178 ID &m* in 



another, were silently disjointed from the rest, till at 

 length a labour was achieved in the breaking down of 

 these firm trees, which, had it been done by the hand 

 of man, would have made the wide forest ring. Nothing 

 now remains of the once gigantic trees, not even the sem- 

 blance of their ancient selves nothing but shapeless trunks, 

 heavy ponderous masses, with here and there a strip of 

 rugged bark, in the interstices of which, tufts of moss and 

 pendent ferns have struck their roots. There is nothing 

 either in the trunks or branches to tempt the woodman's 

 hatchet, and therefore, the old trees still remain. Their 

 roots are firmly interlaced in the earth, they clasp the 

 blocks of stone that lie buried beneath the soil, with 

 their stout spurs and knotted fangs, while here and there 

 a projecting mass rises above the scanty herbage, dotted 

 over with the yellow lichen and little nail wort which 

 grows on dry walls and rocks. Crooked into every ima- 

 ginable shape, they still hold their stems erect, memorials 

 of past ages, revealers of what time has done ; yea, per- 

 haps, also what the hand of man has achieved, though the 

 old trees stand not, as many others, chroniclers connected 

 with some of those memorable events, which give a date to 

 history, and are waymarks, which identify the noiseless 

 steps of time. The winds of many winters have reft off the 

 giant branches which long since afforded a shelter from the 

 blast; rovers of the forest men, perhaps, with bow and 

 shaft, have burnt them. Some have left, in breaking, a 

 bleached and splintered stump, but concerning others 



