of groves has ever 
 been in high repute among the innocent and re- 
 fined part of mankind. 
 
 ' Groves were planted to console, at noon, 
 The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve 
 The moonbeam, sliding softly in between 
 l/ The sleeping leaves, is all the light he wants 
 For meditation.' 
 
 Indeed no species of landscape is so fitted for 
 meditation. The forest attracts the attention by 
 its grandeur ; and the park scene by its beauty : 
 while the paths through copses, dells, and 
 thickets, are too close, devious, interrupted, and, 
 often, too beautiful, to allow the mind to be at 
 perfect rest. But the uniform sameness of the 
 grove leaves the eye disengaged ; and the feet. 
 
THE OPEN GROVE. 279 
 
 wandering at pleasure, where they are confined 
 by no path, want little direction. The mind, 
 therefore, undisturbed, has only to retire within 
 itself. Hence the philosopher, the devotee, the 
 poet, all retreated to these quiet recesses ; and 
 
 ■ ' From the world retired, 
 Conversed with angels, and immortal forms.' 
 
 In classic times the grove was the haunt of Gods : 
 
 ' Hahitarunt dii quoque sylvas.'* 
 
 And, in the days of Nature, before art had intro-" 
 duced a kind of combination against her, man had 
 no idea of worshipping God in a temple made with 
 hands. The templum nemoralef was the onlyj 
 temple he knew. 
 
 ' In the resounding wood 
 AH vocal heings hymned their equal God.' 
 
 We have a pleasing modern instance of this 
 simple mode of worship in the accounts given us 
 of Mr. Westley's first preaching the Gospel in 
 America. It was generally conducted in some 
 
 * Even the very gods inhabited groves, 
 t The grove used as a temple. 
 
 S 
 
280 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 open part of the wide forests of the country. 
 ' The woods resounded to the voice of the 
 preacher, or to the singing of his numerous con- 
 gregation, while their horses, fastened to the 
 trees, formed a singular addition to the scene.' * 
 
 To this idea, indeed, of the ancient temphim nemo- 
 rale, one of the earliest forms of the artificial temple 
 seems to have been indebted. Many learned men t 
 have thought the Gothic arch of our cathedral 
 churches was an imitation of the natural grove. It 
 arises from a lofty stem, or from two or three 
 stems, if they be slender ; which, being bound to- 
 gether, and spreading in every direction, cover the 
 whole roof with their ramification. In the close 
 recesses of the beechen grove we find this idea the 
 most complete. The lofty, narrow aisle — the 
 pointed arch — the clustered pillar, whose parts, 
 separating without violence, diverge gradually to 
 form the fretted roof, find there perhaps their 
 earliest archetype. 
 
 Groves, too, were the scenes of superstition, as 
 
 * See Hampson's Memoirs' of Westley. 
 t See a note in Bp. "Warburton's edition of Pope's Epist. to 
 Lord Burlington. 
 
THE OPEN GROVE. 281 
 
 well as of religion. Here, the priests of Baal 
 performed their profane rites : and here, the back- 
 sliding Israelites used often to screen their 
 idolatries. The strong ideas of superstition, 
 which these gloomy retreats impressed upon the 
 ignorance of early ages, are finely touched by 
 Virgil. The passage I allude to is in the eighth 
 book ; where the story of Bvander is introduced. 
 The whole country was then, as unpeopled 
 countries commonly are, a mere forest ; and as the 
 groves and woods presented themselves on every 
 side, the venerable chief describing each scene to 
 his illustrious guest, annexes to it some tale of 
 horror, or some circumstance of religious awe. 
 
 ' liinc lucum ingentem, quern Eoinulus accr asylum 
 Eettulit, et gelida monstrat sub rupe Lupercal, 
 Parrhasio dictum Panos do more Lycjci. 
 ITec non et sacri monstrat nomus Argileti ; 
 Testaturque locum, et lethum docet hospitis Argi. 
 Hinc ad Tarpeiam sedem, et capitolia ducit, 
 Aurea nunc, dim sylvestribus horrida dumis. 
 Jam turn religio pavidos terrebat agrestes 
 Dira loci : jam tum sylvam, saxumque timebant. 
 Hoc nemus, hunc, inquit, frondoso vertice collem, 
 (Quis deus, incertum est) habitat dcus. Arcades ipsum 
 Credunt se vidisse Jovom, cum sajpe nigrantem 
 iEgida concuteret dextra, nimbosque cieret.' 
 
 S 2 
 
282 Gilpin's forest sceneet. 
 
 Gilpin gives the following translation of these lines at 
 the end of the volume ; — 
 
 ' He shewed 
 A grove, which Eomulus, in after times, 
 Made an asylum. Near it, rose a rook, 
 Bedewed with weeping springs, sacred to Pan ; 
 And once more sacred to tlie injured shade 
 Of murdered Argiletus. Then he called aloud 
 The gods to witness, that his soul abhorred 
 The impious deed. To the Tarpeian rock 
 He led the hero next, where now in pomp 
 The capitol upheaves its splendid towers ; 
 Then but a thicket, interwoven close. 
 With Nature's wildest products. Yet e'en then 
 A superstitious awe, and holy fear 
 O'erspread the scene. Doubtless some god, (what god 
 We know not) holds his sacred residence 
 Upon the wooded crest of yon dark grove. 
 Oft when the storm, with brooding darkness, o'er 
 That wood arises, the Arcadians see. 
 Or think they see, the mighty Jove himself 
 Eolling his thunder ; and with bare right arm 
 Plashing his lightnings on a guilty land.' — Ed. 
 
 I cannot conclude this section better than with, 
 another quotation very beautifully adapted to the 
 subject. 
 
 ' Meditation here 
 May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 
 May give a useful lesson to the head ; 
 And, learning wiser, grow without its books. 
 Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, 
 
THE OPEN GROVE. 283 
 
 Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells 
 
 In heads replete witli thoughts of other men : 
 
 Wisdom, in minds attentive to their own. 
 
 Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, 
 
 The mere materials, with which wisdom huilds, 
 
 Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place, 
 
 Does but encumhor, whom it seems t'enrich. 
 
 Knowledge is proud, that it has learned so much : 
 
 "Wisdom is humble, that it knows no more. 
 
 Books are not seldom talismans and spells. 
 
 By which the magic arts of shrewder wits 
 
 Holds an unthinking multitude enthralled. 
 
 Some to the fiiscination of a name 
 
 Surrender judgment hoodwinked. Some the style 
 
 Infatuates ; and, through labyrinths and wilds 
 
 Of error, leads them by a tune entranced. 
 
 Wliile sloth seduces more, too weak to bear 
 
 The insupportable fatigue of thought ; 
 
 And swallowing therefore, without pause or choice. 
 
 The total grist unsifted, husks and all. 
 
 But trees, and rivulets, and haunts of doer. 
 
 And sheep-waUis, populous with bleating lambs. 
 
 And groves, in which the primrose ere her time 
 
 Peeps through the moss, that clothes the Hawthorn root. 
 
 Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and truth, 
 
 N"ot shy as in the world, and to be won 
 
 By slow solicitation, seize at once 
 
 The roving thought, and fix it on themselves.' 
 
SECTION VI. 
 
 THE FOEEST. 
 
 /.:^^AVING 
 
 kinds of 
 
 thus considered various 
 woody scenery, and 
 traced the peculiar beauties of 
 eacli, we proceed next to the 
 forest, which, in a manner, com- 
 prehends them alL There are few 
 extensive forests which do not contain, 
 in some part or other, a specimen of 
 every species of woody landscape. The 
 wild forest view, indeed, differs essentially from 
 the embellished one; though sometimes we find 
 even the forest lawn in a polished state, when 
 browsed by deer into a fine turf, and surrounded 
 by stately woods. Beauty, however, is not the 
 characteristic of the forest. Its peculiar dis- 
 
286 Gilpin's poeest sceneey. 
 
 tinction is grandeur and dignity. The scenes we 
 have hitherto considered are all within the reach 
 of art; and, in fact, have all been the objects 
 \of improvement. But the forest disdains all 
 ^ihuman culture. On it, the hand of Nature only 
 is impressed. The forest, like other beautiful 
 scenes, pleases the eye ; but its great effect is to 
 roiise the imagination. 
 
 The word forest immediately suggests the idea 
 of a continued uninterrupted tract of woody country. 
 But forests, in general, are much more varied. 
 They consist, indeed, of tracts of woody country ; 
 but these tracts are, at the same time, intermixed 
 with patches of pasturage, which commonly bear 
 the same proportion to the woods of the forest 
 which lawns do to the clumps of a park. These 
 intermingled scenes of wood and pasturage are 
 again divided from other intermixtures of the 
 same kind by wide heaths, which are sometimes 
 bounded by a naked line of horizon, but more 
 frequently skirted with wood. This intermixture 
 of wood and pasturage, with large separations 
 of heath, give a variety to the forest, which a 
 boundless continuance of woody scenery could 
 
THE I-OEEST. 287 
 
 not exhibit ; thougli it must be acknowledged 
 that, in many forests, and especially in New 
 Forest, these tracts of heathy country are often 
 larger than picturesque beauty requires. 
 
 Having given this general idea of the species 
 of country which I mean to treat under the 
 idea of a forest, I shall proceed to particulars. 
 Let me just recall to the reader's memory what 
 was observed before, that all great woods, diver- 
 sified as forests are, (though not properly denomi- 
 nated forests, as not subject to forest laws) will, 
 however, naturally fall under the description of 
 forest scenery.* 
 
 The forest, under the division of wood, pas- 
 tiurage, and heath, presents itself to us as a 
 picturesque object in a double view — as the 
 scenery of a foreground, and as the scenery of a 
 distance. In both views it is equally an object 
 of picturesque beauty; but, as its effects are 
 dififerent in each, I shall endeavour to delineate 
 their respective beauties. 
 
 Wlien we speak of forest scenery as a fore- I 
 
 * See page 2G3. 
 
 
288 gilpin's foebst scenery. 
 
 ground we mean the appearance wliich its woods 
 present when we approach their skirts or invade 
 their recesses. Forests, in their nature, are woods 
 ab origine — not newly planted, but natural woods 
 set apart for the purposes of sheltering and 
 securing game. The trees, therefore, of which 
 these natural woods are composed, consist of all 
 ages and sizes, from the ancient fathers of the 
 forest to the scion and the seedling. They grow 
 also in that wild, disordered manner which 
 Nature prescribes — as the root casually runs 
 which throws up the scion, or as the seed or 
 acorn finds soil and room to establish itself and 
 increase. But though the richness of the scenery 
 
 ' depends greatly on this multifarious mixture, 
 which masses and fills up all the various combi- 
 
 ' nations, yet the most ancient trees of each species 
 are the glory of sylvan landscape. Young trees, 
 though even in distant views inferior to old, will, 
 
 ^ however, in that situation exhibit a better appear- 
 ance than on the spot, where no forest scenery 
 can fill the eye without a proper assemblage of 
 such trees as have seen ages pass over them. 
 These form those bold and rough exhibitions in 
 
THE EOEEST. 289 
 
 wliicli tte pride and dignity of forest views con- 
 sist. We liave already observed that the wild 
 and rough parts of Nature produce the strongest 
 eflFects on the imagination ; and, we may add, they 
 are the only objects in landscape which please the 
 picturesque eye. Everything trim and smooth 
 and neat affects it coolly. Propr iety brings us 
 to acquies ce in _the_ elegant and well-adapted 
 e mbellishment s of artj_ but the painter who 
 should introduce them on canvas, would be 
 characterized as a man void of taste, and utterly 
 unacquainted with the objects of picturesque 
 selection. Such are the great materials which 
 we expect to find in the skirts and internal parts 
 of the forest — trees of every kind, but particularly 
 the oldest and roughest of each. We examine, 
 next, the mode of scenery which results from their 
 combinations. 
 
 In speaking of the glen * we observed that the 
 principal beauty of it arose from those little 
 openings or glades with which it commonly 
 abounds. It is. thus in the forest woods. The 
 
 See page 269. 
 
290 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 I great beauty of these close scenes arises from the 
 ' openings and recesses which we find among them. 
 By these I do not mean the laions and pas- 
 turage, which I mentioned as one of the great 
 divisions of forest scenery,* but merely those 
 httle openings among the trees which are pro- 
 duced by various circumstances. A sandy bank 
 or a piece of rocky ground may prevent the 
 contiguity of trees and so make an opening ; or 
 / a tree or two may have been blasted or have been 
 cut down ; or, what is the happiest of all circam- 
 stances, a winding road may run through the wood. 
 The simple idea, which is varied among all these 
 little recesses, is the exhibition of a few trees 
 seen behind others. The varieties of this mode 
 \ of scenery, simple as it is, are infinite. Nature 
 is wonderfully fertile. The invention of the 
 painter may form a composition more agreeable 
 to the rules of his art than Nature commonly 
 produces, but no invention can reach the varieties 
 of particular objects. 
 
 Waterlo delighted in these close forest scenes. 
 
 * See page 28G. 
 
THE FOREST. 291 
 
 He penetrated their retreats, and, when lie found 
 a little opening or recess that pleased him, he 
 fixed it on the spot. He studied its various 
 forms — how the bold protuberances of an old 
 trunk received the light and shade — -how easily 
 the large boughs parted, and how negligently the 
 smaller were interwoven — how elegantly the 
 foliage hung, and what various shapes its little 
 tuftings exhibited. All these things he observed 
 and copied with exact attention. His landscape, 
 bare of objects, and of the simplest composition, 
 had little to recommend it but the observance 
 of the minuti^ of Nature. These he characterized 
 with truth, and these alone have given a value to 
 his works. 
 
 On the other hand, Claude, Poussin, Salvator, 
 and other masters, who exhibited Nature more at 
 large, took greater liberties. Their landscapes 
 were generally carried into remote distance, and 
 the beauty of their extensive scenes depended 
 more on composition and general effect than on the 
 exact resemblance of particular objects. 
 
 But the scenery of the internal parts of a forest 
 is not merely confined to trees. There is often 
 
292 Gilpin's forest scenbey. 
 
 an opportunity of introducing a little more variety. 
 The sandy bank mentioned above, the piece of 
 rocky ground, or the winding road, are sometimes 
 found in forests, and are always introduced with 
 good effect. Some of the best of Waterlo's scenes 
 are indebted to these circumstances for their 
 beauty. 
 
 A pool of water, too, is a lucky incident. When 
 it is shrouded with trees, and reflects, from its 
 deep, black mirror the mossy branches of an Oak 
 or other objects in its neighbourhood which have 
 received a strong touch of sunshine, it never fails 
 to please. But it must receive its black hue from 
 clearness. Where a pool is the principal part of 
 a little landscape, the least muddiness or stain 
 from clay or filth of any kind robs it of its 
 beauty. 
 
 ' The green mantle of the standing pool,' 
 
 as Shakespeare calls it, hurts the eye, exceedingly, 
 from its ambiguous texture. It possesses neither 
 the character of land nor of water. 
 
 Kor is the cottage, which is often found in the 
 woody scenes of the forest, a circumstance without 
 
THE FOEBST. 293 
 
 its effect. In Nature, at least, it pleases, not only 
 as the embellisliment of a scene, but, as it shows us 
 a dwelling, where happiness may reside, unsup- 
 ported by wealth — as it shows us a resource, where 
 we may still continue to enjoy peace, though we 
 should be deprived of all the favours of fortune. 
 Yet on canvas, where the forest view is formally 
 introduced, the cottage is an improper decoration. 
 In Nature, the eye, sated with a profusion of rich 
 forest scenes, often seizes even the humblest cir- 
 cumstance as an object of relief. But when a 
 forest-scene is simply and formally introduced, it 
 ought to appear like itself, with the appendages of 
 greatness. There are seasons when a monarch 
 may hold converse with the meanest of his subjects, 
 without injuring his dignity; but it is not the 
 season when he is seated on his throne. A forest 
 scene, introduced in picture, is introduced with 
 distinction, and calls for every appendage of 
 grandeur to harmonize with it. The cottage 
 offends. It should be a castle, a bridge, an 
 aqueduct, or some other object that suits its 
 dignity. 
 
 With regard to aqueducts, indeed, tlie Eomans 
 
294 Gilpin's forest scenbrt. 
 
 never suffered wood to grow near them, lest its 
 roots or seeds should insinuate themselves into 
 the crannies of the stone, and injure the work. 
 But there can be no impropriety, at this day, in 
 the introduction of a ruined aqueduct amidst a 
 woody scene, as trees of any magnitude may be 
 supposed to have grown up since it had fallen to 
 decay. The scenery about the celebrated ruins of 
 Pont-du-Gard in Languedoc is woody ; and the 
 immediate environs of it have all the rich furniture 
 — at least they had lately — that a painter would 
 desire. 
 
 Besides forest trees, in which the dignity of 
 woodland scenery consists, it is enriched by a 
 variety of humble plants, which, filling up the 
 interstices, mass and connect the whole. These, 
 however rude, we only wish to remove when they 
 straggle too far from the clumps with which they 
 are connected, and appear as spots in the area or 
 middle space between different combination. 
 
 A long catalogue might be given of these 
 humble plants, which are so useful in this har- 
 monizing work, but it would lead me into tedious 
 detail. The Holly, however, should be distin- 
 
THE I'OEJilST. 295 
 
 guished in a general muster.* In many situations 
 it appears to great advantage ; but particularly- 
 growing round the stem, as it often does, of some 
 noble Oak, on the foreground, and filling up all 
 the space to his lower boughs. In summer it is 
 a fine appendage; and in autumn its brilliant 
 leaf and scarlet berry make a pleasing mixture 
 with the wrinkled bark, and hoary moss, and 
 auburn leaves of the venerable tree which it en- 
 circles. The Hawthorn, too, performs the same 
 office with good eflFect. Though as a single bush 
 it is sometimes offensive ; f yet entangled with an 
 Oak, or mixing with other trees, it may be 
 beautiful. 
 
 Nor are shrubs alone useful in harmonizing the 
 forest; the larger kinds of weeds and wild 
 flowers have their ejEect in filling up the smaller 
 vacancies near the ground, and add to the 
 richness of the whole. Among these, the heath, 
 and broom, with their purple and yellow tints, 
 the foxglove, with its pale red pendent bells, the 
 wide-spreading dock, and many of the thistle 
 
 * See page 131. t See page 133. 
 
 T 
 
296 Gilpin's forest sceneby. 
 
 tribe, are very beautiful . The liue of the furze, 
 too, is pleasant, but, in bloom, its luxuriant yellow 
 is too powerful. Nothing can accompany it. 
 
 But, among all the minuter plants, fern is the 
 most picturesque. I do not mean where it is 
 spread in quantities, but where it is sparingly 
 [and judiciously introduced. In itself it is beau- 
 tiful. We admire the form of its leaf — its elegant 
 mode of hanging, and its dark-brown, polished 
 stem. As an accompaniment, also, nothing is 
 better suited to unite the higher plants with the 
 ground ; while its bright-green hu.e in summer, 
 and its ochre tint in autumn, join each season 
 with its correspondent tinge. 
 
 The Fern to wHcL. Gilpin refers is the Bracken — Pteris 
 aquilina. It is this particular species, indeed, that most 
 of the poets and many prose writers intend to indicate 
 when they speak — somewhat vaguely — of ' ferns ' as an 
 ornament to the landscape ; unaware, apparently, of the 
 great differences which exist between the numerous 
 species and varieties of Ferns to be found even in the 
 British Islands. Though in an English forest many 
 different species of our native Ferns are to be found, 
 it is the Bracken which forms the most prominent 
 and conspicuous feature amongst what our Author styles 
 
THE FOREST. 297 
 
 ' the minuter plants/ whicli make up the ground plan in 
 forest scenery. In characterizing the Bracken as 'the 
 most picturesque ' of these ' minuter plants/ he discovers, 
 we think, a true artistic feeling. It is too, we think, 
 graceful and beautiful not only ' where it is sparingly and 
 judiciously introduced,' but also — and indeed especially — 
 ' where it is spread in quantities.' The strikingly beau- 
 tiful aspect of a forest glade, densely covered with tall 
 forms of Bracken, must be seen to bo fully and properly 
 appreciated. — Ejj. 
 
 Tlie poet, indeed (wlio, with all Ms cant, is 
 sometimes a truant to Nature), pays, in general, 
 very little attention to tliese rougher objects of 
 beauty. Sis foregrounds are commonly adorned 
 with the livelier tints of Nature : 
 
 ' Each beauteous flower ; 
 Iris all hues, roses, and jessamin, 
 Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay, 
 Broidering the ground.' 
 
 And, if he design to speak of ground embellished 
 with these rough picturesque beauties, he disdain- 
 fully calls it a plaoe where 
 
 ' Nothing teems 
 But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, 
 Losing both beauty and utility.' 
 
 T 2 
 
298 Gilpin's forest sceneby. 
 
 Of all this undergrowtli I know but one plant 
 that is disagreeable, and that is the bramble. "We 
 sometimes see it with effect, scrawling along the 
 fragments of a rock, or running among the rub- 
 bish of a ruin, and, though it is, even then, a coarse 
 appendage, I should not wish to remove it 
 from landscape. But as a pendent plant it has no 
 beauty. It does not hang carelessly, twisting 
 round every support, like the hop and others of 
 the creeping tribe, but forms one stiff, unpliant 
 curve. Nor has it any foliage to recommend it. 
 In other pendent plants the leaf is generally 
 luxuriant, and hangs loosely in rich festoons ; but, 
 in the suckers of a bramble, the leaf is harsh, 
 shrivelled, and discoloured. In short, it is a plant 
 which should not, I think, presume in landscape 
 farther than has just been allowed : it has little 
 beauty in itself, and harmonizes, as little, with any- 
 thing around it ; and may be characterized as the 
 most insignificant of vegetable reptiles. 
 
 We are constrained to put in a plea for the Bramble. Far 
 from regarding it as ' the most insignificant of vegetable 
 reptiles,' we confess to a fondness for it, born, perhaps, of 
 sunny recollections of schoolboy days and ' blackberry- 
 
THE rOBBST. 299 
 
 ing/ Though the thorny^ fruit-bearing shrub may owe 
 us many apologies for scratched fingers or torn clotheSj 
 we can forgive it everything for the pleasure it has 
 afforded us. But we feel that, apart from the influence of 
 associatiouj the Bramble has an undoubted claim to be 
 considered picturesque. To our mind, indeed, forest 
 clumps and forest underwood would lose half their pic- 
 turesqueness if deprived of this prickly trailer. Often, 
 too, we have seen it produce what Gilpin, with quaint 
 simplicity, calls 'a good effect,' when, having climbed 
 over the matted vegetation which canopies the space, 
 midway between opposing hedgebanks, in so many of the 
 ' green lanes ' of western England, it has dropped its 
 tendrils down through the mass of green, reflecting the 
 sunlight from its young and glossy leaves. Need we speak 
 of the attraction of its pretty blossom, of the charm of its 
 coloured fruit— flrst green, then red, then black — or of the 
 rich hues of its autumnal foliage ? — Ed. 
 
 Bufc, however beautiful these minuter plants 
 and -wild flowers may be in the natural scene, 
 yet no painter would endeavour to represent them 
 with exactness. They are too common, too un- 
 dignified, and too much below his subject. In- 
 stead of gaining the character of an exact copier 
 of Nature by a nice representation of such trifles, 
 he would be esteemed puerile, and pedantic. Fern 
 
300 Gilpin's itorest scenbkt. 
 
 perhaps, or dock, if his piece be large, lie might 
 condescend to imitate ; but if he wanted a few 
 touches of red, or blue, or yellow, to enliven and 
 enrich any particular spot on his foreground, 
 instead of aiming at the exact representation of 
 any natural plant, he will more judiciously give 
 the tint he wants in a few random, general touches 
 of something like Nature ; and leave the spectator, 
 if he please, to find out a resemblance. Botanical 
 precision may please us in the flower pieces of 
 Van Huysom; but it would be paltry and affected 
 in the landscapes of Claude or Salvator. The 
 following remark I found in a work of Dr. John- 
 son's, which I transcribe, not only because it is 
 judicious, and may be introduced here in place, 
 but because it affords a new argument to show 
 the resemblance between poetry and painting. 
 Johnson was a critic in the former, but I never 
 heard that he was a judge of the latter. His 
 opinion therefore, in a point of this kind, was 
 unbiassed. ' The business of a poet,' says he, ' is, 
 to examine — not the individual, but the species 
 — to remark general, and large appearances. 
 He does not number the streaks of the Tulip, 
 
THE rOEEST. 301 
 
 Bor describe the different shades in the verdure 
 of the forest. He is to exhibit in his portraits 
 of Nature such prominent, and striking features, 
 as recall the original to every mind ; and must 
 neglect the minuter discriminations (which one 
 may have remarked, and another have neglected) 
 for those characteristics, which are alike obvious 
 to attention and carelessness.' * 
 
 The object of a landscape painter should surely be to 
 represent Nature exactly as she appears from the point of 
 view of the spectator. As much, therefore, as the eye 
 can clearly discern in the foreground of a scene should 
 be as clearly — though, of course, in miniature — repre- 
 sented on the canvas. To attempt such exact representa- 
 tion of objects clearly discerned by the spectator we 
 conceive to be in no sense puerile or undignified, but as 
 the highest and noblest aim of art. The natural limitation 
 of our vision no doubt greatly stimulates the imagination. 
 "When we are looking, for instance, upon forest scenery, 
 we can clearly discern not the outlines only, but the 
 details of immediately contiguous objects. Much, how- 
 ever, of what lies beyond the foreground is enveloped in 
 a sort of mystery, until we have carefully explored all the 
 nooks and crannies of the ground. Nature dehghts in 
 these little mysteries, and they greatly add to our impres- 
 
 * Pr. of Ahyssin. p. G8. 
 
302 Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 sions of beauty by tlieir effect upon tlie imagination. A 
 painter wlio endeavoured to give in detail what lay 
 beyond the limits of the foreground, would be more than 
 puerile, or pedantic. He should endeavour to render that 
 part of the scene just as Nature shows it from the point 
 of view which he selects. — Ed. 
 
SECTION VII. 
 
 FOREST LAWNS AND FOREST HEATHS. 
 
 (,,;.-;-,< A VING- thus taken a view of tlie 
 
 internal parts of a forest, which, 
 consist chiefly of foregrounds, we 
 shall now consider the forest in a 
 light just the reverse, as consist- 
 ' ing chiefly of distances. In both 
 lights, it is greatly picturesque ; and 
 Dnly more, or less so, in either, as the 
 eye is more pleased with a close or a 
 diffusive landscape. 
 
 "We skirt and penetrate the recesses of the 
 woods for the closer view ; but we frequent the 
 forest lawn and heath for the distant one. The 
 beauty of those scenes (especially of the heath, 
 which is a large surface), depends, it is true, in 
 
304 gilfin's forest scenery. 
 
 a great degree, on the play and irregularities of 
 tlie ground ; but chiefly it depends on the sur- 
 rounding woods. 
 
 The forest lawn in itself is a mere field. It is 
 only when adorned with the furniture of surround- 
 ing woods, that it produces its effect. 
 
 The forest heath, also, when it is level and 
 bounded only by the horizon, has no charms for 
 the eye. When it consists of well-mixed in- 
 equalities of ground, it gains somewhat more 
 upon us. But when it is bounded by woods in 
 various parts, and interspersed, here and there, 
 with clumps, which gently unite its woody 
 boundaries with its area, it becomes an interesting 
 scene. Sometimes also a variety of furze, fern 
 and other wild plants, stain it, in many parts, 
 with beautiful tints. Often, too, a winding road 
 passes through it, or different roads traversing 
 each other. Herds of cattle, also, of different 
 kinds ■ continually frequent its open plains ; and 
 when these circumstances happily unite, the heath 
 becomes one of the beautiful scenes of the forest. 
 
 As it is distant wood, however, on which the 
 forest lawn, and especially the forest heath, de- 
 
POEEST LAWNS AND 3?0KEST HEATHS. 305 
 
 pend for their principal aid, I sliall dwell a little 
 on this copious subject, and shall consider its 
 most pleasing circumstances under the two heads 
 — of such as are ^permanent, and such as are in- 
 cidental. 
 
 But before I enter on the subject, it may not 
 be amiss to remind the reader once more,* that 
 as the vast scenes of extensive forests, which we 
 are now considering as distances, are not subject 
 to art, the idea of suggesting rules to alter and ' 
 improve them is absurd. All we mean is to 
 endeavour to teach the eye to admire justly, and 
 to apply to artificial landscape those observations 
 which occur in natural : for the source of beauty 
 is the same in both. 
 
 * See page 286. 
 
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' gilwn's forest scenery.' 
 
 307 
 
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'Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 309 
 
 
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SECTION VIII. 
 
 clt\^C^ 
 
 ^0^ 
 
 DISTANT FOEJiST SCBNEEY. 
 
 \JIE permanent beauties of a distant 
 woody scene arise, first, from its 
 form. There is as mucli variety 
 in the form of a distant ivood as 
 in that of a single tree. We 
 sometimes see continuous woods 
 stretching along the horizon without 
 any break. All seems of equal growth ; 
 the summit of the wood is contained 
 under one straight line. This, except in very 
 remote distance, is formal, heavy, and dis- 
 gusting. The shape of distant woods is then 
 only picturesque when it is broken by a varied 
 line. This variation is, in some degree, occa- 
 sioned by the different sizes of trees ; but as the 
 
312 gilfin's forest scenbey. 
 
 size of trees where tlie distance is great has httle 
 effect, it is chiefly, and most essentially, occa- 
 sioned by the inequalities of the ground. 
 
 A regular line at the base of a long range 
 of woody scenery is almost as disgusting as at 
 the summit of it. The woods must in some parts 
 approach nearer the eye, and in other parts 
 retire, forming the appearance of bays and pro- 
 montories. At least, this is the most beautiful 
 shape in which they appear. Sometimes, indeed, 
 the' inequalities of the ground prevent the eye 
 from seeing the base of the wood; for, as the base 
 is connected with the ground, it is commonly 
 more obscured than the summit, which ranges 
 along the sky. 
 
 All square, round, picked, or other formal 
 shapes in distant woods are disgusting. 
 
 There should not only be breaks, but contrast 
 also between the several breaks of a distant 
 forest scene. A line regularly varied disgusts as 
 much as an unvaried one. 
 
 Among the permanent beauties of distant 
 woods, may be reckoned also the various kinds 
 of trees, of which they are often composed. 
 
DISTANT FOREST SOENEET. 313 
 
 Unless the distance be great, this mixture has its 
 effect in the variety it produces both in form and 
 colour. Large bodies of Fir also, and other 
 species of Pines, have often a rich appearance, in 
 a distance, among deciduous trees; but they must 
 be Scotch Firs, Pinasters, Cluster Pines, or other 
 clump-headed trees. The spiry-headed race, the 
 Spruce Fir, the Silver Fir, and the Weymouth 
 Pine, have here, too, as well as in the clump, a 
 bad effect. Single they are sometimes beautiful ; 
 or two or three of them, here and there, by way 
 of contrast, in large plantations, may be pictu- 
 resque; but I think they are never so in large 
 bodies. In general, however, the picturesque eye 
 is httle curious with regard to the kind of trees 
 which compose a distant scene, for there are few 
 kinds which do not harmonize together. It 
 matters more, in this bold style of landscape, that 
 the masses, of each different hind, should be large. 
 The opposition is then strongly marked, and the 
 contrast striking. If different trees are grouped 
 in small bodies, the effect is totally lost in 
 distance. 
 
 The last species of jjermanent beauty which we 
 
314 Gilpin's foeest scenery. 
 
 take notice of in distant forest scenery arises 
 from worhs of art. We mean not tbe embellish- 
 ments of art, but sucli rude ivories as may almost 
 be styled tlie works of Nature — tlie productions 
 of convenience rather than of taste. "We certainly 
 draw the most picturesque objects from the grand 
 store-house of Nature, though we condescend to 
 admit artificial objects also ; but, when they are 
 admitted in this class, they must always be of the 
 rough rather than of the polished kind. 
 
 J Such objects we often meet with in the 
 
 Iwild scenes of the forest, — spires, towers, lodges, 
 bridges, cattle-sheds, cottages, winding pales, and 
 other things of the same kind, which have often 
 as beautiful an effect when seen at a distance, 
 as we have just observed they have when spar- 
 
 ' ingly met with in the internal parts of a forest. 
 
 \Only, the nearer the object is, we expect its 
 form must be the more picturesque. Distance, 
 no doubt, hides defects; and many an object 
 may appear well in a remove, which, brought 
 
 oaearer, would disgust the eye. 
 
SECTION IX. 
 
 SCENERY APPECTBD BY THE WEATHER. 
 
 I<AYING thus considered wliat may 
 properly be called the permanent 
 beauties of distant forest scenery, 
 we proceed to its incidental beau- 
 ties. These arise principally from 
 two causes — the weather and the 
 seasons. As both are changeable, they 
 both produce various appearances. The 
 former aflFects chiefly the shy, the latter 
 the earth. 
 
 The weather is a fruitful source of incidental 
 beauty; and there are few states of it which 
 do not impress some peculiar and picturesque 
 character on landscape, to which it gives the 
 A country is chiefly affected by the 
 
 u 
 
 leading tint 
 
316 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 weatlier when it is hazy and onisty — or wlien the 
 sky is invested -with some cold tint — or when the 
 sun rises — or when it shines full at noon — or 
 when it sets — or lastly, when the day is stormy. 
 Each of these diflferent states of the weather 
 admits much variation ; but, as it would be end- 
 less to trace these variations into detail, I shall 
 take notice only of the general effects of each, and 
 of these merely as they affect the forest. In 
 other works of this kind, I have touched upon 
 these sources of incidental beauty, as they affect 
 lakes and mountains.* 
 
 The calm, overcast, soft day, such as these 
 climates often produce in the beginning of 
 autumn — hazy, mild, and undisturbed — affords a 
 beautiful medium, spreading over the woods a 
 sweet grey tint, which is especially favourable to 
 their distant appearances. The internal parts 
 of the forest receive little advantage from this 
 hazy medium ; but the various tuftings of distant 
 woods are wonderfully softened by it ; and many 
 
 * See OlDservations on the Lakes of Curabeiland, and High- 
 lands of Scotland. ■ 
 
SOENBEY AEFEOTED BY THE WEATHEE. 317 
 
 a form, and many a hue, wMcli, in the full glare 
 of sunshine would be harsh and discordant, are 
 melted together in harmony. "We often see the 
 effects of this mode of atmosphere in various 
 species of landscape, but it has nowhere a 
 better eflFect than on the woods of the forest. 
 Nothing appears, through mist, more beautiful 
 than trees a little removed from the eye when 
 they are opposed to trees at hand ; for, as the 
 foliage of a tree consists of a great number of 
 parts, the contrast is very pleasing between the 
 varied surface of the tree at hand, and the dead, 
 unvaried appearance of the removed one. Very 
 often a picture, in part unfinished, pleases the eye 
 more from contrast than when every part is fully 
 made out. Such, often, is the effect of the hazy 
 medium. 
 
 The light mist is only a greater degree of 
 haziness. Its object is a nearer distance, as a 
 remote one is totally obscured by it. In this 
 situation of the atmosphere not only all the 
 strong tints of Nature are obscured, but all the 
 smaller variations of form are lost. We look 
 only for a general mass of softened harmony and 
 
 u 2 
 
318 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 sober colouring, unmarked by any strength of 
 effect. The vivid hues of autumn, particularly, 
 appear to great advantage through this medium. 
 Sometimes these mists are partial ; and, if they 
 happen to coincide with the composition of the 
 landscape, this partiality is attended with peculiar 
 beauty. I have remarked in other works of this 
 kind,* that when some huge promontory emerges 
 from a spreading mist which hangs over one part 
 of it, it not only receives the advantage of con- 
 trast, but it also becomes an object of double 
 grandeur. We often see the woods of the forest 
 also with peculiar advantage emerging through a 
 mist in the same style of greatness. I have known 
 likewise a nearer distance, strongly illumined, pro- 
 duce a good effect through a light, drizzling 
 shower. 
 
 Nearly allied to mists is another incidental 
 appearance, that of smoke, which is often at- 
 tended with peculiar beauty in woody scenes. 
 When we see it spreading in the forest glade, and 
 forming a soft bluish background to the trees 
 
 * See Observations on Scotland, v. ii. p. 174. 
 
SCENBIiY AFrECTMD BY THE VVEATHEE. 319 
 
 which intercept it, their foliage and ramification 
 appear to great advantage. 
 
 Sometimes, also, a good effect arises when the 
 sky, under the influence of a bleak north wind, 
 cold and overcast, is hung with blue or purple 
 clouds lowering over the horizon. If under that 
 |)art of the atmosphere the distant forest happens 
 to range, it is overspread with a deep blue or a 
 purple tint from the reflection of the clouds, and 
 makes a very picturesque appearance. And yet 
 I should be cautious in advising the painter to 
 introduce it with that full strength in which he 
 may sometimes observe it. The appearance of blue 
 and purple trees, unless in very remote distance, 
 offends ; and though the artist may have autho- 
 rity from Nature for his practice, yet the spec- 
 tator, who is not versed in such effects, may be 
 displeased. Painting, like poetry, is intended to 
 excite pleasure; and, though the painter, with 
 this view, should avoid such images as are trite 
 and vulgar, yet he should seize those only 
 which are easy and intelligible. Neither poetry 
 nor painting is a proper vehicle for the 
 depths of learning. The painter, therefore. 
 
320 Gilpin's eokest sceneey. 
 
 will do well to avoid every uncommon appearance 
 in Nature. 
 
 Within this caution, however, he will spread 
 the prevailing tint of the day over his landscape — 
 over his wliole landscape. Nature tinges all her 
 pictures in this harmonious manner. It is the 
 greyish tint, or it is the blue, or it is the purple ; 
 or it is one of the vivid tints of illumination, red 
 or yellow — whatever it may be, it blends with all 
 the lights and shadows of the piece. This great 
 principle of harmony which arises from the reflec- 
 tion of colour (in some degree, even when the air 
 is diaphanous), must be observed by every painter 
 who wishes to procure an effect. His picture 
 must be painted from one pallet ; and one key, as 
 in music, must prevail through his whole com- 
 position. As the air, however, is the vehicle of 
 all these tints, it is evident that in distances (in 
 which we see throiigh a deeper medium of tinged 
 air) they will prevail most ; and, of course, very 
 little on foregrounds. The painter must observe 
 this rule of Nature by bringing his tints regularly 
 forward, and his foi-egrounds he must compose of 
 such colours (mute, or vivid) as accord best with 
 
SCENEE.Y APFECTBD BY THE WEATHEE. 321 
 
 the general hue of his landscape. Yet ■ still he 
 win be cautious how he spreads e-s'en the prevail- 
 ing tint too strongly. Much error has arisen 
 from this source ; and some painters, under the 
 idea of harmonizing, have given us blue and 
 purple pictures. I know not whether Poussin 
 himself did not sometimes fall into this fault. . 
 Nature's veil is always pure and transparent ; 
 yet, though in itself hardly discoverable, it will 
 still give its kindred tinge to the features which 
 are seen through it. 
 
 We have now considered mcidental beauty as 
 arising from the colder modifications of the air. 
 "We use the word colder not in a physical, 
 but in a picturesque sense, as productive only of 
 sober colouring, unattended with any force of 
 effect. We come now to a more illustrious family 
 of tints — the offspring of the sun. These are 
 fertile sources of incidental beauty among the 
 woods of the forest. The characteristic of them 
 is strong effect. Let us first examine the incident 
 of a rising snn. 
 
 The first dawn of day exhibits a beautiful 
 obscurity. When the east begins just to brighten 
 
322 Gilpin's foeest soenbey. 
 
 with tlie reflections only of efi'ulgence, a pleasing, 
 progressive liglit, dubious and amusing, is thrown 
 over the face of things. A single ray is able to 
 assist the picturesque eye, which, by such slender 
 aid, creates a thousand imaginary forms, if the 
 scene be unknown ; and, as the light steals 
 gradually on, is amused by correcting its vague 
 ideas by the real objects. What, in the confusion 
 of twilight, perhaps, seemed a stretch of rising 
 ground, broken into various parts, becomes now 
 vast masses of wood, and an extent of forest. 
 
 As the sun begins to appear above the horizon, 
 another change takes place. What was before 
 only form, being now enlightened, begins to 
 receive effect. This effect depends on two cir- 
 cumstances, the catching lights which touch the 
 summits of every object, and the mistiness in 
 which the rising orb is commonly enveloped. 
 
 The effect is often pleasing, when the sun rises 
 in unsullied brightness, diffusing its ruddy light 
 over the upper parts of objects, which is con- 
 trasted by the deeper shadows below ; yet the 
 effect is then only transcendent when he rises, 
 accompanied by a train of vapours, in a misty 
 
SOENEBy AFEECTED BY THE WEATHBE. 323 
 
 atmosphere. Among lakes and mountains, tliis 
 happy accompaniment often forms the most asto- 
 nishing visions ; and yet, in the forest, it is nearly 
 as great. With what delightful effect do we 
 sometimes see the sun's disc just appear above a 
 woody hill ; or, in Shakespeare's language, — 
 
 'Stand tiptoe on the misty mountain's top/ 
 
 and dart his diverging rays through the rising 
 vapour. The radiance, catching the tops of the 
 trees as they hang midway upon the shaggy 
 steep, and touching, here and there, a few other 
 prominent objects, imperceptibly mixes its ruddy 
 tint with the surrounding mists, setting on fire, 
 as it were, their upper parts, while their lower 
 sku-ts are lost in a dark mass of varied confusion, 
 in which trees, and ground, and radiance, and 
 obscurity are all blended together. When the 
 eye is fortunate enough to catch the glowing 
 instant (for it is always a vanishing scene), it 
 furnishes an idea worth treasuring among the 
 choicest appearances of Nature. Mistiness alone, 
 we have observed, occasions a confusion in 
 objects which is often picturesque ; but the glory 
 
32-i Gilpin's eoiIest scenerv. 
 
 of the vision depends on the glowing lights which 
 are mingled with it. 
 
 Landscape painters, in general, pay too little 
 attention to the discriminations of morning and 
 evening. We are often at a loss to distinguish in 
 pictures, the rising from the setting sun, though 
 their characters are very different, both in the 
 lights and shadows. The ruddy lights, indeed, of 
 the evening are more easily distinguished ; but it 
 is not, perhaps, always sufficiently observed, that 
 the shadows of the evening are much less opaque 
 than those of the morning. They may be 
 brightened, perhaps, by the numberless rays float- 
 ing in the atmosphere, which are incessantly re- 
 verberated in every direction, and may continue 
 in action after the sun is set. Whereas, in the 
 morning, the rays of the preceding day having 
 subsided, no object receives any light but from 
 the immediate lustre of the sun. Whatever be- 
 comes of the theory, the fact, I believe, is well 
 ascertained. 
 
 The incidental heaidies which the meridian sun 
 exhibits, are much fewer than those of the risinrj 
 snn. In summer, when he rides high at noon and 
 
'Gilpin's forest scenery.' 
 
 325 
 
 
 
 
SCENEEY AEPEOTED BY 'i'HE WEATHEE. 327 
 
 slieds liis perpendicular ray, all is illumination ; 
 there is no shadow to balance such a glare of 
 light, no contrast to oppose it. The judicious 
 artist, therefore, rarely represents his objects 
 under a vertical sun. And yet no species of 
 landscape bears it so well as the scenes of the 
 forest. The tuftings of trees, which of all objects 
 are the richest, from the little breaks of strong 
 light and shade upon them, the recesses formed 
 by the retiring boughs, the lighter foliage thus 
 hanging over the darker, may all have an effect 
 under a meridian sun. I speak chiefly, however, 
 of the internal scenes of the forest which bear 
 such total brightness, better than any other, as in 
 them there is generally a natural gloom to balance 
 it. The light, obstructed by close, intervening 
 trees, will rarely predominate. Hence the effect 
 is often fine. A strong sunshine striking a wood 
 through some fortunate chasm, and reposing on 
 the tuftings of a clump just removed from the 
 eye, and strengthened by the deep shadows of 
 the trees behind, appears to great advantage ; 
 especially if some noble tree, standing on the fore- 
 ground in deep shadow, flings athwart the sky its 
 
023 OITPIn'R F0RI5ST SOENERY. 
 
 dark branches, here and there illumined with a 
 splendid touch of light. 
 
 In an open country, the most fortunate circum- 
 stance, that attends a meridian sun, is cloudy 
 weather, which occasions partial lights. Then 
 it is that the distant forest scene is spread with 
 lengthened gleams, while the other parts of the 
 landscape are in shadow. Nothing is more beau- 
 tiful in itpHf, noflv'iT-'- ^^'I'lRtTri''^'-' iiio: ^ '■ 
 ,u'i'C'n( pi'i;; 
 
 tuftings of trees are particularly adapted to 
 catch these effects with advantage. There is a 
 richness in them from the strong opposition of 
 light and shade, which is wonderfully fine, and a 
 softness which is \erj favourable to the principle 
 of gradation. A distant forest, thus illumined, 
 wants only a foreground to make it highly pic- 
 turesque. 
 
 As the sun descends, the effect of its illumina- 
 tion becomes stronger. It is a doubt, whether 
 the rising, or the setting sun is more picturesque. 
 The great beauty of both depends on the contrast 
 between splendour and obscurity. But this con- 
 trast is produced by these different incidents in 
 
'GILI'IN'S FOREST SCENKKY.' 
 
 329 
 
 
SOENEKY AFFECTED BY THE WEATHKB. 331 
 
 diflferent ways. The grandest effects of the rising 
 sun, are produced by the vapours which envelope 
 it. The setting sun rests its glory on the gloom, 
 which often accompanies its parting rays. A 
 depth of shadow, hanging over the eastern hemi- 
 sphere, gives the beams of the setting sun such 
 powerful eJ0Fect, that although in fact they are by 
 no means equal to the splendour of a meridian 
 sun, yet, through force of contrast, they appear 
 superior. 
 
 A distant forest scene, under this brightened 
 gloom, is particularly rich. The verdure of the 
 summer leaf, and the varied tints of the autumnal 
 one, are all lighted up with glowing colours. 
 
 The internal parts of the forest are not so 
 happily disposed to catch the effects of a setting 
 sun. The meridian ray, we have seen, may dart 
 through the openings at the top, and produce a 
 picture : * but the flanks of the forest are gene- 
 rally too well guarded against its horizontal 
 beams. Sometimes a recess, fronting the west, 
 may receive a beautiful light, spreading in a 
 
 • See page 327. 
 
332 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 lengthened gleam amidst the gloom of the woods 
 which surround it : but this can only be had in 
 the outskirts of the forest. Sometimes, also, we 
 find in its internal parts, though hardly in its 
 deep recesses, splendid lights, here and there, 
 catching the foliage, and running among the 
 branches which, though in Nature generally too 
 scattered to produce an effect, yet if judiciously 
 collected, may be beautiful on canvas. 
 
 We sometimes, also, see in a woody scene, co- 
 ruscations, like a bright star, occasioned by a sun- 
 beam darting through an eyelet-hole among the 
 leaves. Many painters, and especially Eubens, 
 have been fond of introducing this radiant spot 
 in their landscapes. But, in painting, it is one of 
 those trifles, which produces no effect. In poetry, 
 indeed, it may produce a pleasing image. Shake- 
 speare has introduced it beautifully, where, speak- 
 ing of the force of truth entering a guilty 
 conscience, he compares it to the sun, which 
 
 ' Eires the proud tops of the eastern Pines, 
 And darts his light through every guilty hole.' 
 
 It is one of those circumstances, which poetry 
 
SOENEEY AFFECTED BY THE WEATHEB. 333 
 
 may offer to the imagination, but tlie pencil 
 cannot well produce to tlie eye ; and, if it could 
 it were better omitted, as it attracts the atten- 
 tion from what is more interesting-. 
 
 Under the sameness of Italian skies the beau- 
 ties of a setting sun are hardly known. There 
 the radiant orb courses his way with equal 
 splendour from one end of the hemisphere to the 
 other. He sets gloriously, but with little variety. 
 Nothing refracts his beam. To the vapours of 
 grosser climates, we owe those beautiful tints 
 which accompany his whole journey through the 
 skies, but especially his parting ray. 
 
 Thus far the sources of incidental beauty are 
 all derived from milder skies. But the turbulence 
 of the atmosphere is still a more fruitful source 
 of picturesque effect, in the forest, as in other 
 scenes. Unaided, indeed, by simshine the storm 
 has little power. But, when the force of the 
 tempest separates the clouds into large, dark, 
 convex forms, and the rays of the sun stream 
 behind them athwart a clear horizon, if the 
 objects correspond, a very sublime picture is 
 exhibited. 
 
334 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 No master was better acquainted with. tHese 
 circumstances than the younger Vandervelt. In 
 all his sea-storms he avails himself of them, and 
 is remarkable for the grand masses of light and 
 shade which he produces. 
 
 The land-storm is equally a source of beauty. 
 When the tempest scowls over the forest, as we 
 traverse its deep recesses, what grandeur do the 
 internal parts of it receive from the casual ray 
 darting upon them ! Or, when we view it as a 
 distant object, and see the storm blackening 
 behind the trees, with what wonderful effect 
 does the sun, in an opposite direction, strike their 
 tufted heads ! But if that sun be setting, while 
 the tempest is brewing over the hemisphere, black 
 towards the east — lurid — more purple — and glow- 
 ing with red, as it advances towards the west — 
 then it is, that the utmost value is given to its 
 effect. The castle, the lake, or the forest scene, 
 whether viewed in shadow against the ruddy 
 light, or illumined under the storm, appear in 
 full grandeur; and we see all that light and 
 shade in extreme contention, yet fully harmonized, 
 can produce. 
 
SCENERY AFFECTED BY THE WEATHER. 335 
 
 ' Vain are the liopes by colouring to display 
 Tlie briglit effulgence of tlie noon-tide ray ; 
 Or paint the full-orbed ruler of the skies 
 With pencils dipped in dull, terrestrial dyes. 
 But when mild evening sheds her golden light, 
 "When morn appears, arrayed in modest white ; 
 When soft suffusions of the vernal shower, 
 Dims the pale sun ; or, at the thund'ring hour. 
 When wrapt in crimson clouds, he hides his head ; 
 Then catch the glow, and on the canvas spread.' 
 
 I know no appearance, indeed, in Nature, that 
 is more awfully grand than the conjunction of a 
 storm, and a sunset, on some noble mass of forest 
 scenery. We may easily conceive that ignorance 
 and superstition might magnify such a resplen- 
 dent gloom into something supernatural. In a 
 passage which. I lately quoted from VirgU, an 
 idea of this kind is very picturesque, as well as 
 poetically introduced. It is in the interview be- 
 tween ^neas and Bvander, when the old chief in- 
 forms his noble guest that frequently, in tempests, 
 the simple Arcadians believed they saw heavenly 
 forms behind the groves of the Tarpeian rock. 
 
 ' Hoc nemus ; hunc, inquit, frondoso vertice collem, 
 (Quis deus, incertuui est) habitat deus. Arcades ipsum 
 Credunt se vidisse Jovem, cum scejpe ni.grantem 
 JEgida conciiiaret dextra nhnbosque ciereV 
 
 X 
 
336 Gilpin's forest sceneky. 
 
 As these great effects are certainly tlie most 
 picturesque of all aerial appearances, it is rather 
 surprising that landscape painters in general 
 make so little use of them. It is much more 
 common to see landscape painted under the uni- 
 form brightness of an equal light than to see it 
 illumined by these grand circumstances of the 
 atmosphere, in which light and shade are so 
 happily combined. 
 
 The landscape-painter may say that effects like 
 these are uncommon, and he chooses to paint 
 Nature as he generally sees her. 
 
 The idea is good, but certainly these effects are 
 common enough to have been often the object of 
 every one's observation. He will not, I suppose, 
 take the commonest objects as he finds them. And 
 if he select his objects, why not the most beautiful 
 mode of exhibiting them ? The great effects of 
 morning and evening suns, of mists, and storms, 
 are not more uncommon than natural combina- 
 tions of beautiful objects. But the real truth 
 seems to be, that such effects are the most difficult 
 to manage, and require great study and observa- 
 tion. The artist, therefore, who paints for his 
 
SOBNERY AJTiTECTED BT THE WEATHBE. 337 
 
 bread i-ather than liis character (an evil attending 
 the art which can never be removed), chooses such 
 an exhibition of hght and shade as is the most 
 easy to himself, and may likewise be most pleasing 
 to the generality of his undistinguishing em- 
 ployers. Hence we have so great a number of 
 glaring landscapes, which depend on nothing but 
 the beauty and colouring of a few particular 
 objects, without any attention to those grand 
 effects which make landscape, by many degrees, 
 the most sublime and interesting. 
 
 It is, perhaps, one of the great errors in paint- 
 ing (as, indeed, it is in literary, as well as in pic- 
 turesque composition) to be more attentive to the 
 finishing of parts than to the production of a 
 luhole. Whereas the master's great care should 
 be, first to contrive a whole, and then to adapt the 
 parts, as artificially as he can. I speak of ima- 
 ginary landscape ; when he paints a particular 
 view his management must be just the reverse. 
 He has the parts given him, and he must form 
 them into a whole as he can, and this is often 
 difficult. 
 
 Nothing, however, tends so much to produce a 
 X 2 
 
338 Gilpin's forest sceneet. 
 
 whole as a proper distribution of liglit and shade, 
 wliicli we best obtain when we present a land- 
 scape under one of these grand effects of Nature. 
 A common sunshine furnishes lights, not masses. 
 It may throw a beautiful illumination on particular 
 objects, but the grand effects of Nature furnish 
 the only opportunities of forming the masses of 
 each. 
 
 What gives the most grandeur to these effects 
 is z. predominancy 0/ s/iaie, which Aas always more 
 dignified ideas annexed to it than a predominancy 
 of light. And yet how little is this observed ? In 
 the generality of pictures and prints you see the 
 balance on the other side, and are often offended 
 with glaring spots of light, which destroy the idea 
 of a whole. The painter should examine his piece, 
 therefore, with great care. He may put out one 
 light after another, and, reviewing his work with 
 a fresh eye, may still find some glaring part to 
 erase before he venture it abroad. On this occa- 
 sion he may apply with good sense, and form into 
 an adage, a very nonsensical expression (as it 
 appears) in Shakespeare : — 
 
 'Put out the light — and then — put out the light.' 
 
SCIONEBY APMCTED BY THE WEATHEK. 339 
 
 If tie artificial representation of every subject 
 seems rather to require a balance of sbade, in 
 siohlime subjects it is still more required. All 
 writers on sublime subjects deal in shadows and 
 obscurity.* The grandeur of Jehovali is com- 
 monly represented by the Hebrew writers behind 
 a cloud. The imagination makes up deficiencies 
 by grander ideas than it is possible for the pencil 
 to produce. Many images owe much of their 
 sublimity to their indistinctness, and, frequently, 
 what we call sublime is the effect of that heat and 
 fermentation, which ensues in the imagination 
 from its ineffectual efforts to conceive some dark, 
 obscure idea beyond its grasp. Bring the same 
 within the compass of its comprehension, and it 
 may continue great, but it will cease to be sublime. 
 This species of the sublime is oftener found in the 
 composition of the poet than of the painter. In 
 general, the poet has great advantages over the 
 painter in the process of sublimication, if the term 
 may be allowed. The business of the former is 
 only to excite ideas ; that of the latter, to represent 
 
 * See Burke on the Sulblime. 
 
340 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 them. The advantage of excited, over-represented 
 ideas is very great, inasmuch as they are, in some 
 degree, the reader's own production, and are sus- 
 ceptible of those modifications which make them 
 pecuharly acceptable to the mind in which they 
 are raised. Whereas the others, being confined 
 within a distinct and unalterable outHne, admit of 
 none of the modifications which flatter the par- 
 ticular taste of the spectator, but must make their 
 way by their own intrinsic force. 
 
SECTION X. 
 
 EFFECT OP THE SEASONS ON SCENEEY. 
 
 - ^<E have now treated of tlie incidental 
 heauty of forest scenery as arising 
 from the weather; we examine it 
 next as arising from the seasons. 
 Each season has beauties pecuhar 
 to itself. 
 The. early Spring is not very favourable 
 to the study of landscape. Nature is yet 
 iinfolding herself, and is in her progress 
 only to perfection. The bloom of many trees, gay 
 and fantastic in its colouring and form, may be 
 beautiful and curious in itself, but is ill-adapted to 
 harmonize and unite with other objects. And, 
 yet, we sometimes see tints which produce a pleas- 
 ing effect. The budding Oak displays great 
 
342 Gilpin's foeest sceneey. 
 
 variety. Among neighbouring Oaks, the bud of 
 one is a tender green ; of another almost yellow ; 
 of a third an ochre brown, perhaps nearly inclin- 
 ing to red ; yet, each of these, as it opens, will 
 probably accord harmoniously with the tint of its 
 neighbour. But all trees have not the accommo- 
 dating qualities of the Oak ; the early shoots of 
 evergreens, particularly of the Scotch Kr, are 
 seldom in harmony with the foliage of the parent 
 tree. 
 
 As Summer advances, the forest assumes a more 
 determined and connected form. The germs and 
 leaves are all unfolded; the hue of the foliage 
 becomes harmonious, and the tuf tings of the trees 
 are prepared, as beds, for masses of light to rest 
 on; which the spray, and the bloom of early 
 Spring, unconnected and unformed, could not 
 fully receive. 
 
 So far we have gained by the progress of the 
 year. But the great objection to Summer arises 
 from the uniformity of its hue. The face of 
 Nature is covered with one unvaried mantle of 
 green, for, though the nicer eye may trace many 
 shades in this general colour, yet, on the whole, 
 
EEi''ECT 01' THJi: SEASONS ON SCENERY. 343 
 
 it is botli too vivid and too uniform for the 
 pencil. 
 
 The reign of Summer scarcely endures three 
 months. The leaves, within that period, begin to 
 change their hue, and give way to Autumn, which 
 presents an appearance much more picturesque, 
 and, indeed, the most replete with incidental heauty 
 of any season of the year. This is so evident, 
 that painters have chosen the Autumn, with almost 
 universal predilection, as the season of landscape. 
 The leafy surface of the forest is, at that time, so 
 varied, and the masses of foliage are yet so full, 
 that they allow the artist great latitude in pro- 
 ducing his tints, without injuring the breadth of 
 
 his lights. 
 
 ' The fading, many-coloured woods, 
 Shade deepening over shade, the country round 
 Imbrown ; a varied umhrage, dusk and dun. 
 Of every hue, from wan, declining green, 
 To sooty dark.' 
 
 Yet the Autumn, in its wane, is not so pleasing. 
 It has too forlorn an aspect. The leaves are 
 withered, and their tufts shrivelled and shapeless. 
 This remark, however, affects trees only at hand. 
 The home plantation suffers where you walk so 
 
344 Gilpin's toeest scenery. 
 
 near tlie fading tree, as to see Nature in decay ; 
 but at a distance tlie withered effect is not easily 
 discerned. In tlie wane of Autumn, however, there 
 are other defects. The Ash, and some other 
 trees, have deserted their station in the forest; 
 they have shed their leaves, and left a cheerless 
 blank. Besides, the verdure of the forest is too 
 much wasted; and the brown and yellow tints, 
 beautiful as they are, become too predominant; 
 for the prevalence of these hues in Autumn fatigues 
 the eye, no less than the prevalence of green in 
 Summer. Only, indeed, the Autumnal tints will 
 ever be more varied. The intermediate time is 
 the season of picturesque beauty ; when the greens 
 and the browns and the yellows are blended 
 together by a variety of middle tints which often 
 create the most exquisite harmony. 
 
 Of all the hues of Autumn, those of the Oak are 
 commonly the most harmonious. As its vernal 
 tints are more varied than those of other trees, so 
 are its autumnal. In an oaken wood you see 
 every variety of green, and every variety of 
 brown; owing, either to the different exposure 
 of the tree, its different soil, or its different 
 
EFFECT OP THE SEASONS ON SOENEEI. 345 
 
 nature; but it is not my business to inquire into 
 causes. 
 
 In the beechen grove you seek in vain for tliis 
 variety. In the early Autumn, indeed, you see it, 
 when the extremities only of the tree are just 
 tinged with ochre : but, as the year advances, the 
 eye is generally fatigued with one deep monotony 
 of orange ; though among all the hues of Autumn, 
 it is, in itself, perhaps the most beautiful. The 
 painter imitates it the most happily by a touch of 
 terra de Sienna. But the eye is palled even with 
 beauty in profusion, and calls for contrast. 
 
 The same uniformity reigns, though of a diffe- 
 rent hue, when Ash, or Elm prevails. No fading 
 foliage, indeed, of any one kind that I know, pro- 
 duces harmony, except that of the Oak. [S^y^.v^ 
 
 The hues, however, of the distant forest, when 
 most discordant, are often harmonized by the 
 intervening trees on the foreground. We can 
 bear the glow of the distant Beech wood, when it 
 is contrasted, at hand, by a spreading Oak, whose 
 foliage has yet scarce lost its summer tint, — or by 
 an Elm or an Ash, whose fading leaves have 
 assumed a yellowish hue. 
 
346 Gilpin's foeest sceneet. 
 
 But, after all, the autumnal forest is an instru- 
 ment easily untuned. One frosty niglit or parch- 
 ing blast may introduce some striking discord ; 
 tliougli, on tlie other Land, it is true, by softening 
 some discordant tint, it may, as easily, introduce a 
 harmony, -which did not exist before. Here art 
 comes to the aid of Nature. The pencil fixes the 
 scene in the happy moment ; and the fading tints 
 of Autumn become perennial. 
 
 I have known some planters endeavour, in their 
 improvements, to range their trees in such a man- 
 ner as in the "wane of the year, to receive all the 
 beauty of autumnal colouring. The attempt is 
 vain, unless they could so command the weather 
 as to check, or produce at pleasure, those tints 
 which Nature has subjected to so many accidents. 
 A general direction is all that can be given. Oak 
 is rarely in discord; but Beech and Elm can, as 
 rarely, be depended on. All must be left to chance ; 
 and, after the utmost that art can do, the wild 
 forest, with its casual discords and monotonies, 
 will present a thousand beauties which no skill of 
 man can rival. 
 
 Thus the beauties of the waning year are fixed 
 
EFFECT OF THE SEASONS ON SOENEET. 347 
 
 rather by tlie weather than by the calendar. We 
 often see them vanish in October ; and we some- 
 times see a fine autumnal effect in the beginning 
 of November ; nay, even later, we may trace the 
 beauties of the declining year, and 
 
 ' Catcli the last smile 
 Of Autumn beaming o'er the yeUow woods.' 
 
 Even when the beauty of the landscape is gone, 
 
 the charms of Autumn may remain. After the 
 
 rage of summer is abated, and before the rigours 
 
 of winter are yet set in, there are often days of 
 
 such heavenly temperature, that every mind must 
 
 feel their effect. Thompson, to whom the beauties 
 
 of Nature were familiar, thus describes a day of 
 
 this kind : — 
 
 ' The morning shines, 
 Serene in all its dewy beauties bright, 
 Unfolding fair the last autumnal day. 
 O'er all the soul its sacred influence breathes. 
 Inflames imagination, through the breast 
 Infuses every tenderness, and, far 
 Beyond dim earth, exalts the swelling thought.' 
 
 To the picturesque beauties of Autumn we may 
 add, that the setting sun, at that season, is com- 
 monly richer than when the days are of the same 
 
348 Gilpin's forest scenery. 
 
 lengtli in tlie Spring, or indeed at any other 
 season. 
 
 But the leafy forest is not solely the object of 
 incidental beauty. The picturesque eye finds great 
 amusement even in its wintry scenes, when it has 
 thrown its rich, mantle aside, and appears, to the 
 common eye, naked and deformed. 
 
 The hazy sunshine of a frosty morning, is 
 accompanied with an indistinctness peculiar to 
 itself. The common haziness of a summer day 
 spreads over the landscape one general grey tint ; 
 and, as we have had occasion to remark in diflFerent 
 circumstances, is often the source of great beauty. 
 But the effect we are here observing is of a dif- 
 ferent kind. It is generally more partial — more 
 rich — and mixing with streaks of different coloured 
 clouds, which often form behind it, produces a 
 very pleasing effect. The case is, the sun is lower 
 in the horizon and produces an effect which a 
 meridian situ cannot do. 
 
 Great beauty, also, arises in "Winter, from the 
 different tints of the spray. The dark-brown 
 spray of the Birch, for instance, has a good effect, 
 among that of a lighter tinge ; and, when the forest 
 
BJFFECT 01? THE SEASONS ON SOBNERT. 349 
 
 is deep, all this little busMness of ramification has, 
 in some degree, the effect of foliage. 
 
 The boles of trees likewise, and all their larger 
 limbs, add, at this season, a rich variety and con- 
 trast to the forest ; the smooth and the rough, the 
 light and the dark, often beautifully opposing 
 each other. In Winter, the stem predominates, as 
 the leaf in Summer. It is amusing in one season 
 to see the branches losing and discovering them- 
 selves among the foliage ; and it is amusing, also, 
 in the other, to walk through the desolate forest, 
 and see the various combinations of stems — the 
 traversing of branches across each other in so 
 many beautiful directions — and the pains, which 
 Nature takes in forming a wood, as well as a single 
 tree.* She leaves no part unclosed ; but pushing 
 in the branch, or the spray, as the opening allows, 
 she fills all vacant space, and brings the heads of 
 trees^ which grow near each other, into contact; 
 while every step we take presents us with some 
 beautiful variety in her mode of forming the fretted 
 roof under which we walk. 
 
 * See page 13G. 
 
350 Gilpin's poeest sobnert. 
 
 In Winter, too, the effect of evergreens is often 
 pleasing. Holly, when it happens to be well 
 comhined, and mixed in just pro'portion, makes an 
 agreeable contrast. Ivy, hanging round the Oak, 
 if it be not too profuse , we have already observed, 
 is a beautiful appendage to its grandeur. I have 
 I seen some parts of the forest, where the stem of 
 f almost every tree was covered with it. This indeed 
 was not picturesque ; but it gave the wood a very 
 odd appearance, by exhibiting so total an inversion 
 of Nature. In Summer, the tops of trees are 
 green, and their stems commonly bare. Here the 
 tops were bare, while the stems were in full leaf. 
 
 In a light hoar-frost, before the sun and air 
 begin to shake the powder from the trees, the 
 wintry forest is often beautiful, and almost ex- 
 hibits the effect of tufted foliage. As single 
 objects also, trees, under this circumstance, are 
 curious. The black branches, whose under-sides 
 are not covered with rime, often make a singular 
 contrast with the whitened spray. Trees of 
 ' minuter ramification and foliage, as the Beech, 
 the Elm, and the Fir, appear, under this circum- 
 stance, to most advantage. The Ash, the Horse- 
 
EEPKCT OF THE SEASOxNS ON SCENEEY. 351 
 
 chestnut, and other plants of coarser form, have 
 no great beauty. Trees also, thus covered with 
 hoar-frost, have sometimes— if not a picturesque 
 — at least an uncommon effect, when they appear 
 against a lurid cloud ; especially when the sun 
 shines strongly upon them. 
 
 But, although many appearances in winter are 
 beautiful and amusing, and some of them even 
 picturesque, yet the judicious painter will rarely 
 introduce them in landscape, because he has choice 
 of more beautifal effects, when Nature appears 
 dressed to more advantage. 
 
 Picturesque pleasure arises from two sources — 
 from the beauty and comhination of the objects re- 
 presented ; and from the exactness of the represent- 
 ation. Thus, we are pleased with the picture of a 
 noble landscape, the composition of which is just, 
 and the lights well-disposed ; and, yet, a sort of 
 pleasure arises from seeing a bright table, a deal- 
 board, or a rasher of bacon naturally represented.* 
 
 * Deceptions of this kind used frequently to be hung up in 
 the exhibition room in London, among the works of capital 
 artists, where indeed they were unworthy of a place. 
 
 Since this passage was written, I have met with the following 
 
352 Gilpin's poeest scenery. 
 
 But while the former of these is the work of 
 genius, the latter is a mere mechanical knack. 
 The one, therefore, is admired by the man of taste 
 — the other, except for a moment, only by the 
 ignorant and uninformed. 
 
 This is just the case before us. The painter, 
 who chooses a winter subject, in general, gix&s up 
 composition and effect, to show how naturally he 
 can represent snow, or hoar-frost. It is almost 
 impossible to produce a good effect with these 
 appendages of winter ; they must naturally create 
 false and glaring lights, to which the painter 
 generally makes his composition subservient. 
 
 Among the sources of incidental beauty in a 
 forest may be mentioned, (what perhaps may 
 appear odd) the felling of timber. If you wish to 
 fell trees with some particular view to improve- 
 
 excellent remark in one of Sir Joshua Reynolds' notes on Mr. 
 Mason's translation of Fresnoy, p. 114 : — 'Deception, -wliich is 
 so often recommended by writers on the theory of painting, 
 instead of advancing the art, is in reality carrying it back to its 
 infant state. The first essays of painting -were certainly nothing 
 but mere imitations of individual objects, and when this 
 amounted to a deception, the artist had accomplished his 
 purpose.' 
 
EFFECT OF THE, SEASONS ON SCENEET. 353 
 
 ment, tlie intention is often frustrated. It must/ 
 be done artfully, and considerately, or in general 
 your design will be apparent, and the eye disgusted 
 The master of the scene himself, who is always or 
 the spot, and examines it frequently from every 
 stand, if he be a man of taste, will be the best\\ 
 improver, and direct the felling axe with most' 
 judgment. At the same time, we frequently see 
 trees cut down carelessly for the purpose of utility, 
 which have opened greater beauties than any they 
 possessed themselves when standing ; though the 
 preconceived loss of them was greatly lamented. 
 But this can only happen where trees abound. 
 
 I shall conclude this enumeration of the in- 
 cidental beauties belonging to forest scenery, with 
 an appendage, which we frequently see in it — that 
 of a timber- wain, an object of tlie most picturesque 
 kind, especially when drawn by oxen. Here the 
 tree, when dead, adorns again the landscape which 
 it adorned when living. A gilded chariot is an 
 object which art has industriouly tricked out and 
 decorated. It is of a piece, therefore, with all such 
 artificial objects, as are the most unlike Nature. 
 Whereas the timber-wain is at least a piece of 
 
 Y 2 
 
354 GILPIN'S FOEEST SCENERY. 
 
 simple art, and tlie rudeness of its form and 
 materials, is a property wliicli it has in common 
 with the works of Nature. Oxen, too, are more 
 picturesque in themselves than horses. Much of 
 the beauty, however, of this incident arises from 
 its being adapted to the scene. A wain of timber 
 is beautiful in a forest, but would lose much of its 
 beauty in the streets of a town. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Acacia, The . . . 95-97 
 Characteristics of 
 the . . .95-97 
 Adorned Nature . . 24 
 Adventitious beauties of 
 
 trees . . . .17-40 
 Age gives the forest its 
 
 effect . . . .265 
 
 Alder, The . . . 91-93 
 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . .91-92 
 
 Alders at Auckland . . 92-93 
 
 on the Mole . 92-93 
 
 Allegory, An . . 137-139 
 
 Animal and tree life . 4-5 
 
 Aqueduct in a forest, An . 
 
 293-294, 
 
 Architecture and groves . 280 
 
 Arbor de Eays, The . . 208 
 
 Art, Laboured works of . 256 
 
 Polished works of 
 
 255-256 
 
 Arthur's table . . . 161 
 
 Artificial lakes . . . 258 
 
 temple, Origin of 
 
 the . . . 280 
 
 Ash, The . . . . 52-58 
 
 Ash, Characteristics of the 53-57 
 foliage in autumn 345 
 in autumn, The . 344 
 key rooting in a 
 
 ■willow . . 57-58 
 trees in spring . 150 
 Atmospheric turbulence a 
 fruitful source of pic- 
 turesque efEect . . 333 
 Autumn, Incidental beauty 
 
 of 343 
 
 in its wane . 343 
 
 leaves and the 
 
 setting sun . 331 
 •weather . .316 
 Autumnal beauty. Inter- 
 mediate season of . . 344 
 effect in Novem- 
 ber . . . 347 
 foliage of the 
 
 Beech . . 68-69 
 foliage of the 11m 60-61 
 foliage of the 
 
 Planes . . 76 
 forest is easily 
 
 untuned, The . 346 
 hue of the Oak 344-345 
 variety of the forest 343 
 
356 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 s. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Badesley, Groaning tree 
 
 at . . . . 218-221 
 
 Banian tree, The . 209-210 
 
 Bark of the Birch . . 94-95 
 
 Oak . . . 83 
 
 Pinaster . . Ill 
 
 Stone Pine . . 109 
 
 Sycamore . . 83 
 
 Weymouth Pine . 112 
 
 Bays and promontories in 
 
 woods 312 
 
 BeauHeu, Wall oak at 229-231 
 Beauty of the Ash . . 53 
 Beechen grove in autumn, 
 
 The ..... 345 
 Beech, The . . .64-71 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . 65-68, 70-71 
 Utility of the . 64 
 
 Birch, The 93-95 
 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . .93-94 
 spray in Winter 
 
 348-349 
 Black Birch, The . . 93 
 Cherry tree, Bark 
 
 of the . . 95 
 Spruce,.The 122, 124 
 Blasted tree. The . . 29-30 
 Blenheim Castle 252, 254-255 
 Bloom of forest trees 161-152 
 the Elm . . ISO 
 Blue or purple clouds . 319 
 Boabah, The . . 206-207 
 Boles of trees in winter . 349 
 Botanical precision . . 300 
 Bowspritof the 'Britannia' 170 
 
 Box Hill .... 92 
 Bracken, Beauty of the . 297 
 in forests. The 296-297 
 Picturesquenes3 
 
 of the . . 297 
 spread in quan- 
 tities . . 297 
 Bramhle, The . . 298-299 
 Branches a source of con- 
 trast . ... .238 
 Breaks in distant forest 
 
 scenes ... . . 312 
 Bridge in a forest, A . 293 
 
 Brightened . gloom of the 
 
 setting sun . ,. . 331 
 Brionies, The . . . 35 
 Broom in a forest . . 295 
 Brown and yellow tints 
 
 predominating .. . 344 
 Brydone on the Mount 
 
 Etna Chestnuts . 175-176 
 Budding Oak, "Variety of 
 
 the . . . . 341-242 
 Buds, Colours of Oak 341-342 
 Burleigh House . . 257 
 
 Cadenham Oak, The 221-227 
 Caligula's nest . . .167 
 Calm, overca.st, soft day . 316 
 Canopy of foliage, A . 276 
 Captain C.ook's. famous 
 
 trees . . . 160-161 
 Castagna cle cento cavalli, 
 
 The . . ... 175-177 
 Castagna d^lla Galea, The 17.7 
 
INDEX. 
 
 367 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Castle in a forest, A . 293 
 
 Catching lights . . 322 
 Cedar, Branching of the 103-104 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . 102-107 
 Grandeur of the . 
 
 105-106 
 Spreading of the 
 
 103-104 
 Strength of the . 
 
 102-103, 104-106 
 
 at Hillington . 107 
 
 in England, The 106- 
 
 107 of Lebanon, The 
 
 102-107, 170-175 
 
 Celebrated trees . 153-231 
 
 Characters of trees . . 7-15 
 
 Chasm, The . . .269 
 
 ' Chasm,' Definition of a 270 
 
 ' Chaucer's Oak ' . .183 
 
 Chequered shade. The . 40 
 
 Chestnut, The . . .83-87 
 
 Charactei'istics of 
 
 the . . .83-84 
 Indigonousness of 
 
 the . . . 86 
 
 "Wood of the . 85-86 
 
 at Tortworth 188-190 
 
 at Wymondley 191-193 
 
 Chestnut cause. The great 
 
 86, 189 
 Chestnuts in Kent . . 81 
 on the Tamar . 84-85 
 upon Mount Etna 
 
 175-177 
 Chinese. bridges . . 256 
 Claude's landscapes . 291, 300 
 Clipped trees and hedges . 8 
 
 Close scenes of the forest . 
 
 290-291 
 Cloudy weather in an open 
 
 CO an try 
 
 Clump, The artificial 
 The natural 
 Clumps, Combinations of 
 of trees. Larger . 
 on lawns 
 Smaller 
 Park . 
 Trees in 
 Cluster Pine, The 
 Colours of Oak buds 
 Combinations of trees 
 Commissioners of Woods 
 
 and Forests . 
 Comparative excellence of 
 trees .... 
 Concealment of boundaries 
 
 in groves . , 
 Contempt for the Scotch 
 
 Fir . . . 114-119 
 Continued distant wood, A 247 
 Continuous ■woods . . 311 
 Contrast in distant forest 
 scenes .... 312 
 Sources of '. 236-242 
 Cool recesses of the copse . 
 
 264-265 
 Copse, The . . 263-268 
 Character of the . 
 
 264-266 
 Definition of 263-264 
 Fencing of the ,. 266 
 in distant land- 
 scape, EfEect of 
 the . . .265 
 
 328 
 237 
 237 
 251 
 236 
 260 
 . 236 
 - 255 
 235-249 
 111-112 
 341-342 
 235-354 
 
 119 
 
 277 
 
358 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Copse, Management of 
 
 the . . 266-268 
 on a river bank, 
 A . . 266-267 
 Copses, Winding walks 
 
 through . . .267 
 
 Cottages in glens . 271-272 
 Cottage in the f'orest,The 292-293 
 Cowthorpe Oak, The 161-163 
 Creation of lakes . 258-259 
 of rivers . . 258 
 of ruins . . 258 
 Curled Maple, The . . 82 
 Curtailed trunk. The 18, 23 
 Cypress, The . , 77 
 
 Damouy's Oak . . 194-195 
 Dawn of day, The . . 321 
 Days of Nature, The . 279 
 Dead arm, The . . .18 
 Deciduous groves . . 275 
 Deeidaous trees 41-102, 133-4 
 with evergreens 241 
 Deer in parks. Fallow . 259 
 sheds . . .256 
 Descriptive enumeration 
 
 of trees. . . 41-134 
 Destroying the balance of 
 
 a group .... 247 
 Destruction of old trees in 
 
 the New Forest . .119 
 Dibden, Views from . 228-229 
 Yew, The . 227-228 
 Different kinds of trees 
 
 sources of contrast . 238 
 
 Differing conditions of tree 
 
 growth . . . 151-152 
 Disorder of natural 
 
 growths . . . 288 
 
 Distance hides defects . 314 
 
 Scenery of a . 287 
 
 Distances .... 236 
 
 Distant forest. Foliage ■ 
 
 of the . . . . 265 
 
 forest scenery 311-314 
 
 forest scene under 
 
 the setting sun 331 
 
 forest views . 302 
 
 objects. Effect of 314 
 
 view of wood . 265 
 
 wood . . 304-305 
 
 woods broken by 
 
 a varied line 311-312 
 
 Docks in a forest . . 295 
 
 Donnington Castle Oaks 182-183 
 
 Dorking, Vales of . .92 
 
 Dress of trees ... 28 
 
 Drooping bough, The . 18 
 
 Durmast Oak, The . . 87 
 
 E. 
 
 Eably shoots of Ever- 
 greens .... 342 
 
 Effect of the seasons on 
 scenery . . . 341-354 
 
 Elegance in the parts of a 
 tree .... 248 
 
 Elegant temples . . 260 
 
 Elm, The . . . 59-61 
 at Magdalen Col- 
 lege, Oxford . 63 
 
INDEX. 
 
 359 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Elm bloom in 1776 . . 150 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . 60-61 
 foliage in autumn 346 
 inStaffordshii-el69-160 
 near Gisors . 181-182 
 trees in spring . 150 
 Embellishment of groves 277-278 
 Embellished scene, The . 249 
 Endogenous trees . . 184 
 Entrance gate propor- 
 tioned to the house . 257 
 Entrance gates of parks ■ 257 
 Esher, Groves of . .92 
 Evelyn on the Holly . 131 
 Evergreens,Earlyshootsof 342 
 in winter . . 350 
 Evergreen trees . 41, 102-133 
 Exogenous trees . . 184 
 Expansive spread of the 
 
 Oak . . . .49-50 
 Expensive ornaments . 256 
 Ezekiel's Cedar . . 116 
 
 Eaiblop FiiR, The , 193-194 
 
 Eelling of timber . 352-353 
 
 Fencing around Copses . 266 
 
 Perns, Beauty of . 296-297 
 
 Gracefulness of . 297 
 
 in the forest 296-297 
 
 Picturesqueness 
 
 of . . 296-297 
 
 Fertility of Nature . . 290 
 
 Pig tree at Winchester . 201 
 
 Pig trees at Lambeth 201-202 
 
 ' Pir, A very noble ' .170 
 
 FAOH 
 
 Pirmness of the Oak . 46-"! 7 
 
 Firs, The . . . 113-124 
 
 and Pines . . 114 
 
 Lateral branches 
 
 of . . . 118 
 
 Flowering shrubs . . 260 
 
 Flower-pieces of Van 
 
 Huysom, The . . 300 
 Flowers- on lawns . . 260 
 Foersch's story of the 
 
 Upas tree . . 210-214 
 Foliage of the Acacia . 93 
 of the Alder . 92 
 of the Ash, Au- 
 tumnal . . 54 
 of the Beech 66-67 
 of the Cedar . 105 
 of the Chestnut . 83 
 of the distant 
 
 forest . . 265 
 of the Elm . . 60-61 
 of the Horse 
 
 Chestnut .87-88 
 of the Lime . 80 
 of the Oak . . 33 
 of the Occidental 
 
 Plane . 72-73, 75 
 of the Oriental 
 
 Plane . .73-75 
 of the Pinaster . Ill 
 of the Scotch Pir 115 
 of the Silver 
 
 Pir . . 121-122 
 of the Spruce Fir 120 
 of the Stone Pine 109 
 of the Walnut . 79 
 of the Weeping 
 Birch . . 93-94 
 
300 
 
 INDEX, 
 
 Foliage of the "Weeping 
 
 .Willow . .89-90 
 of the Weymouth 
 
 Pine . 112-113 
 
 of the Tew 125, 128 
 
 Foreground, Scenery of a287-288 
 
 Foregrounils . . . 236 
 
 Forest., The. . - . 286-302 
 
 Definition of a 286-287 
 
 disdains human 
 
 culture. The . 286 
 Grandeur of the . 278 
 Grandeur and 
 
 dignity of the . 286 
 heath, Character 
 
 of the . . 304. 
 heath, Definition 
 
 of the . . 304 
 heaths 286, 303-304 
 lawn. Definition 
 
 of the . .301. 
 Foliage of the 
 
 distant . . 265 
 lawns . . 303-304 
 . lawns and forest 
 
 heaths . 303-305 
 laws . . . 287 
 of Lebanon, The. 106 
 pool. The . . 292 
 rouses the imagi- 
 nation. The . 286 
 scenery . .287 
 scenery, Dis- 
 
 tant . 311-314 
 
 scenery, Inter- 
 nal . . 291-292 
 scenery, Natural 288 
 scenes on canvas 293 
 
 Forest view. The embel- 
 
 iished . . 285 
 
 view. The wild . 285 
 
 views . . 263, 289 
 
 Forests of America . 158-159 
 
 Formality of art in a 
 
 park, The . . .261 
 Formal shapes in distant 
 
 woods .... 312 
 Form and foliage a source 
 
 of contrast . . . 242 
 Forms of trees . 7-8, 11-12, 15 
 Four trees, A group of . 237 
 Foxglove in a forest. The . 295 
 ' Furniture ' of the glen . 271 
 Furze, Hne of the . . 296 
 in a forest . , 296 
 in bloom . . 296 
 
 G. 
 
 Garden, The . . .260 
 General effects of the 
 
 weather on scenery . 316 
 
 Glades of glens . 271-272 
 
 Glen, The." . . 269-274 
 
 Definition of 269-270 
 
 Description of a . 
 
 271-272 
 Furniture of the . 271 
 Yarieties of 270-271 
 Glens, Cottages in . 271-272 
 Glades of . 271-272 
 of Northumber- 
 land, The . 269 
 Openings in 271-272 
 
IN'DEXi 
 
 361 
 
 Glens, Ornamentation of 
 
 272-274 
 Outlooks from . 272 
 under improve- 
 ment . . 272 
 Woody . . 272 
 Gloomy influence of tlie 
 
 grove .... 281 
 Glory of sylvan landscape, 
 The ... . 288 
 of the setting sun 331 
 Glowing colours of the set- 
 ting sun .■ . . 331 
 ' Gods inhabited groves, 
 
 The-' .... 279 
 Gothic arch, Origin of the 280 
 Grandeur and dignity of 
 the forest . . .286 
 of a storm and a 
 
 sunset . . 335 
 of the forest . 278 
 Gravelled walks . . 260 
 Grazed lawns . . . 260 
 ' Great Oak, The ' . . 185 
 ' Green mantle of the 
 
 standing pool. The ' . 292 
 ' Groaning tree. The ' 218-221 
 Group, A detached . . 248 
 along the horizon, 
 
 A . . .249 
 as a remote ob- 
 ject, A . . 247 
 A well-balanced . 242 
 as the object of a 
 
 foreground, A. 247 
 Destroying the 
 balance of a . 247 
 . on. a hiU-side, A,. 248 
 
 Group on a hill-top, A . 249 
 
 The larger . . 247 
 
 The smaller . 248 
 
 Grove in hot weather, The 276 
 
 Quiet recesses of 
 
 the . . .279 
 Recesses of the . 276 
 Sameness of the . 278 
 The open . 276-283 
 Groves and, architecture . 280 
 Concealment of 
 
 boundaries in . 277 
 Deciduous . . 275 
 Temples in . 277-278 
 EmbelHshment of 277 
 Meditation in ,. ,278 
 of Pines ,. 275-276 
 Tranquillity of 278-279 
 used as temples . 
 
 279-281 
 used for supersti- 
 tion . 280-282 
 
 Hawthorn, The . 133-134 
 Characteristics o f 
 
 the , . 133-134 
 
 Fragrance of the 133 
 
 in. a forest, The . 295 
 
 Hawthorns in Epping 
 
 Forest .... 134 
 
 in the New Forest 134 
 
 Hazy and misty weather.. 316 
 
 medium, ESect 
 
 of a ■ .' , . ,317 
 mild weather .. 316 
 
362 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Hazy sunsliine of a frosty 
 
 morning . . . 348 
 
 ' Hampton Court ' Vine, 
 
 Tlie . . . 204-205 
 
 Heath . . . .287 
 
 in a forest . . 295 
 
 Heaths, Forest . . . .286 
 
 Heavenly temperature. 
 
 Days of , . . 347 
 
 Heaviness of trees . .11-12 
 Hemlock Spruce, The 122, 124 
 Hercynian forest. Oaks in 
 
 the ... .38-39 
 ' Heme's Oak ■ . . 198-199 
 Hoar frost in winter 350-361 
 Hollow trunk, The . . 18 
 Hollie? at Dungeness 132-133 
 in the New Forest 132 
 Holly, The . . 131-133 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . 130-131 
 
 in a forest . 294-295 
 
 in winter . . 350 
 
 Holm trees at Tibur 167-168 
 
 Honeysuckle, The . . 35-36 
 
 Hop, The .... 37 
 
 Hornbeam, The . . 71 
 
 Wood of the . 71 
 
 Horse Chestnut, The 12, 87-88 
 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . . 87-88 
 Flowers of the . 87-88 
 Horse Chestnuts at Hamp- 
 ton Court ... 87 
 Houses of superior magni- 
 ficence .... 257 
 Humble plants enrich fo- 
 rest scenery . . 294-295 
 
 I. 
 
 Ilex, The . . . .130 
 Oh a racteristics of 
 the . . . 130 
 Ill-balanced trees . 12, 15 
 Ill-shaped trees in com- 
 bination . . 241-242 
 Imagination, E EEect of wild 
 
 Nature on the . . 289 
 Incidental beauties of fo- 
 rest scenery . . 315-340 
 Indian tree described ,by 
 
 Strabo . . . 208-209 
 Indistinctness suggestive 
 
 of sublimity . . .339 
 Injuries to trees . .17 
 Insect and animal life . 4 
 Intermediate season of 
 
 autumnal beauty. The . 344 
 Intermingled scenes of 
 
 wood and pasturage . 286 
 Internal forest scenery 291-292 
 forest scenes and 
 the setting sun 
 
 331-332 
 
 Italian skies . . . 333 
 
 Ivy in winter . . . 350 
 
 on trees . . 30-35 
 
 J0HNS01.T on 'the business 
 of a poet,' Dr. . 300-301 
 
 K. 
 
 Keepebs' lodges . . 256 
 Kinglake on the Cedars of 
 Lebanon . . .17 
 
INDEX. 
 
 363 
 
 ' King's Oak, The ' . 182-183 
 
 Light and shade of the 
 
 Kirchev on the Mount 
 
 
 Stone Pine . . .111 
 
 Etna Chestnut 
 
 176 
 
 Light mist. The . .317 
 
 Knots of flowers 
 
 260 
 
 Lightness and airiness of 
 
 of Scotch Fir pro- 
 
 
 young trees ... 7 
 
 duce contrasts 
 
 241 
 
 Lightness of the Ash . 63i 
 
 of trees . . 11 
 
 Light, Predominancy of . 338 
 
 ,1- 
 
 
 Lime, The. . . .79-81 
 Characteristics of 
 
 Laboueed ■wouks of aei . 
 
 256 
 
 the . . . 79 
 
 Lakes, Artificial 
 
 258 
 
 Clipping of the .79-80 
 
 Lamartine on the Cedars 
 
 
 in Sweden . . 160 
 
 of Lebanon . 
 
 172 
 
 ofCleves.The 180-181 
 
 Landscape painting,Object 
 
 
 of Niestadt, The 
 
 of ... 301-302 
 
 177-178 
 
 Landscapes, PoKshed 
 
 261 
 
 Wood of the 80-81 
 
 Land Storm, The 
 
 334 
 
 Liver-worts . . 27-28, 33 
 
 Larch, A prodigious 168-169 
 
 Lombardy Poplar, The . 76-79 
 
 The, . . 97-102 
 
 Longevity of the Oak . 60 
 
 Habitats of the . 97-98 
 
 Longleat . . . .253 
 
 Timber of the 98-102 
 
 Lopped trees ... 8 
 
 Lawns, Clumps of trees 
 
 
 Lucan on the Oak . .60-61 
 
 on 
 
 260 
 
 Luccomb Oak, The . 130-131 
 
 Flowering shrubs 
 
 
 Lycian Plane, The . 166-167 
 
 on . 
 
 260 
 
 
 Flowers on . 
 
 260 
 
 M. 
 
 Grazed 
 
 260 
 
 
 near houses 
 
 260 
 
 Magdalen College Oak, 
 
 Selection of trees 
 
 
 The . . . 184-187 
 
 for . 
 
 260 
 
 Mainmast of the ' Eoyal 
 
 Shorn . 
 
 260 
 
 Sovereign' . . . 169 
 
 Leaf cups of the Planes . 
 
 76 
 
 Maladies of trees 17-18, 23-30 
 
 Lichens . . . 27-28, 33 
 
 Malus Medica at Fundi . 160 
 
 Light and shade, Masses 
 
 
 Maple, The . . .81-83 
 
 of 
 
 265 
 
 at Boldre . . 82-83 
 
 Massing 
 
 40 
 
 Characteristics of 
 
 of the Pinaster . 
 
 111 
 
 the . . .82 
 
364 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Maple, Wood of the . . 81-82 
 Masses of light and shade . 265 
 of light on sum- 
 mer foliage . 342 
 of trees in distant 
 forest scenery . 313 
 Maundrel on the Cedars 
 
 of Lebanon . . 170-171 
 Manpertuis . . . 94-95 
 Meditation in groves . 278 
 
 Menelaid Plane, The . 165 
 Meridian sun, The . . 331 
 Incidental beau- 
 ties of the 324-325 
 Mickleham, Vales of . 92 
 
 Middle tints of autumn '. 344 
 ' Miracle Oak, The ' . . 227 
 Mirrored mossy branches . 292 
 objects in forest 
 
 pools . . 292 
 sunshine . . 292 
 Mistiness around the rising 
 sun . . . .822 
 creates pictu- 
 resqueness . 323 
 Mixture of trees in dis- 
 tant forest scenery . 313 
 Mole, The .... 92 
 Morning and evening . 324 
 Moss on trees . . . 25-27 
 Motion of the Poplars . 77-78 
 of the Weeping 
 
 Willow . . 89 
 
 of trees . . 39-40 
 
 Mountain Ash, The . . 68-59 
 
 N. 
 
 Natuuai Fokest Scenery 288 
 
 TiOE 
 
 Natural river, A . . 258 
 woods . . .288 
 Nature, Fertility of . . 290 
 Sweet recesses of 273 
 tinges her pic- 
 tures . . 320 
 unfolding herself 341 
 Wild scenes of 
 
 255-256, 263 
 
 Nature's landscape . . 254 
 
 Norbury Park ... 92 
 Northumberland, The glens 
 
 of 269 
 
 Nursery of saplings, A . 265 
 
 Oak, The . . . .41-62 
 
 Oak at Beaulieu . 229-231 
 Bently . .161 
 Bruges . . 160 
 Cadenham . 221-227 
 Cheltenham . 161 
 Cowthorpe . 161-163 
 Magdalen College 
 
 184-187 
 Swilcher . 161-164 
 
 Oak branches intermingled 238 
 buds. Colours of 
 
 341-342 
 Characteristics of 
 the . . .44.-50 
 
 ' Oak, Chaucer's ' . . 183 
 Damory's . 194-195 
 Heme's . 198-199 
 
 Oak hues in autumn 344-345 
 inTorwood. 195-197 
 
INDEX. 
 
 365 
 
 Oak, Mechanic uses of the 43 
 Picturesque beauty 
 
 of the . . 43-44 
 Pliny on the . 46 
 Qualities of the . 43-62 
 Queen Eliza- 
 beth's . 199-201 
 The Paivlop 193-194 
 'Oak, The great' . .184 
 ' The King's ' 182-183 
 ' The Miracle ' . 227 
 • The Queen's " . 183 
 ' The Eufus ' 216-218 
 ' The Shire ' . 188 
 The Worksop 187-188 
 trooa in spring . 161 
 Utility of the . 42 
 Variety of the bud- 
 ding . 341-342 
 Virgil on the . 44-50 
 at Donnington 
 Castle . 182-183 
 Oaks budding at Christ- 
 mas . . . 221-227 
 in Sussex . . 166 
 in the Hercynian 
 
 ■ forest . . 38-39 
 of Chaucer . 182-183 
 twisted by the 
 wind . . 47 
 Obelisks . . . .256 
 Object of landscape paint- 
 ing ... 301-302 
 Occidental Plane, The . 71 
 at Vicar's Hill . 73 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . .72-73 
 Peeling of the . 72 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Olive at Linturnum . 160 
 
 Open Grove, The . 275-283 
 
 Definition of the 275 
 
 Openings between forest 
 
 trees . . . 290-291 
 
 in glens . 2a-272 
 
 Orange hue of the Beech 
 
 in autumn . . . 345 
 Oriental Plane, The . . 73-75 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . .73-75 
 in Phrygia . 164-165 
 Peeling of the . 74 
 Oriental Planes in Tur- 
 key ... . 74 
 near Frascati . 74 
 Ornamentatiou of glens 
 
 272-274 
 Ornaments of trees . . 28 
 Outlooks from glens . 272 
 
 Ovid on the Maple . . 82 
 
 Paeasitioal plants . .34-36 
 
 Park clumps . . . 255 
 
 ' Park,' Description of the 251 
 
 Park proportioned to the 
 
 house .... 252 
 
 roads . . 257-258 
 
 scene. Beauty of 
 
 the. . . 278 
 scenery . 251-261 
 Parks and houses . 253-254 
 Deer in . . 259 
 Entrance gates of 257 
 Sheep in . . 269 
 
366 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Partial lights . . .328 
 Pasturage . . .287 
 
 Pendent plants . . . 30-38 
 Permanent beauties of a 
 
 distant woody scene . 311 
 Petworth House . . 252 
 Perpendicular rays of the 
 
 sun ... . 327 
 Picturesque appendages of 
 trees . . . .25-38 
 beauties of au- 
 tumn . . 347 
 beauty of trees . 3-5 
 effect by the tur- 
 bulence of the 
 atmosphere . 383 
 eye pleased by the 
 rough parts of 
 wild Nature . 289 
 ideas ... 17 
 Piles of superior grandeur 256 
 Pinaster, The . . 110-112 
 Branches of the . Ill 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . 110-112 
 Growth of the . 112 
 Pine race, The . . 107-113 
 Pines and deciduous trees 313 
 and Pirs . . 114 
 Groves of . 275-276 
 unite well in com- 
 position . . 241 
 Plain and the wood, The . 265 
 Plane by the Temple of 
 
 Delphos . . .160 
 
 Plane tree in Lycia . 165-167 
 
 near Caphise . 166 
 
 of Oaligula . . 167 
 
 FAGS 
 
 Plane of Cos, The 179-180 
 
 Planes, Catkins of the . 74-75 
 Pleasure ground, The . 260 
 Pliny on the Maple . . 81-82 
 on the Oak . . 46 
 
 Plot, Dr 55-57 
 
 Poise of trees . . . 12,15 
 
 ' Poison tree. The ' . 210-215 
 
 Polished landscapes . . 261 
 
 works of art 255-256 
 
 Pollards .... 8 
 
 Pont du Gard, Euins of . 294 
 
 Pool, The Forest . . 292 
 
 Poplars, The . . . 76-79 
 
 at Blenheim . 77 
 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . .76-78 
 
 Poussin . . . .■ 321 
 
 Poussin's landscapes . 291 
 
 Predominancy of light . 338 
 
 of shade . . 338 
 
 Prevalence of autumnal 
 
 hues . . . 344 
 Progressive light of the 
 
 early morning . . 322 
 Promontory emerging from 
 
 a mist .... 818 
 Proportion and general 
 
 form .... 245 
 Purple tint on the forest . 819 
 
 ' Queen's Oak, The ' , 183 
 Queen Elizabeth's Oak 199-201 
 Quiet recesses of the grove 279 
 Quincunxes, Iiregular . 237 
 
INDEX. 
 
 367 
 
 B,. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Eamipicamon of the 
 
 Alder .... 92 
 
 of the Chestnut . 83 
 
 ofthe ScotcliFir 115 
 
 of the Walnut . 79 
 
 of the Willows . 90 
 
 of trees . 135-138 
 
 Eeal ruin, A . . . .258 
 
 Recesses of the grove . 276 
 
 Reflection of colour . . 320 
 
 Regular forms . . . 248 
 
 line at the base 
 
 of woods, A . 312 
 line flit the sum- 
 mit of woods, A 312 
 Regularly varied line, A . 312 
 Reign of summer. The . 343 
 Resplendent gloom . . 335 
 Relative situations of trees 236 
 Richness of scenery, 
 
 Origin of the. . . 288 
 ' Rings ' on tree trunks . 184 
 Rising sun, Incidental 
 beauty of the . . 321 
 "Vapours envelop- 
 ing the . . 331 
 River, A natural . . 258 
 Rivers, Creation of . . 258 
 Rodwell on the Mount 
 
 Etna Chestnuts . 176-177 
 Rooting of trees . 38-39 
 Roots of the Acacia . . 96 
 Ruddy light of the rising 
 
 sun .... 322 
 
 Rufus Oak, The . 215-218 
 
 stone, The . 216-218 
 
 ' Rufus tree, The ' . 215-218 
 
 PA.OE 
 
 Ruin, a real . . . 258 
 
 Ruined aqueduct in a 
 
 forest scene, A . . 294 
 
 Ruins, creation of . . 258 
 
 of trees . 23-24 
 
 S, 
 
 Salvator Rosa . . 23, 84 
 Salvator Rosa's land- 
 scapes. . . . 291, 300 
 Sameness of the grove . 278 
 Scenery affected by the 
 weather. . . 315-340 
 Effect of the sea- 
 sous on . 341-354 
 in spring . 341-342 
 through a driz- 
 zling shower . 318 
 Scotch Fir, The . 113-119 
 Beauty of the 115-118 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . 114-118 
 
 Colour of the . 116 
 
 Enemies of the . 116 
 
 is indigenous,The 114 
 
 Scotch Eirs at Bessels 
 
 Leigh . . . 118-119 
 
 at Thlrkleby 118-119 
 
 in the New Eorest 119 
 
 Planting of . 117 
 
 Secretion of boundaries 
 
 in parks . . . 258 
 
 Selection of trees for lawns 260 
 
 Setting sun, The 316, 328, 335 
 
 and autumn 
 
 leaves. The . 331 
 
 Z 
 
368 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Setting Sim and internal 
 forest scenes, 
 The . . 331 
 
 and shadow, The 331 
 and summer 
 
 .leaves, The . 331 
 and the tempest, 
 
 The . . 334-335 
 Brightened gloom 
 
 of the . . 331 
 Glory of the part- 
 ing rays of the 331 
 Glowing colours 
 
 of the . . 331 
 in autumn, The 347-348 
 Shade, Predominancy of . 338 
 Shadow and the setting sun 331 
 Sheep in parks. . . 259 
 on hill-sides . 259 
 scenthrongh open- 
 ings in trees . 259 
 ' Shire Oak, The ' . . 188 
 Shirley Hihberd on the 
 
 Ivy, Mr. ... 35 
 Shorn lawns . . . 260 
 Silver Fir, The . . 121-122 
 Charaoterislios of 
 
 the . . . 121 
 
 Formality of the. 121 
 
 Sion House . . . 257 
 
 Park gate of . 257 
 
 Sky invested with a cold 
 
 tint . . . .316 
 Smoke, Incidental beauty 
 
 of 318 
 
 Sober colouring . . 321 
 Softening effect of weather 
 on distant woods . .316 
 
 Sources of picturesqueness 
 
 in trees .... 17-40 
 Speaker Lenthall . . 119 
 Species, Art of multiplying 91 
 Spencer on the Oak . . 51 
 Splendour and obscurity, 
 
 Contrast between 328, 331 
 
 Spray and foliage . 135-152 
 
 Spray of the Ash . 145-146 
 
 of the Beech . 149 
 
 of the Birch . 94 
 
 of the Birch in 
 
 Winter . 348-349 
 of the Elm . . 146 
 of the Oak . . 140 
 of the Weeping 
 
 Birch . . 93 
 of the Weeping 
 
 Willow . . 89 
 of trees in 
 
 spring . 149-151 
 
 of trees in winter 348-349 
 
 Spring, Scenery in . 341-342 
 
 tints . . 341-31-2 
 
 Spruce Fir, The . 119-121 
 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . . 120 
 ' Feathering ' of 
 the . . . 120 
 Stems a source of contrast 237 
 Stone Pine, The . 107-110 
 at Oxford . . 110 
 Beauty of the . 108 
 Characteristics of 
 the . . 107-110 
 Storm and a sunset. Gran- 
 dear of a . . . 335 
 and sunshine, The 333 
 
INDEX. 
 
 369 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Stormy weather . .316 
 Stoutness of Oak limbs . 47-48 
 . Summer, Advance of . £42 
 colouring, Yivid- 
 
 ness of . 342 
 
 foliage prepares 
 beds for masses 
 ofligbt . . 342 
 hue, TJnf ormity of 
 
 the . . . 342 
 leaves and the set- 
 ting sun . . 331 
 The reign of . 343 
 Sun above the horizon. 
 Appearance of the . 322 
 
 at noon. The . 316 
 rising, The . . 316 
 risingin unsullied 
 
 brightness. The 322 
 setting . . 316 
 Sun's disc above a woody 
 
 hill . . . .323 
 Sunset and a storm. Gran- 
 deur of a . . . 385 
 Susceptibility of motion in 
 
 trees . . . .39-40 
 Sweet grey tint over woods, 
 
 A 316 
 
 recesses of Nature 273 
 Swilcher Oak, The . 161-164 
 Sycamore, The ... 83 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . . 83 
 Peeling of the . 83 
 
 TEMPJiST AND THE SUITING 
 
 SUN, The . ... 334 
 Z 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Temples . . 256,260-261 
 Groves used as 279-281 
 in groves . 277-278 
 Thicket, The . . .268 
 'Thicket,' Definition of . 268 
 is the genuine off- 
 spring of Na- 
 ture, The . 268 
 Thistles in a forest . 295-296 
 Three trees in a line . . 236 
 in a triangle . 237 
 Tiberius's Larch . . 169 
 Telia of Basil . . .160 
 Timber, carriage in tugs . 155 
 trees . . .63-64 
 wains in a forest 
 
 353-354 
 Tints. . . . 320-321 
 Topiary amongst the Ro- 
 mans .... 11 
 Art of . . . 8, 11 
 TorwoodOak . . 195-197 
 Tortworth Chestnut, The 
 
 188-190 
 Tranquillity of groves 278-279 
 Traveller's joy, The . . 35 
 Trees and human figures . 7, 8 
 as single objects . 3-231 
 at Congo . . 161 
 in clumps . 235-249 
 seen through mist 317 
 Triangles, Double . . 237 
 Turbulence of the atmo- 
 sphere a fruitful source 
 of picturesque effect. 
 The ... . 333 
 Twilight . . . .322 
 Twisting of Oak branches 49 
 
 2 
 
370 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 u. 
 
 FAQE 
 
 Uneqital ghowth PEonrrcES 
 
 CONTRASTS . . 241-242 
 TJniforinity of the summer 
 
 hue ... . 342 
 Unnatural forms displease 8 
 Unvaried mantle of green, 
 
 An .... 342 
 
 Upas tree, The . . 210-215 
 
 V, 
 
 ' Vale,' Deptnition of 269-270 
 'Valley,' Definition of 269-270 
 Vandervoldt, The younger 334 
 Van Egmont on the Cedars 
 
 of Lebanon . . 170-171 
 
 Van Huysom . . . 300 
 
 Vanier .... 156 
 
 Vapours and the sun's 
 
 parting ray . . . 333 
 
 enveloping the 
 
 rising sun , 331 
 of grosser cli- 
 mates. The . 333 
 Varied looseness of branches 238 
 surfaces in park 
 scenery . . 264 
 Variety in the form of 
 distant wood . . 311-314 
 of landscape de- 
 lights the eye . 277 
 of the forest . 286 
 of the forest in 
 autumn . . 343 
 Various modes of growth 
 produce contrasts . . 238 
 
 Vast forest scenes are not 
 subject to art . . 305 
 scenes of Nature, 
 The. . . 249 
 Veined roots of the Ash . 55 
 
 Veins of the Maple 
 
 .81-82 
 
 Vine near Uford, A 
 
 202-205 
 
 Vines 
 
 . 36-38 
 
 Vines near Eavenna 
 
 . 205 
 
 Virgil on the Oak 
 
 .44-50 
 
 on the Ash 
 
 . 53 
 
 Vivid hues of autumn 
 
 through mist, The 
 
 . 318 
 
 Vividness of summer 
 
 colouring 
 
 . 342 
 
 w. 
 
 Walks, Gkavelled . . 260 
 ' Wallace Oak, The ' 195-197 
 ' Wallace Tree, The ' . 197 
 
 Wallace, William . 196-197 
 Walnut, The ... 79 
 Wane of autumn. The 343-344 
 Warburton on the Cedars 
 
 ofLebnnon . . 174-175 
 
 Warwick Castle . . 257 
 
 Waterloo's landscapes 290-292 
 
 Weather, Autumn . .316 
 
 Hazy and mild . 316 
 
 Hazy and misty . 316 
 
 Scenery affected 
 
 by the . 315-340 
 Stormy . . 316 
 Weeds and wild flowers in 
 
 a forest . . . 295 
 
 Weeping Birch, The . 93-94 
 
INDEX. 
 
 371 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Weeping Elm . . . 62-63 
 Elms at Cam- 
 bridge . . 62-63 
 Willow, The . 88-90 
 Willow, Charac- 
 teristics of the 88-90 
 Well-balanced group, A . 242 
 trees . . 12, 16 
 Weymouth Pine, The 112-113 
 Branches of the . 112 
 Characteristics of 
 the . . 112-113 
 White Birch, The . . 93 
 Wild flowers in a forest . 295 
 in paintings . 299 
 Wild forest presents beau- 
 ties which no skill of 
 man can rival . . 346 
 Wildness of forest growth 288 
 Wild scenes of Nature, 
 
 The . . . 255-256 
 Winding walks through 
 
 copses .... 267 
 Winter, Evergreens in . 350 
 Holly in . . 350 
 Hoar frost in 360-351 
 Ivy in . . 350 
 
 Eamification of 
 
 trees in . 135-136 
 tints of spray 348-349 
 Wintry scenes of the fo- 
 rest . . . .348 
 Withered leaves at hand 343-344 
 in the distance . 344 
 of autumn . 343-344 
 Withered top. The . 18, 23 
 Withered tree, Planting a 24-26 
 Withy, The ... 91 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Withy, Catkins of the . 91 
 Wood . . . .287 
 and pasturage. 
 Intermingled 
 scenes of . 286 
 
 contrasting with 
 
 the plain. The . 265 
 Definition of . 263 
 of the Acacia . 96-97 
 Woods emerging from a 
 
 mist .... 318 
 
 Woodstock Park . . 252 
 
 Woody glens . . . 272 
 
 landscape . . 285 
 
 Works of art in distant 
 
 forest scenery . . 314 
 Worksop Oak, The . 187-188 
 Wreathed fascia. The . 56-57 
 Wych Elm, The . . 61-62 
 Wymondley Chestnut, The 
 
 191-193 
 
 Yjbw, The. . . 124-130 
 Colour of the . 128 
 atDibden . 227-228 
 at Portingall 127, 129 
 bows . .- . 125 
 Characteristics of 
 
 the . . 125-126 
 near Boldre 
 
 126-127, 130 
 Utility of the 12-5,129 
 Veins of the . 129 
 Yews in the New Forest . 
 
 126-127