The reproduction of a photograph by Mr. Heath, of George-street, Plymouth, shows the entrance to Mount Edgcumbe Park. Here there are down three fine elms, each four hundred years old. One fell right across the path, the other two fell towards the lodge, which they only escaped by a few inches, the branches even sweeping off some of the slates from the roof of the building. Had the trees fallen but a little more to the north, the lodge must have been crushed like cardboard. All the way up the avenue leading to the house the trees are lying in every direction. In the private garden behind the house (the favourite resort of the Earl and his family), the beautiful cedars, known only to those who have had the privilege of visiting this retired spot, are all down or shivered where they stand. Particularly and painfully noticeable are a fine old lime, a chestnut tree, and a beautiful Turkey oak, not only rooted up but split to pieces. These the Earl describes as having been his favourite trees. [Illustration: THE ENTRANCE, MT. EDGCUMBE PARK.] "On the hill overlooking the ruins of the old castle, all but one of the umbrella pines, so well known to all visitors to the park, are rooted up, and scattered. In the laurel walk, dozens of fine trees are down, quite obstructing the pathway, but the saddest scene of all in this portion of the park is the fall of a fine silver beech, which stood just at the end of the walk. Strange to say, this tree has fallen in the opposite direction to every tree in the park, as if its sole purpose had been to crush a beautiful camellia tree that stood exactly opposite, and that has yearly yielded a thousand blooms. Close by is still standing a fir, the tallest tree in all the park, looking as though, through all the stormy night and day, it had reared its proud head in defiance of the tempest.