Ariosto, Tasso, Spenser, Shakspeure, and Milton, have sanctified them to the hearts of all generations. 
What a world of magnificent creations comes swarming upon the memory as we wander in woods ! The 
gallant knights and beautiful dames, the magical castles and hippogriffs of the Orlando ; the enchanted 
forest, the Armida and Erminia of the Gerusalemme Liberata; “ Fair Una with her milk white land),” and 
all the satyrs, Archimages, the fair Florimels and false Duessas of the Faery Qucene; Ariel and Caliban, 
Jaques and his motley fool in Arden, the fairies of the Midsummer-Nights’ Dream, Oberon, Titania, and 
that pleasantest of all mischief-makers, ineffable Puck, the noble spirit of the immortal Comus. With such 
company, woods are to us anything but solitudes— they arc populous and inexhaustible worlds, were crea- 
tures that mock the grasp but not the mind, a matchless phantasmagoria, flit before us ; alternately make 
us merry with their pleasant follies, delight us with their romantic grandeur and beauty, and elevate our 
hearts with their sublime sentiments. What wisdom do we learn in the world that they do not teach us 
better ! What music do we hear like that which bursts from the pipes of the universal Pan, or comes from 
some viewless source with the yEolian melodies of Faery-land ? Whatever woods have been to all ages, to 
all descriptions of superior mind, to all the sages and poets of the past world, they are to us. We have the 
varied whole of their sentiments, feelings, and fancies, bequeathed as an immortal legacy, and combined and 
concentrated for our gratification and advantage ; besides the innumerable pleasures which modern art has 
thrown to the accumulated wealth of all antiquity. Botany has introduced us to a more intimate acquain- 
tance with the names and characters, and with something also of the physical economy, of both “the trees 
of the wood” and of the smallest plants which flourish at their feet; so that wherever we cast our eyes, we 
behold matter for both admiration and research. 
What can be more beautiful than trees ? their lofty trunks august in their simplicity, asserting to the 
most inexperienced eye their infinite superiority over the imitative pillars of man’s pride ! their graceful 
play of wide-spreading branches! and all the delicate and glorious machinery of buds, leaves, flowers and 
fruit, that with more than magical effect burst forth, from naked and rigid twigs, with all the rich and 
brilliant, and unimaginably varied colours under heaven; breathing delectable odours, pure, and fresh and 
animating; pouring out spices and medicinal essences ; and making music, from the softest and the most 
melancholy under tones to the full organ-peal of the tempest. I wonder not that trees have commanded 
the admiration of men in all nations and periods of the world. What is the richest country without trees ? 
What barren and monotonous spot can they not convert into a paradise? Xerxes, in the midst of his ambi- 
tious enterprise, stopped his vast army to contemplate the beauty of a tree. Cicero, from the throng, and 
exertion, and anxiety of the Forum, was accustomed, Pliny tells us, to steal forth to a grove of palm-trees, 
to refresh and invigorate his spirit. In the Scaplan Groves, the same author adds, Thucydides was supposed 
to have composed his noble histories. The Greek and Roman classics, indeed, abound with expressions of 
admiration of trees and woods, and with customs which have originated in that admiration; but above all, 
as the Bible surpasses, in the splendour and majesty of its poetry, all books in the world, so is its silver and 
arborescent imagery the most bold and beautiful. Beneath some spreading tree are the ancient patriarchs 
revealed to us sitting in contemplation, or receiving the visits of angels ; and what a calm and dignified 
picture of primeval life is presented to our imagination, at the mention of Deborah, the wife of Lapidoth, 
judging the twelve tribes of Israel, between Ramah and Bethel, in Mount Ephraim, beneath the palm-tree 
of Deborah ! The oaks of Bashan, and the cedars of Lebanon, are but other and better names for glory and 
power. The vine, the olive, and the fig-tree are made imperishable symbols of peace, plenty, and festivity. 
David in his psalms, Solomon in his songs and proverbs, the Prophets in the sublime outpourings of 
their awful inspiration, and Christ in his parables— those most beautiful and perfect of all allegories— luxu- 
riate in signs and similes drawn from the fair trees of the East. 
Who has walked in woods, that has not felt them become to him as superb temples fillino- him with a 
desire : — 1 ’ 
To contemplate and worship Him whose mind 
Stirs in the stilly night-like solitude, 
Or breathes in whispers, on the gentle wind, 
Through vast cathedral groves, and leaves a calm behind. Millhouse. 
