Do you climb up through the Hanger and admire the beeches there?

Down in the valley where I slew the bear; And there doth grow a fair broad branchèd beech, That overshades a well: so who comes first, Let them abide the happy meeting of Us both.

And even here, where I have to teach my hands to hew the beech for stakes to fence our cave, she dies of laughing as she recalls itand says that single occasion was worth all we have paid for it.

Storms are gradually levelling the ancient beech and ash trees in the woods, but it will be many a long day before the hand of nature has marred the beauty of what has always seemed to me to be one of the fairest spots on earth.

It is he who has told us what to expect, loving the beech like a father, "the most lovely of all forest trees whether we consider its smooth rind or bark, its glossy foliage or graceful pendulous boughs."

Commencing the descent the view is at once lost, but we pass a beech whose beauty is not easily conveyed.

The special points of Epping Forest which should be included in a long day's ramble are Connaught Water, a lake near Chingford; High Beach, an elevated portion of the forest possessing some splendid beeches; the earthwork known as Loughton Camp, which probably belongs to pre-Roman times, and Ambresbury Banks, towards Epping.

Later on, the oaks, in a monochrome of buff, will rival the beeches.

Squirrels there were, dashing across the open glades and running up the smooth beeches and chestnut trees, as quick as light, and rabbits, dodging in and out amongst the ferns, and just showing the snow-white patch under their little tails as they disappeared, and now and again the lordly deer stepping daintily and leisurely through the deep fern; all these lived in the wonderful depths of Craythew Park, and of birds there was no end.

Round about there was not a single tree save the "Jew's beech"; for that he made, therefore, with all his might, and stretched himself on the shady moss under it, tired to death.

Now splits a beech with such a crack That all the valleys echo it back.

Green swells the beech, the widening knots improve, So spread the tender growths of culture'd love; Wave follows wave, the letter'd lines decay, So Love's soft forms neglected melt away.

Pine thrives on soil that stunts oak and twists beech.

When Sunday tidings from the front Made pale the priest and people, And heavily the blessing went, And bells were dumb in the steeple; The Soldier's widow (summering sweerly here, In shade by waving beeches lent)