THE BEECH. 



325 



of growing life as in the cloisters of a cathedral. 

 The ground is bare of everything save withered 

 leaves^ and dead twigs, and wrinkled husks ; 

 every herb, if any ever grew here, has hidden 

 itself under the brown covering of the earth, 

 as if afraid to show signs of life in that universal 

 solitude. As far as the eye can reach, on all 

 sides extends an irregular succession of lofty 

 fluted columns, which seem to have been chiselled 

 to their existing proportions ; for nowhere is 

 there to be detected a single rugged trunk in- 

 dicative of expansive growth, nor one to which 

 the mantling Ivy imparts a borrowed semblance 

 of ^dtality : the very lichens which chequer 

 their smooth barks seem to be monumental, 

 rather than endowed with life. Overhead the 

 long wavy boughs are intersecting each other at 

 every possible angle, but all stark and rigid. 

 The wiry twigs which form a network over the 

 whole, are apparently striving to escape from the 

 solemn influence which reigns below. Yet there 

 is no gloom here, for the sun, as if aware that 

 this is the only season at which his rays can 

 penetrate these recesses, makes up in bright- 

 ness for what he wants of heat. And, if we 

 look a little more closely, we shall discover, that, 

 though Nature is asleep, her ^dtal functions 

 have only withdrawn themselves from sight ; 

 mysterious operations are still going on, of which, 

 though we cannot now comprehend them, v\'e 

 shall in a few months have no difliculty in dis- 

 covering the results. Examine one of the long 

 and sharp buds with which every branch is so 

 plentifully furnished, and, although we may be 

 unable to account for the apparent suspension 



