spectacle, when the forest Anak is seen rocking, writhing, and struggling in the grasp of the tempest. His resistance is in vain; at last the tempest prevails, tearing him from his stronghold, and tumbling him, with a discordant crash, headlong to the ground. As I gaze on the massy beechen trunks around me, I think of cathedral piles, of Gothic arches, and goodly arcades; my fancy is busy with the scene, and brings before me a mixed confusion of sunshine, acorns, dried leaves, and golden fern; of timid hares and antlered stags, dappled deer, and fawns, and foxes; of pole-cats, bats, and bristled hedgehogs; of tree-climbing squirrels, with spreading tails. I hear the cooing of the wood pigeon, the wild cry of the screech owl, the mellow pipe of the blackbird, and the hum of the busy bees. Now the sun is piercing with his mid-day beams the interstices of the wood, and now the silvery rays of the midnight moon are coldly glittering through the ebon branches. Imaginary scenes flit rapidly before me. The report of the sportsman's gun cracks sharp upon the ear, the wounded pheasant flies heavily across the glade; and hark! the beagles are abroad, and the forest resounds with the wild cry of the hunters, and the murderous music of the clamorous dogs! This is a goodly place in which to act the traveller in miniature; to go Mungo-Parking on a small scale; or to wander, like Catlin, the woods and wilds of North America. What is to hinder me from fancying myself among the Choctaws and Cherokees, the Crees and the Crows, the Pawnees, the Sioux, and the Camanchees west of the Mississippi? The surrounding fields will do. for a prairie, the cattle will make capital buffaloes, and the scream of the large bird which has just rapidly passed over my head, and disappeared among the trees, is no indifferent substitute for the shrill war-whoop of the red man. But though the place may be fit for these things, it is still fitter to be visited by him who would ponder, in uninterrupted solitude, the vanity of earthly things, and deeply meditate on God's holy word. "What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?" Psa. viii. 4. "Sing, O ye heavens ; shout, ye lower parts for the Lord hath done it of the earth break forth into singing, ye mountains, O forest, and every tree therein: for the Lord hath redeemed Jacob, and glorified himself in Israel," Isa. xliv. 23. The sun is setting, and the gloom thickens around; yet still I wander at the impulse of the moment, as the numberless vignettes and deeper seclusions of the place attract my eye. The stately ash, and the silver-barked, feathery, fantastic birch, has each its charm; but the bulky beeches are the monarchs of the soil, rivalling one another in stature, strength, and beauty. Here one stands apart like an eremite, dwelling alone; and there, a giant group, in friendly brotherhood, are congregated. To describe the Burnham Beeches would be an endless task; but most of them have trunks of immense size, though not more than ten or fifteen feet high, from the top of which start up goodly trees, apparently fresh and young. Some are small, smooth, solid, and sound. Some have knotted, enormous, and distorted boles, and roots grotesque and hideous, suggesting thoughts of satyrs and dragons, "Gorgons, hydras, and chimeras dire." Others are twisted, as though a giant had seized them by their pollard heads, and wrenched them round in his rage; while many are as hollow as age can render them. I have just entered one of these, that would comfortably shelter eight or ten men from the storm. The last rays of the retiring sun are gilding the ridges of red gravel that rise up in the forest scenery, one above another, to the table land. I have explored all the depths and broken ground; pushed through the tangled gorse, and fern, and holly bushes, and brambles. I have gazed on the oaks, the ashes, the beeches, the juniper trees, and mused and revelled among them. To a lover of nature, a visit to Burnham Beeches is no common treat. The sun has set, and the moon is in the sky, yet am I still wandering amid the arresting light and shade, the silvery glare and ebon gloom, of this interesting and absorbing retirement. At this moment, the solitude and silence are perfect, if the faint rustle of a few waving leaves is excepted. I am lost; I know not which way to turn to leave the forest labyrinth; nor does it trouble me: it would not much ruffle my spirit to lay myself down for the night beneath these goodly trees. If I lost myself in the wood, still more have I been bewildered in the shadowy and winding lanes through which, at last, I have reached this place. As I wended my way by the light of the silvery moon, the unknown roads appeared to be as zigzagged as a Z. Some miles have I swerved from my proper path. Had I returned the same road by which I approached |