all this length of years had seemed to the tree scarcely more than so many days appear to us men and women, boys and girls.

2. A tree's life is not quite the same as a man's : we wake during the day, and sleep and dream during the night; but a tree wakes throughout three seasons of the year, and has no sleep till winter comes. The winter is its sleeping timeits night after the long day which we call spring, summer, and autumn.

3. Through many a warm summer day had the May flies danced in light, innocent glee round his crown; and if, for a moment, one of these little creatures rested from its play on one of the large, fresh oak leaves, the tree would say, "Poor little insect! only one day long is thy brief life! how sad that is!"

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is past for thee."

4. Sad!" would the little May fly then exclaim in wonder; "what meanest thou by 'sad'? Everything is so bright, so warm, so beautiful, and I am so happy!" "But only for one day, and then all "Past!" repeated the May fly; "what is 'past'? Art thou 'past,' too?" "No, indeed I shall live for thousands of thy days, perhaps, and my day lasts a whole year. But that is something so long that thou canst not reckon it."

5. "Well, then, I do not understand thee at all. Thou hast thousands of days, and I have thousands of moments, in which to be happy and joyous. Will the beauty of this world cease when thou diest?"

"No," said the tree; "it will last longer, infinitely longer." "Well, then, we are in the same case, only I reckon differently."

6. And the May fly danced hither and thither, rejoiced over her fine, delicate wings, and reveled in the warm atmosphere, which was so perfumed with the delicious scents from the clover field and the wild roses, elders, and honeysuckles of the hedge, not to speak of bluebells, cowslips, and wild thyme, that the little insect felt intoxicated with sweet odors.

7. The day was long, full of brightness, beauty, and joy, and by sunset the little May fly felt wearied out with pleasant excitement. Her wings would bear her no longer; softly she glided down upon the cool, rocking blades of grass, nodded her little head, and slept the happy sleep of death.

8. "Poor little May fly!" quoth the oak tree; "thine was too brief an existence!" And every summer day recurred the same dance, the same argument, and the same peaceful falling asleep. It was repeated through whole generations of May flies, all alike light-hearted and joyous in their little lives.

9. The oak tree stood wide awake during his spring morning, his summer noon, and his autumnal evening; now it was nearly night; winter was drawing nigh.

10. Already the storms were singing, "Good night, good night! there falls a leaf, there falls a leaf! we plucked it, we plucked it! Sleep soundly! we will sing thee to sleep! Thy old boughs crack and rustle, but we will do thee no harm! It is thy three hundred and sixty-fifth night, but thou art as fresh as a sapling. Sleep soundly! The skies are dripping with snow-they will shake a warm coverlet over thy feet; sleep soundly and dream pleasant dreams!"

11. And the oak tree stood stripped of all his foliage, ready to go to rest for the whole winter, and in it to dream many dreams.

12. Now, according to human reckoning the tree was in his fourth century. He was the tallest, mightiest tree in the wood. His crown towered high above all the other trees, and was seen far out at sea, serving as a beacon to ships; but the old oak tree had never thought how many eyes sought him out from afar. High up in his green crown wood doves had built their nests, and the cuckoo perched to announce spring; and in the autumn, when his leaves looked like copper plates hammered out thin, birds of passage came and rested awhile among the boughs before they took their long flight. But now it was winter; the tree stood leafless, and the bowed and crooked branches displayed their dark outlines.

13. It was just at the holy Christmas-tide that the oak tree dreamt his most beautiful dream. He seemed to hear the church bells ringing all around, and to feel as though it were a mild, warm summer day. Fresh and green he reared his mighty crown on high, and the sunbeams played among his leaves. As in a festive procession, all that the tree had beheld in his life now passed by.

14. Knights and ladies, with feathers in their caps and hawks perching on their wrists, rode gaily through the wood; dogs barked, and the huntsman sounded his bugle.

15. Then came foreign soldiers in bright armor and gay vestments, bearing spears and halberds, setting up their tents, and presently taking them down again. Then watch fires blazed up and bands of wild outlaws sang, reveled, and slept under the tree's outstretched boughs; or happy lovers met in quiet moonlight and carved their initials on the grayish bark.

16. At one time a guitar and an Æolian harp had been hung amid the old oak's boughs by merry traveling apprentices; now they hung there again, and the wind played sweetly with their strings.

17. And now the dream changed. A new and stronger current of life flowed through him, down to his lowest roots, up to his highest twigs, even to the very leaves. The tree felt in his roots that a