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“ Under the branches of this beech wo Hung 
I Our limbs at ease, and our bent bows unstrung : 
Thus idly lying, wc inspired with zest 
The sweet fresh spirit breathing from the west. ” 
These are sweet summer pictures from “ Wiffen’s 
Garcilasso,” to which we subjoin one as beautiful, from 
the pen of our own poet Gray: — 
u There at the foot of yonder nodding beech. 
That rears its old fantastic roots on high. 
His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.” 
The beech and the chestnut are of the same family. 
Hunter and Miller are at variance in their statements 
of the number of species which constitute this genus; 
the former says three, the latter five: the beautiful 
purple beech of our shrubberies is merely a variety. It 
is doubted amongst naturalists whether the beech be an 
indigenous tree: the uncertainty seems partly grounded 
on the assertion of Caesar, who avers he never saw it in 
Britain; but as he says the same of the fir, which is an 
undoubted native, those who are jealous of the honour 
of their country’s sylva may offer this plea for retaining 
it amongst our indigenous foresters, and conclude with 
Evelyn, that Caesar’s opinion arose “ certainly from a 
