41 

 A MEMENTO OF HAINAULT FOREST. 



BY A LONDONER. 



In these days of exhibition, science, and art, it seems 'Surprising that a 

 forest belonging to the crown, and within an hour's ride of a densely-popu- 

 lated city, should be on the point of being inclosed; yet so it is; Hainault 

 Forest, in the county of Essex not twenty miles from London, is doomed 

 by order of the Commissioners of Her Majesty's Woods and Forests, to 

 destruction. I do not know whether the act of demolition has yet commenced, 

 and it is now my intention briefly to relate, as well as I can remember, one, 

 out of many, of my pleasant rambles in that Forest, with the hope of showing, 

 that not only is it a favourite resort for pleasure-parties, but also that it is 

 a place peculiai-ly suited to the London lover of Natural History, who, with 

 only a day, or even a few hours, to spare, can resort to it, and there follow, 

 without molestation, his favourite pursuits. 



It was, as near as I can recollect, one of the mornings from the 15tb. 

 to the 20th. of April, that I left the smoky city to obtain a little pure air, 

 and to enjoy a day in the country. A train which started from the Eastern 

 Counties Eailway Station at ten minutes past ten, conveyed me, at the jate 

 of about fifteen miles ' an hour, to Eomford. It was a splendid day, the sun 

 was already high in the heavens, and the Lark, that ^^crested herald of the 

 morn," soaring almost out of sight, poured forth its loud yet sweet notes, 

 surpassed, in my opinion, only by those of the Nightingale. 



Arrived at Romford, I looked in vain for any sign which could possibly 

 give me an idea of the whereabouts of Hainault Forest: in vain I strained 

 my eyes in every direction, from north to south, and from east to west: I 

 saw nothing, and almost began to doubt whether such a Forest did ^not find an 

 existence only in my dreams, but a glance at my map, published in I80O, showed 

 me that my thoughts were not imaginative, but real. I walked through the 

 small, but I cannot say pretty, town of Romford, in the direction my map 

 pointed out, and at about a ten minutes walk from the Railway Station, the 

 continued cawing of some Rooks made me pause a few minutes to observe 

 them. The Rookery belongs, as a ploughboy informed me, to a Mr. Makenzie, 

 and is an extensive one. The grounds where the Rookery is are walled in, 

 but a road runs towards the Forest along the side of part of the wall, and 

 the tops of some of the high trees hang over the road, or nearly so. I 

 have often noticed that when I have been standing in a Rookery during the 

 breeding-season, the Rooks leave their nests and fly cawing around; but here, 

 (and I have often noticed it elsewhere,) although I stood under the branches 

 of the trees on which their nests were, the Rooks seemed as unconcerned, 

 and went on feeding their young, as if no one were there; a certain proof, 

 I conclude, that they knew, perhaps by instinct, or perhaps by experience, 

 that the wall was a sufficient barrier against intruders. 



VOL. II. G 



