576 The Seventh Son of a Seventh Son. [June, 



glare of the sunshine, oppressed by the very brightness, and turned into a 

 beech-wood by the side of the road, to seek relief from the overpower- 

 ing radiance. These beech-woods should rather be called coppices. 

 They are cut down occasionally, and consist of long flexible stems, 

 growing out of the old roots. But they are like no other coppices, or 

 rather none other can be compared with them. The young beechen 

 stems, perfectly free from underwood, go arching and intertwining 

 over head, forming a thousand mazy paths, covered by a natural trellis ; 

 the shining green leaves, just bursting from their golden sheaths, con- 

 trasting with the smooth silvery bark, shedding a cool green light 

 around, and casting a thousand dancing shadows on the mossy flowery 

 path, pleasant to the eye and to the tread, a fit haunt for wood nympl\, 

 or fairy. There is always much of interest in the mystery of a wood ; 

 the uncertainty produced by the confined boundary of the objects which 

 crowd together and prevent the eye fi'om penetrating to distance ; the 

 strange flickering mixture of shadow and sunshine, the sudden flight of 

 birds — oh, it was enchanting I I wandered on, quite regardless of time 

 or distance, now admiring the beautiful wood-sorrel which sprang up 

 amongst the old roots — now, plucking the fragrant wood-roof— now, 

 trying to count the countless varieties of woodland moss, till, at length, 

 roused by my foot's catching in a rich trail of the white-veined ivy, 

 which crept, wreathing and interlaced, over the ground, I became 

 aware that I was completely lost, had entirely forsaken all track, and 

 out-travelled all landmarks. The wood was, I knew, extensive, and 

 the ground so tumbled about, that every hundred yards presented some 

 flowery slope or broken dell, which added greatly to the picturesqueness 

 of the scenery, but very much diminished my chance of discovery or 

 extrication. 



In this emergency, I determined to proceed straight onward, trusting 

 in this way to reach at last one side of the wood, although I could not 

 at all guess which ; and I was greatly solaced, after having walked about 

 a quarter of a mile, to find myself crossed by a rude cart track; and still 

 more delighted, on proceeding a short distance farther, to hear sounds 

 of merriment and business ; none of the softest, certainly, but Avhich 

 gave token of rustic habitation, and to emerge suddenly from the close 

 wood, amongst an open grove of huge old trees, oaks, with their brown 

 plaited leaves, chenies, covered with snowy garlands, and beeches, 

 almost as gigantic as those of Windsor Park, contrasting, with their 

 enormous trunks and majestic spread of bough, the light and flexible 

 stems of the coppice I had left. 



I had come out at one of the highest points of the wood, and now 

 stood on a platform overlooking a scene of extraordinary beauty. A 

 little to the right, in a very narrow valley, stood an old farm-house, 

 with pointed roofs and porch and pinnacles, backed by a splendid 

 orchard, which lay bathed in the sunshine, exhaling its fresh aromatic 

 fragrance, all one flower ; just under me was a strip of rich meadow land, 

 through which a stream ran sparkling, and directly opposite a ridge of 

 hanging coppices, surrounding and crowning, as it were, an immense 

 old chalk-pit, which, overhung by bramble, ivy, and a hundred pendent 

 weeds, irregular and weather-stained, had an air as venerable and ro- 

 mantic as some gray ruin. Seen in the gloom and stillness of evening, 

 or by the pale glimpses of the moon, it would have required but little 

 aid from the fancy, to picture out the broken shafts and mouldering arches 



