intended to wean him from a world, in which, by God's blessing, he had risen to high rank and consideration among men. So he lay on his bed, patiently and trustfully, retaining possession of his faculties, and conversing cheerfully with those around him, until the end came. He died on the seventeenth of April, 1790, at the venerable age of eighty-four years and three months

CHRONICLES OF AN OLD OAK.

CHAPTER I.

This fine old world of ours is but a child
Yet in the go-cart; patience! give it time
To learn its limbs-there is a hand that guides.

TENNYSON'S PRINCESS.

THE DAYS OF THE CONFESSOR.

Boy. What can it be? I heard it again just now:-a low, rather hoarse, whispering sound. Is it the wind among the branches? No, it is not quite like that. It seems to me more like a voice. Perhaps if I sit down and quietly listen, it will speak words I shall understand.

Oak. I want to tell you my story.

Boy. Oh! do you indeed? that must be very interesting, I am sure. Only-won't it be very long, Mr. Oak?

Oak. I suppose it must be long: but, if you are tired, you can go away and come again. I think I shall live to tell it you, though I know I am very old—almost dropping to pieces indeed.

Boy. Why, yes, everybody says that. I think you lost an arm last winter, and one of your feet too.

Oak. You need not tell me. And yet there is life in my heart. Just see one of my best boughs has plenty of acorns upon it. I wish the squirrels would let me alone. Younger trees would be more proper for them, and it is not pleasant to me to have them scampering over my old sides.

Boy. I suppose the owls suit you better?

Oak. Indeed-it is come to that. I had rather not: but still, as my middle is hollow, there is no denying that it is the right place for an owl's nest. Only, dear boy, pray remember, you must never mistake the owl's voice for mine. I do not hoot nor grumble. I am always glad to see you, so come whenever you like, and don't be afraid of the owl's eyes. You remind me of many past things.

Boy. Well, I will get leave to come now and then. you must always tell me nice stories.

But

Oak. No, that I don't promise. I shall tell you the truth, and I have seen many things in the course of my life that are not at all pleasant. I cannot tell you all, nor half, but what I do tell shall be according to my conscience. I should like, when you are a man, that you should be able to say, "Once upon a time I met with an honest old oak, who told me true things of English life." I do not want to tell you falsehoods.

Boy. Can't you begin now? It is really very pleasant here. Oak. Oh, so pleasant! to say the truth, it was because I saw you liked it, that I have been tempted to open my mouth and speak. You do not guess, perhaps, how long I have been living on this spot.

Boy. A very long time I know. Let me see, were you here in King Charles's days?

Oak. Much, very much earlier.

Boy. Perhaps in Queen Elizabeth's?

Oak. My dear boy, I was an old oak then. I see you know but little of old trees. What year do you call this? Boy. The year 1859.

Oak. Well, this I know, that I was planted in the year 934, and that I was a noble tree at the time of the Norman conquest.