THE ENGLISH PARKS. 23 



I saw the beauty and force of that first line in the pastorals of 

 Virgil, where he addresses Tityrus as &quot; playing upon his lute 

 under the spreading shade of a beech-tree&quot; These trees are 

 looked upon with great veneration ; in many cases, they are num 

 bered ; in some, a label is affixed to them, giving their age ; 

 sometimes a stone monument is erected, saying when and by 

 whom this forest or this clump was planted ; arid commonly 

 some record is kept of them as a part of the family history. I 

 respect this trait in the character of the English, and I sympa 

 thize with them in their veneration for old trees. They are the 

 growth often of centuries, and the monuments of years gone by. 

 They were the companions of our fathers, who, it may be, were 

 nourished by their fruit, and reposed under their shade. Perhaps 

 they were planted by the very hands of those from whom we 

 have descended ; and whose far-sighted and comprehensive 

 beneficence embraced a distant posterity. How many revolu 

 tions and vicissitudes in the fortunes of men have they surveyed 

 and survived ! They have been pelted by many a storm ; the 

 hoarse and swift wind has often growled and whistled among 

 their branches ; the lightnings and tempest have many a time 

 bent their limbs and scathed their trunks. But they, like the 

 good and the truly great in seasons of trial, have stood firm and 

 retained their integrity. They have seen one generation of men 

 treading upon the heels of another, and rapidly passing away ; 

 wars have burst forth in volcanic explosions, and have gone out ; 

 revolutions have made their changes, and the wheel again 

 returned to its starting point ; governments and princes have 

 flourished and faded; and the current of human destiny has 

 flowed at their roots, bearing onwards to the traveller s bourn 

 one family and one people after another ; but they still stand, 

 green in their old age, as the mute yet eloquent historians of 

 departed years. Why should we not look upon them with rev 

 erence ? I cannot quite enter into the enthusiasm of an excel 

 lent friend, who used to say that the cutting down of an old tree 

 ought to be made a capital offence at law ; yet I deem it almost 

 sacrilegious to destroy them, excepting where necessity demands 

 it ; and I would always advise that an old tree, standing in a 

 conspicuous station either for use or ornament, should be at least 

 once more wintered and summered before the sentence of death, 

 which may be passed upon it, is carried into execution. 



The trees in the park of the palace of Hampton Court are, 



