ceases, and another of
these watch-dogs of the woods takes it up afar off.

There is an opening in the monotonous firs by some rising ground, and
the sunshine falls on young Spanish chestnuts and underwood, through
which is a little-used footpath. If firs are planted in wildernesses
with the view of ultimately covering the barren soil with fertile earth,
formed by the decay of vegetable matter, it is, perhaps, open to
discussion as to whether the best tree has been chosen. Under firs the
ground is generally dry, too dry for decay; the resinous emanations
rather tend to preserve anything that falls there.

No underwood or plants and little grass grows under them; these,
therefore, which make soil quickest, are prevented from improving the
earth. The needles of firs lie for months without decay; they are, too,
very slender, and there are few branches to fall. Beneath any other
trees (such as the edible chestnut and birch, which seem to grow here),
there are the autumn leaves to decay, the twigs and branches which fall
off, while grasses and plants flourish, and brambles and underwood grow
freely. The earth remains moist, and all these soon cause an increase of
the fertility; so that, unless fir-tree timber is very valuable, and I
never heard that it was, I would rather plant a waste with any other
tree or brushwood, provided, of course, it would grow.

It is a pleasure to explore this little dell by the side of the rising
ground, creeping under green boughs which brush the shoulders, after the
empty space of the firs. Within there is a pond, where lank horsetails
grow thickly, rising from the water. Returning to the rising ground I
pursue the path, still under the shadow of the firs. There is no end to
them--the vast monotony has no visible limit. The brake fern--it is
early in July--has not yet reached its full height, but what that will
be is shown by these thick stems which rise smooth and straight, fully
three feet to the first frond.

A woodpecker calls, and the gleam of his green and gold is visible for a
moment as he hastens away--the first bird, except the wood-pigeons, seen
for an hour, yet there are miles of firs around. After a time the ground
rises again, the tall firs cease, but are succeeded by younger firs.
These are more pleasant because they do not exclude the sky. The
sunshine lights the path, and the summer blue extends above. The fern,
too, ceases, and the white sand is now concealed by heath, with