|WHEN Britain was first brought by Roman ambition within the knowledge
of Southern Europe, the interior of our Island was one vast forest.
Cæsar and Strabo agree in describing its towns as being nothing more
than spaces cleared of trees--"royds," or "thwaites" in North of England
phrase--where a few huts were placed and defended by ditch or rampart.
Somersetshire and the adjacent counties were covered by the Coit Mawr,
or Great Wood. Asser tells us that Berkshire was so called from the Wood
of Berroc, where the box-tree grew most abundantly. Buckinghamshire was
so called from the great forests of beech (boc), of which the remnants
still survive. The Cotswold Hills, and the Wolds of Yorkshire, are shown
by their names to have been once far-spreading woodlands; and the
same may be said of the Weald of Sussex, the subject, in part, of the
preceding chapter. "In the district of the Weald," writes the Rev. Isaac
Taylor, "almost every local name, for miles and miles, terminates in
_hurst, ley, den, or field_. The _hursts_ were the dense portions of the
forests; the _leys_ are the open forest-glades where the cattle love to
lie; the dens are the deep wooded valleys, and the _fields_ were little
patches of 'felled' or cleared land in the midst of the surrounding
forest. From Petersfield and Midhurst, by Billinghurst, Cuckfield,
Wadhurst, and Lamberhurst, as far as Hawkshurst and Tenterden, these
names stretch in an uninterrupted string." And, again, "A line of
names ending in _den_ testifies to the existence of the forest tract in
Hertfordshire, Bedfordshire, and Huntingdon, which formed the western
boundary of the East Saxon and East Anglican Kingdoms. Henley in Arden
and Hampton in Arden are vestiges of the great Warwickshire forest of
Arden, which stretched from the Forest of Dean to Sherwood Forest." *
Hampshire was already a forest in the time of William the Conqueror:
all he did was to sweep away the towns and villages which had sprung
up within its precincts. Epping and Hainault are but fragments of
the ancient forest of Essex, which extended as far as Colchester.
Lancashire, Cheshire, Yorkshire, and the other northern counties, were
the haunts of the wolf, the wild boar, and the red deer, which roamed at
will over moorland and forest, and have given their names here and there
to a bold upland or sequestered nook.
Even down to the time of Oueen Elizabeth immense tracts of primeval
forest remained unreclaimed. Sir Henry Spelman ** gives the following
list of those which were still in existence.
* Words and Places, pp. 381-3.
** Quoted in _English Forests and Forest Trees._
[Illustration: 0064]
[Illustration: 0065]
This list is evidently far from complete. It may, however, serve to show
the extent of unreclaimed land in England so recently as the sixteenth
century. And here, it should be noted, that though, as a matter of fact,
forest lands are generally woodlands also, this is not essential to
the meaning of the word. A "forest," says Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood, * "is
properly a wilderness, or uncultivated tract of country; but, as such
were commonly overgrown with trees, the word took the meaning of a large
wood. We have many forests in England without a stick of timber upon
them." It is especially so in Scotland, as many a traveller who has
ridden all the long day by the treeless "Forest of Breadalbane" will
well remember.
* _Dictionary of English Etymology._
The question has been recently much discussed whether our forests
ought to be retained in their present extent. Economists have shown
by calculation that forests do not pay. It is said that they encourage
idleness and poaching, and thus lead to crime. Estimates have been made
of the amount of corn which might be raised if the soil were brought
under the plough. Yet few persons who have wandered through the glades
of our glorious woodlands would be willing to part with them. Admit that
the cost of maintenance is in excess of their return to the national
exchequer; yet England is rich enough to bear the loss; and it is a poor
economy which reduces everything to a pecuniary estimate. "Man shall
not live by bread alone." In God's world beauty has its place as well as
utility. "Consider the lilies."
"God might have made enough--enough
For every want of ours,
For temperance, medicine, and use,
And yet have made no flowers."
"He hath made everything beautiful in his time;" and means that we
should rejoice in His works as well as feed upon His bounty and learn
from His wisdom. While by no means insensible to the charm of a richly
cultivated district, where "the pastures are clothed with flocks, the
valleys also are covered over with corn," yet let us trust that the day
is far distant when our few remaining forests shall have disappeared
before modern improvements and scientific husbandry.
To the lover of nature, forest scenery is beautiful at all seasons.
How pleasant is it, in the hot summer noon, to lie beneath the "leafy
screen," through which the sunlight flickers like golden rain; to watch
the multitudenous life around us--the squirrel flashing from bough to
bough, the rabbit darting past with quick, jerky movements, the birds
flitting hither and thither in busy idleness, the columns of insects
in ceaseless, aimless gliding motion--and to listen to the mysterious
undertone of sound which pervades rather than disturbs the silence!
Beautiful, too, are the woods when autumn has touched their greenery
with its own variety of hue. From the old Speech House of the Forest
of Dean we have looked out as on a billowy, far extending sea of
glory--elm, oak, beech, ash, maple, all with their own peculiar tints,
yet blending into one harmonious chord of colour in the light of the
westering sun; whilst from among them the holly and the yew stood out
like green islands set in an ocean of gold.
A little later in the year, and we tread among the rustling leaves,
whilst over us interlaces in intricate tracery a network of branches,
twigs, and sprays:--
"The ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang."
Return a few weeks afterwards, and surely it will be felt that forest
scenery is never more fairy-like than when the bare boughs are feathered
with snowflakes, or sparkle with icicles, that flash like diamonds in
the wintry sunlight, or faintly tinkle overhead as they sway to and fro
in the icy breeze. Never is the forest more solemn than when, with a
sound like thunder or the raging sea, the wind tosses the giant branches
in wild commotion. We cannot wonder that Schiller delighted to wander
alone in the stormy midnight through the woods, listening to the tempest
which raged aloft, or that much of his grandest poetry was composed amid
scenes like these.
Nor must we forget the aspect of the woods in early spring, when Nature
is just awaking from her winter's sleep. It needs a quick eye to trace
the delicate shades of colour which then succeed each other--the dull
brown first brightening into a reddish hue, as the glossy leaf-cases
begin to expand, then a faint hint of tender green as the pale leaves
burst from their enclosure one after another, tinging with colour the
skeleton branches which they are soon to clothe with their beautiful
mantle.
"Mysterious round! What skill, what force divine,
Deep felt, in these appear! A simple train,
Yet so delightful, mixed with such kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combined,
Shade unperceived so softening into shade.
And all so forming an harmonious whole,
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still."
The New Forest claims precedence over all others, from its extent, its
picturesque beauty, and its historical associations. Though greatly
encroached upon since the time that the Conqueror "loved its red deer as
if he were their father," and the Red King fell beneath the arrow of Sir
Walter Tyrrell, it still contains long stretches of wild moorland,
and mighty oaks which may have been venerable in the days of the
Plantagenets. The red deer have entirely disappeared. About a hundred
fallow-deer yet remain. They are very shy, hiding themselves in the
least visited recesses of the Forest, and are rarely seen except during
the annual hunt, which takes place every spring. In 1874 a pack of
bloodhounds was brought down by Lord Londesborough, who owns a beautiful
park near Lyndhurst. The sport, however, is said not to have been very
good. Numerous droves of forest ponies run wild, and with the herds
of swine feeding upon the acorns and beech-mast give animation to the
scene. Amid the forest glades even pigs become picturesque.
Charming excursions may be made into the Forest from the towns on its
borders, Southampton, Lymington, Christchurch, or Ringwood. But he
who would fully appreciate its beauties must take up his quarters at
Lyndhurst, in the very heart of its finest scenery. From this centre,
walks or drives may be taken in every direction, and in almost endless
variety. One of these, describing a circuit of about twelve miles, past
the Rufus Stone and Boldrewood, claims especial mention. The road leads
for a short distance through a richly-wooded and highly cultivated
district. On a knoll to the left is a farm-house occupying the site
of the Keep of Malwood, where William Rufus slept the night before his
death. From this point vistas, locally known as "peeps," are cut
through the trees, commanding noble views over the Forest, and extending
southwards to Southampton Water, the Channel and the Isle of Wight. The
soil now becomes more barren, and the trees more sparse and stunted. At
the bottom of a steep descent stood a pyramidal stone, marking the spot
where the king was slain, bearing on its three sides a record of the
event. This has now been cased by an iron cylinder, with the original
inscriptions in bold relief. To the left stretches a long bare ridge of
moorland, from the summit of which the eye ranges over grand sweeps
of fern, gorse, and heather, bounded by woodlands to the verge of the
horizon.
[Illustration: 0068]
The road now passes through a succession of forest glades, over
smooth green turf, beneath arches of beech and oak, with a luxuriant
undergrowth of holly and yew. At Burley Lodge we reach some of the
finest and oldest timber in the Forest. Here formerly stood twelve
magnificent oaks, known as the "Twelve Apostles." Most of these have,
disappeared, but two yet remain, which for size, beauty, and venerable
antiquity are perhaps unequalled. A little farther on, a grove of
beeches arrests the traveller by the grandeur and beauty of their forms,
and is a favourite halting-place. Enthusiastic lovers of sylvan scenery,
artists and others, not infrequently encamp here for days together,
screened from wind and weather not only by the canvas of their tent,
but by the impenetrable roof of foliage overhead. Bearing to the south,
along an intricate labyrinth of woodpaths, through modern plantations
alternated with clumps of primeval forest, we reach& the cultivated
district, with smiling farms, stately mansions, and picturesque
villages, returning thus to Lyndhurst.
[Illustration: 0069]
Before we bid a regretful adieu to this little forest town, we must by
all means visit the new church. The noble fresco of the Ten Virgins by
Leighton which forms the altar-piece, is understood to be the munificent
gift of the artist. The look of sullen or of wild despair on the faces
of the foolish virgins as they are rejected, and the expression of
sternness blended with pity in that of the angel who repels them, may
well awaken solemn thought:
"Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now!"
[Illustration: 0070]
The Forest of Dean, though less extensive than the New Forest, is hardly
less beautiful;--
"The queen of forests all that west of Severn lie."--_Drayton_.
It occupies the high ground between the valleys of the Severn and the
Wye. What Lyndhurst is to the one, the Speech House is to the other.
The Foresters' Courts have been held here for centuries, in a large
hall panelled with dark oak and hung round with deer's antlers. Here the
"verderers," foresters, "gavellers," miners, and Crown agents meet
to discuss in open court their various claims in a sort of local
parliament. Originally the King's Lodge, it is now a comfortable inn,
affording good accommodation for the lovers of sylvan scenery. The deer
with which the forest once abounded diminished in numbers up to 1850,
when they were removed. But, as in the New Forest, droves of ponies
and herds of swine roam at large among the trees, giving animation and
interest to the landscape. A different feeling is aroused by the sight
of furnaces and coal-pits in different directions, indicative of the
mineral treasures hidden beneath the fair surface of this forest.
Ironworks have in fact existed here from very early times; the
forest-trees having, as in the Weald of Sussex, afforded an abundant
supply of fuel, though (thanks to the coal-beds beneath) without the
same result in denuding the district of its leafy glories.
Savernake Forest, in Wiltshire, the property of the Marquis of
Ailesbury, is the only English forest belonging to a subject, and is
especially remarkable for its avenues of trees. One, of magnificent
beeches, is nearly four miles in length, and is intersected at one point
of its course by three separate "walks" or forest vistas, placed at such
angles as with the avenue itself to command eight points of the compass.
The effect is unique and beautiful, the artificial character of the
arrangement being amply compensated by the exceeding luxuriance of the
thick-set trees, and the soft loveliness of the verdant flowery
glades which they enclose. The smooth bright foliage of the beech is
interspersed with the darker shade of the fir, while towering elms and
majestic wide-spreading oaks diversify the line of view in endless,
beautiful variety. At one point, a clump of trees will be reached--the
veterans of the forest, with moss-clad trunks and gnarled half-leafless
branches; the chief being known as the King Oak, but sometimes called
the Duke's, from the Lord Protector Somerset, with whom this tree was
a favourite. The railway from Hungerford to Marlborough skirts this
forest, the southern portion of which is known as Tottenham Park. An
obelisk, erected on one of its highest points, in 1781, to commemorate
the recovery of George III., forms an easily-recognisable landmark,
and may also guide the wanderer in the forest glades, who might else be
bewildered by the very uniformity of the lone lines of foliage. On the
whole, if this Forest of Savernake has not the vast extent, or the wild
natural beauty of some other forests, it has all the charm that the
richest luxuriance can give, while some of its noblest I trees will be
found away from the great avenues, on the gentle slopes or in the mossy
dells, which diversify the surface of this most beautiful domain. Nor
will the visitor in spring-time fail to be delighted by the great banks
of rhododendron and azalea, which at many parts add colour and splendour
to the scene.
Among our smaller woodlands, Burnham Beeches claim special notice. They
are reached by a charming drive of five or six miles from Maidenhead.
The road leads at first through one of the most highly cultivated and
fertile districts in England, and then enters Dropmore Park, with its
stately avenues of cedar and pine, and some of the finest araucarias
in Europe. The Beeches occupy a knoll which rises from the plain, over
which it commands splendid views, Windsor Castle and the valley of the
Thames being conspicuous objects in the landscape. The trees are many
of them of immense girth; but having been pollarded--tradition says by
Cromwell's troopers--they do not attain a great height. They are thus
wanting in the feathery grace and sweep which form the characteristic
beauty of the beech; but, in exchange for this, the gnarled, twisted
branches are in the very highest degree picturesque, and to the wearied
Londoner few ways of spending a summer's day can be more enjoyable than
a ramble over the Burnham Knoll, with its turfy slopes and shaded dells,
or better still, a picnic with some chosen friends in the shadow of one
or other of these stupendous trees.
[Illustration: 0072]
Space will not allow us to do more than refer to the forests of Epping
and Hainault, Sherwood and Charnwood, Whittlebury and Delamere, with
many others. The names recal the memories of happy days spent beneath
their leafy screen, or in wandering over the wild moorlands on which
they stand, with grateful thoughts, too, of--
"That unwearied love
Which planned and built, and still upholds this world,
So clothed with beauty for rebellious man."