Selected Short Works: The Oak and the Briony, The Old Man's Story, The Two Kinds of Fear, Every-day Heroism, Domestic Animals, and the Fly Leaf

A majestic oak reared his lofty head high above his brethren of the forest, which was his ancient home, or as most would say, his kingdom; for who could look at that tall and spreading form, and say it was not worthy to reign there supreme?

Ages had passed as days over the old oak; children’s children had gamboled, century after century, around his gray and ancient trunk, while they, the very memory of whose name had fled away, had once, in the fresh joyousness of youth, graven them on the knotted bark; little dreaming that loved and cherished ones, as then they were all, save that frail memorial of them, should pass away and be forgotten. But the giant oak was not immortal, and time’s stern fingers had slowly indeed, but alas! too surely, grasped the tree; and while vainly trying to hide his work, the oak felt his power.

Still the gnarled and iron roots stretched out far beyond what was justly their right, and as many a child, while plucking their fringe of moss, stumbled and fell over some unseen straggler, he wondered that his innocent trap, which seemed so far away from the mighty tree, yet owned him as a father. All admired him; the very birds delighted in his boughs (each in itself a tree) as if they were proud to form their home therein. But the praise of generations had made the proud tree still prouder and more haughty; and as pride makes but few friends, many a jealous companion secretly wished his fall.

In a quiet home, sheltered by a moss-covered root, a little green shoot was born and nurtured; but its tender head was only just raised from among the brilliant bed of green, and the oak saw it not. But when spring’s fragrant and balmy breath had kissed it, and summer’s mild and fruitful rays had gently lighted on it (for they could but with difficulty pierce the leafy arbour above), the little shoot grew into a healthy plant. Then the oak looked down angrily and scornfully upon it, and said, “Who art thou, that darest to dwell unasked, so near my noble trunk?” And the little plant answered, “Nature chose this favoured spot as my birth-place, unworthy as I am of so royal a shelter. Briony is my name, and I am but a useless weed; yet suffer me, I pray thee, to live on unhurt, and all that is mine of gratitude and love shall be poured out on thee.” Humility often disarms the anger which could ill bear a hasty answer; and the proud tree no longer despised the humble plant which so needed a protecting arm; and he bade her live securely. So the graceful little briony flourished more and more, and the oak could not but delight in a friend so meek and gentle; for till then his misjudged pride had all but shut out companionship. The friendship of beings so different, was a surprise to all, and an envious tree hinted it was not for long. But the monarch’s heart of iron was softened, and changed not, but loved the creeping plant, while she seemed formed for tender lovingness. And so they lived on, till twice the pendant nests of the wren and the bottletit had been embowered among the acorns, and twice the squirrel had reared her frolicsome young in the same safe retreat.