[Fagus.[C] Nat. Ord.—AmentiferÆ; Linn.—Monoec. Poly.]

The Common Beech (F. sylvÁtica), is supposed to be indigenous to England, but not to Scotland or Ireland. According to Evelyn, it is a beautiful as well as valuable tree, growing generally to a greater stature than the Ash: though Gilpin observes, that it does not deserve to be ranked among timber-trees; its wood being of a soft, spongy nature, sappy, and alluring to the worm. Neither will Gilpin allow that, in point of picturesque beauty, it should rank much higher than in point of utility. Its skeleton, compared with that of the oak, the ash, or the elm, he says, is very deficient; yet its trunk is often highly picturesque, being frequently studded with bold knobs and projections, and having sometimes a sort of irregular fluting about it, which is very characteristic. It has another peculiarity, also, which is somewhat pleasing—that of a number of stems arising from the root. The bark, too, wears often a pleasant hue. It is naturally of a dingy olive; but it is always overspread, in patches, with a variety of mosses and lichens, which are commonly of a lighter tint in the upper parts, and of a deep velvet green towards the root. Its smoothness, also, contrasts agreeably with these rougher appendages. No bark tempts the lover so much to make it the depository of his mistress's name. In days of yore, it seems to have commonly served as the lover's tablet. In Dryden's translation of Virgil's Eclogues, we find the following:—

Or shall I rather the sad verse repeat,
Which on the Beech's bark I lately writ—
I writ, and sang betwixt.

There seems to have been connected with this custom the curious idea, that as the tree increased in growth, so would the words, and also the hopes expressed thereon:

The rind of every plant her name shall know,
And as the rind extends the love shall grow.

Our own Thomson, too, narrates that Musidora carved, on the soft bark of a Beech-tree, the confession of her attachment to Damon:

At length, a tender calm,
Hushed, by degrees, the tumult of her soul;
And on the spreading Beech, that o'er the stream
Incumbent hung, she, with the sylvan pen
Of rural lovers, this confession carved,
Which soon her Damon kissed with weeping joy.

The branches of the Beech are fantastically wreathed and disproportioned, twining awkwardly among one another, and running often into long unvaried lines, without any of that strength and firmness which we admire in the oak, or of that easy simplicity which pleases in the ash: in short, we rarely see a Beech well ramified. In full leaf, it is unequally pleasing; it has the appearance of an overgrown bush. Virgil, indeed, was right in choosing the Beech for its shade. No tree forms so complete a roof. If you wish either for shade or shelter, you will find it best

Beneath the shade which Beechen boughs diffuse.

Its bushiness imparts a great heaviness to the tree, which is always a deformity:

A gloomy grove of Beech.

Sometimes a light branch issues from a heavy mass; and though these are often beautiful in themselves, they are seldom in harmony with the tree. They distinguish, however, its character, which will be best seen by comparing it with the elm. The latter has a rounder, the former a more pointed foliage; but the elm is always in harmony with itself. Gilpin can see few beauties in the Beech; but, in conclusion, he admits that it sometimes has its beauty, and often its use. In distance, it preserves the depth of the forest, and, even on the spot, in contrast, it is frequently a choice accompaniment. In the corner of a landscape, too, when a thick heavy tree is wanted, or a part of one, at least, which is often necessary, nothing answers the purpose like the Beech.

If we would really appreciate the beauty of this tree, we should walk in a wood of them. In its juvenility, contrary to the generality of trees, the Beech is decidedly the most pleasing, not having acquired that heaviness which Gilpin so loudly complains of. A light, airy young Beech, with its spiry branches hanging in easy forms, is generally beautiful. And, occasionally, the forest Beech, in a dry hungry soil, preserves the lightness of youth in the maturity of age.

We must, however, mention its autumnal hues, which are often beautiful. Sometimes it is dressed in modest brown, but commonly in glowing orange; and in both dresses its harmony with the grove is pleasing. About the end of September, when the leaf begins to change, it makes a happy contrast with the oak, whose foliage is yet verdant. Some of the finest oppositions of tint which, perhaps, the forest can furnish, arise from the union of oak and Beech. We often see a wonderful effect from this combination; and yet, accommodating as its leaf is in landscape, on handling, it feels as if it were fabricated with metallic rigour.

The leaves are of a pleasant green, and many of them remain on the branches during winter. In France and Switzerland, when dried, they are very commonly used for beds, or, instead of straw, for mattresses. Its fruit consists of "two nuts joined at the base, and covered with an almost globular involucre, which has soft spines on the outside, but within is delicately smooth and silky." Beech mast, as it is called, was formerly used for fattening swine and deer. It affords also a sweet oil, which the poor in France are said to eat most willingly.

—The Beech, of oily nuts
Prolific.

The Beech abounds especially along the great ridge of chalk-hills which passes from Dorsetshire through Wiltshire, Hampshire, Surrey, Sussex, and Kent; trenching out into Berkshire, Buckinghamshire, and Hertfordshire; and it is also found on the Stroudwater and Cotswold hills in Gloucestershire, and on the banks of the Wye in Herefordshire and Monmouthshire. It is particularly abundant in Buckinghamshire, where it forms extensive forests of great magnificence and beauty. It is seldom found mixed with other trees, even when they are coeval with it in point of age. It is rarely found in soil that is not more or less calcareous; and it most commonly abounds on chalk. The finest trees in England are said to grow in Hampshire; and there is a curious legend respecting those in the forest of St. Leonard, in that county. This forest, which was the abode of St. Leonard, abounds in noble Beech-trees; and the saint was particularly fond of reposing under their shade; but, when he did so, he was annoyed during the day by vipers, and at night by the singing of the nightingale. Accordingly, he prayed that they might be removed; and such was the efficacy of his prayers, that since his time, in this forest,

"The viper has ne'er been known to sting,
Or the nightingale e'er heard to sing."

The wood of this tree, from its softness, is easy of being worked, and is consequently a favourite with the turner. Beechen bowls, curiously carved, were highly prized by the ancient shepherds. Indeed, we learn that their use was almost universal:

Hence, in the world's best years, the humble shed
Was happily and fully furnished:
Beech made their chests, their beds, and the joined stools;
Beech made the board, the platters, and the bowls.

And it is still used for dishes, trays, trenchers, &c. And Dodsley informs us that it was used for the sounding-boards of musical instruments.

—The soft Beech
And close-grained box employ the turner's wheel;
And with a thousand implements supply
Mechanic skill.

We cannot willingly conclude this article without introducing Wordsworth's beautiful description of a solitary Beech-tree, which stood within "a stately fir-grove," where he was not loth

To sympathize with vulgar coppice birds,
That, for protection from the nipping blast,
Thither repaired. A single Beech-tree grew
Within this grove of firs, and in the fork
Of that one Beech appeared a thrush's nest:
A last year's nest, conspicuously built
At such small elevation from the ground,
As gave sure sign that they who in that house
Of nature and of love had made their home,
Amid the fir-trees all the summer long,
Dwelt in a tranquil spot.

The principal varieties of the Beech are:—

1. Purpurea, the purple Beech, which has the buds and young shoots of a rose colour; the leaves, when half developed, of a cherry red, and of so dark a purple, when fully matured, as to appear almost black.

2. Foliis variegatis, having the leaves variegated with white and yellow, interspersed with some streaks of red and purple.

3. Pendulata, the weeping Beech, having the branches beautifully pendent.