It is at this season of the year, when the falling leaves betoken the return of the sap to the earth, that it is usual to cut down the timber of the forest. Then, the young trees are pollarded; those in the prime of life felled, and many a young sapling hewn to the earth. Occasionally beautifully picturesque scenes of woodland life may be seen at this period of the year. Some years back when walking about in that part of the forest adjacent to Leyton, on a late autumnal afternoon, I saw a scene that forcibly struck my imagination. For the season of the year it was a fine day, and a warm misty atmosphere rendered indistinct the distant parts of the forest. Loud sounds of laughter, and the blows of axes attracted my attention, and I left the path I was following, and came to a rather open part of the forest, when I saw several woodmen at work. To the right lay a fine oak, that had just been felled, several young lads were busy with their bills, clearing away the young branches and twigs, whilst a man was sawing off a large arm that lay sprawling over the verdant bank. A little farther off a group of labourers had just commenced operations on a tree that I had often climbed years before. It was an oak in the prime of life with several huge arms that spread over a low copse of hazel and bramble, which had now been cleared away, and lay piled on one side for fire-wood. Several labourers had climbed into the tree and were busy with saws and axes cutting the great branches down; the tree was nearly bare of leaves. I sat down on the stump of a felled tree, and watched them bring down one after another of the bulky arms, whilst as they fell to the earth a group of young boys gave a loud huzza, and fell to peeling off the bark. After some time all the larger limbs were cut down; the men then descended from the tree, and blow after blow of the axe resounded through the forest, breaking the stillness of the scene. When half cut through a young lad ascended the tree, and fastened a long rope to the uppermost part of it. Then some more cuts were made, when the party seized the rope, and ten or a dozen of them began pulling it backwards and forwards, whilst at every swing a woodman came forward with his axe and gave another cleft in the gap they had cut. "Now, all at once my lads, ahoy ahoy!" and a loud crackle rang through the stem. "Again, my boys, ahoy! and the whole party went sweep along, a loud crackling was heard, the tree rebounded back; again came another long pull and with a bold sweep a loud snapping sound-a heavy crash-a trembling of the earth, and there lay the old oak never more to lift its green head in the mellow sky.

Around this scene, and whilst the old oak was being cleft, were groups of young fellows, pollarding the beeches and ashes, some ripping off the young shoots with hatchets, others sawing off the main branches-boys collecting the cuttings and tying them in bundles, then the large waggon piled with its lofty load of faggots goes crumbling on its huge wheels sinking every here and there half-axle deep

Queen-here the gallant Raleigh, and the bold and manly Essex attended on her sports, whilst the pompous Leicester, with a halfsneer, half-scowl, followed more for courtiership than ought else. How often may these now silent woods have rung with the blowing of the shrill horn, the panting of the poor stag, and the sweeping tread of the hounds, their tongues hanging from their mouths, and the steam rising from their bodies, whilst gallant courtiers, princely lords, and ladies on their ambling steeds came following on, or stood on the neighbouring hill around their Queen, and watched the chase of the poor stag. He now, hard pressed by his foes, rushes down the hill, there a hunter with a leash of dogs springs forth, and turns him back, he then darts towards a clump of trees, and there another ambush meets him; beset on all sides, he rushes up the hill, and stands at bay before the Queen. For a moment the hounds pause, then a bold one leaps at him, but is thrown back yelping, then another springs forward, and seizes him by the neck, a dozen are on him-he falls, and his life and heart's blood ebb out together. The Queen smiles graciously on her huntsman, and thanks him for her sport, then turns and sighs, alas! poor stag! The horn is blown-the courtiers bespattered and torn, come riding in, the party move down the hill, and the forest is left again to its own stillness.

Or if we look still farther back in the history of the Forest of Essex, we behold it as the arena of far more manly sport than the chasing a poor stag to the death. Here our old forefathers came in princely pomp with trains of followers to the hunt of the savage boar. Strange, indeed, is the comparison of the scenes of those days with those the forest now beholds. Then the wild boar foaming at the mouth, and tearing up the earth in his savage fury, went rushing head. long on in blind recklessness, driving his sturdy assailants around on all sides. In vain the spear is thrown at him, it glances harmless from his massy hide, and its bold thrower flies for his life. But now the chief comes on his low but sturdy boar steed, he rides on to the beast, and while one of the tunic clad serfs, strikes it with his pole, he plunges forward and plants his iron-headed spear beneath the ample folds of its ear, it rushes mad against a tree, snaps the spear asunder, gives a wild plunge, then falls foaming blood at the mouth.

Such were the forest sports of bygone days, but now the last relic of the princely pageantry, the daring recklessness of our ancestors, is the poor half-comic, half-absurd ceremony of the Easter hunt, when a poor stag, and some troop of dogs, are worried for a halfhour. The wild boar is no longer now an inhabitant of this country, much less of such a forest as that of Epping, and even the stag is only an intruder, brought once a year to make a cockney holiday.

Some years back I went to see this exhibition of cockney horsemanship. It was a beautiful clear calm day in early spring, the trees were half-clothed with verdure, the grass and herbs of the forest had a warm vernal appearance, and the ground was pleasantly decorated with the early spring flowers. The cowslip and primrose were budding profusely on the moist green banks, and even the blackthorn had opened some of its dark-eyed gems. For some days preceding the weather had been unusually fine for the season, so that the forest was comparatively dry, save in the low hollow parts where lay many a pool of water, nearly hid by the green verdure that covered it.

On approaching near the starting-place, which was on a bold swell of hill near Chigwell, I observed groups of all sorts of persons wending for the same place; here were a couple of young bucks on their hired bloods, riding along as if the stag was already before them; then came a tumble-down cart with half-a-dozen jolly faces in it, while foot passengers, gigs, light vans, waggons, coaches, and all sorts of vehicles came pouring along the road. On reaching the place of rendezvous, we found a considerable number collected, mostly young men from the metropolis, though some considerable number, both in garb and appearance, told of the rustic life. Young country beaux evidently intending to show their horsemanship to their lasses, many of whom were sitting in their green carts or walking about busy enough looking on at the shows, the gingerbread stalls, and the group of thimble-rig gentry, who were fleecing a young rustic in shorts and gaiters, and who having, as a matter of course, lost his half-sovereign, stood with one hand resting on his hip, and the other scratching his head, the very impersonation of foolishness. Around were collected all the manoeuvres and tricks of a fair. Here was a group of ragged young rustics, with dirty-green smocks and dogskin caps, tossing-there a strong stalwart countryman, was hurling a bludgeon at a knife poised on a stick. Close by on a platform a young lad in a sailor's garb was dancing a hornpipe, whilst a girl in a kind of Columbine's dress was dancing on a rope. Not far from the platform a dark-eyed young gipsy was telling a a country-girl her fortune; she had said something that made the girl blush, and beside the platform a young rustic was looking at the gispy party and laughing to himself; it was evident he had said something to the gispy, for the young woman with a face suffused with blushes came smiling towards him, and the gipsy gave him, as she passed, a wink of her eye, as much as to say all is right. In the midst of all was an universal din, a very Babel of discordant sounds. "Here's the most wonderful fat woman alive!" "Come and see the giant and the dwarf!" "Three throws a penny "-" Have a turn Sir, at the red and black!" and hundreds of others; mixed with voices calling aloud for one another-the screaming of children, the quarrelling of some half-heady young men, and the loud huzzaing of the boys. Presently a covered cart is seen coming along the road from Woodford, followed by a glorious collection of ragged boys, in every variety of picturesque garb, and soon the cry rings through the fair" the stag is coming.'

In a few minutes the fair stand was deserted, and the whole party moved forward to the open side of the hill. There the cart stopped, and the huntsman came up with the dogs. With some difficulty an open space was made before the back of the cart, and all remained in breathless expectation. The would-be hunters standing round on the side of the hill, or far below spread over the forest, so as to take the advantage of a start, on horses of every hue and breed under the sun. A countryman had even brought his heavy cart-horse to pursue the Mercury-footed stag!-whilst groups of chubby-faced boys are seen peering from amid the young foliage of every pollard tree in the vicinity. At length the word is given the bolt falls-the cart opens, and there stands the stag, a noble animal, looking with as

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tonishment on the strange visages around him. Then catching a
glimpse of the sunny hills in the distance, he leaps down-looks
round-rears his proud antlers-bends backwards-then leaping high
in the air, clears the hill in almost three bounds, and away! away!
through the clumps of trees and the open fern beds. Just then as
the huntsman was going to give the dogs the slip, an unlucky cockney,
whose horse was unused to the sight of stags, startled by it sprang in
among the dogs, knocking them about with his hoofs, and amid the
yelping of the dogs, and the bawling of the men, the huntsmen en-
raged came forward, and struck the unlucky cockney with his whip
over the thigh till he roared with pain, then plied it on his horse, and
away he sped down the hill, followed by the whole troop, dogs, and
men, and boys running and leaping and tearing as if for life after him.
On went the hunters floundering down the hill, whilst far ahead leap-
ing in lightsomeness of heart, and snuffling up the warm breeze as it
played around his broad antlers, on sped the stag, away! away!
through the open clefts of the wood, till it reached the open country,
and leapt wildly along the broad fallow fields, whilst all around, in
every direction, the hunters were spead over the forest. But, still
the stag kept onwards, far as the eye could pierce in the distant haze,
but one or two huntsmen following up the pursuit. In the course of
half an hour many of the hunters began to return, and what a strange
contrast with the appearance they presented when they started. Then
they were all lightsomeness of heart-they laughed-they cracked their
jokes-and bounded along in youthful joyousness-now they returned
in all manner of dis-array. There was one minus his horse, which
had taken a fancy to throw its rider, and had sped far on; another,
in white trowsers had been pitched in a miry pond; a third, had lost
his hat, others had their clothes torn by the branches, or their horses
had fallen down and injured their knees, so that they were forced to
lead them; and what with their miry clothes, their dispirited looking
countenances, their slow and tired tread, and the many and various
kinds of accidents that had befallen them, one would almost have
thought that a legion of young Pucks in their merriest liveliest hu-
mour, had been contriving every kind of practical joke, and chuck-
ling with their jovial internal laugh at the sad appearance of the poor
cocknies.

Thinking of young Puck reminds us that we are treading on enchanted ground, for the forest is the very region of Elfinland. Here the fairies were born-beneath the oaken trees they danced away the merry hours; but, alas! they have deserted their ancient domains. The rosy bowers of Titania are desolate, and the kingly halls of Oberon are covered with the meshes of the ground spider! No more Queen Mab sports in her dreary realm, or light-winged fairy flies from her fox-glove couch. Even Puck, the merry, the lighthearted, the frolicksome Puck, the very God of Fun, has gone--gone with all the creatures of the ideal world "to the tomb of all the Capulets." No more the peasant, wending through the forest at eventide, sees by some brooklets side these merry, happy little beings, sporting on the verdant sod-no more the traveller, winding through the misty forest, and beholding a faint light glowering on the marsh, smiles at the tricks of bold Robin-no night visiter

now threshes the corn for the thrifty farmer, or milks the cows for the good housewife. All, all have gone. The world of civilization has entered on a new phase of existence-the ideal spirit of beauty has shrunk before the might of the press and steam-engine. The dynasty of the fairies is gone, gone with the dryads and the hamadryads, the nymphs and naiads of the old world. And however much we may rejoice over the glorious advance of humanity, we must fain give a parting sigh to these bright creations of the portical minds of our ancestors.

Musing on this subject one summer's afternoon, as I lay reclined on the shady side of a small dingle in the forest, a kind of day-dream came over me. It seemed as if the crescent moon slowly rose over the grey trees of the forest, and dipped its bright light in a shady pool, glancing with its living light on the bright sod, when I was aware of a bright troop of fairies dancing in the moonlight. Suddenly from the purple fox-glove that overhung the pool Oberon himself came forth, borne on the crest of the night-moth. A humming sound like the buz of a hundred bees was heard, the dancing ceased, and as the king alighted in the centre of the group, a thousand tiny voices cried out, "Hail to the great Oberon! hail to the lord of the bees' sting!" Then Titania came forth and welcomed him, and he stood up on the back of his charioteer (the moth), shook his bees' sting spear, and all were hushed in silence. Then spake Oberon, " The time has come, O fairies, when we meet once more on our ancient domains; no more, however, to be honoured by mortals; this night only have ye for sports in your ancient elfin-land. Then let each away to his pleasure, some to suck the bag of the bee, some to tease the owl-moth, others to sport with the glow-worms' light; let each do his own pleasure." Then away sped the fairies each on his mission, darting about in the bright moon beams, and flying upwards towards the stars. A group of sprightly young fairies attended on their sovereigns, and whilst some danced, others sang in a low voice, sweet as the last words of the dying maiden to her beloved, a fairy ditty.

'Tis sweet, 'tis sweet through the dewy night

His plentious store,

And sparkling honey-dew with it congeal,
Or tease the snails as they slowly wheel,
Humming lightly fairy lore.

When the garish sun with fervent ray
Burns in the sky

'Neath the hollow banks-where the martins' lay,
And the reedy groves-where the wild snipe play
In the cool clear wave-we lie.

VOL. I.

20