DEAN’S
Illustrated Farthing Books.
THE OAK
AND THE BRIONY.
LONDON: DEAN & SON,
11, Ludgate Hill.
THE OAK AND THE BRIONY.
A majestic oak reared his lofty head high above his brethren of theforest, 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{3}worthy to reign there supreme?
Ages had passed as days over the old oak; children’s children hadgamboled, century after century, around his gray and ancient trunk,while they, the very memory of whose name had fled away, had once, inthe fresh joyousness of youth, graven them on the knotted bark; littledreaming that loved and cherished ones, as then they were all, save thatfrail memorial of them, should pass away and be forgotten. But the giantoak was not immortal, and time’s stern fingers had slowly indeed, butalas! too surely, grasped the tree; and while vainly trying to hide hiswork, the oak felt his power.
Still the gnarled and iron roots stretched out far beyond what wasjustly their right, and as many a child, while plucking their fringe ofmoss, stumbled and fell over some unseen straggler, he wondered that hisinnocent trap, which seemed so far away from the mighty tree, yet ownedhim 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{4}therein. But the praise of generations had made the proud tree stillprouder and more haughty; and as pride makes but few friends, many ajealous companion secretly wished his fall.
In a quiet home, sheltered by a moss-covered root, a little green shootwas born and nurtured; but its tender head was only just raised fromamong the brilliant bed of green, and the oak saw it not. But whenspring’s fragrant and balmy breath had kissed it, and summer’s mild andfruitful rays had gently lighted on it (for they could but withdifficulty pierce the leafy arbour above), the little shoot grew into ahealthy plant. Then the oak looked down angrily and scornfully upon it,and said, “Who art thou, that darest to dwell unasked, so near my nobletrunk?” And the little plant answered, “Nature chose this favoured spotas my birth-place, unworthy as I am of so royal a shelter. Briony is myname, and I am but a useless weed; yet suffer me, I pray thee, to live{5}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 ahasty answer; and the proud tree no longer despised the humble plantwhich so needed a protecting arm; and he bade her live securely. So thegraceful little briony flourished more and more, and the oak could notbut delight in a friend so meek and gentle; for till then