6O THE SQUIRRELS THAT LIVE IN A HOUSE. 



and in one day he will make a desolation that centuries 

 cannot repair. Ignorant boor that he is, and all incapable 

 of appreciating the glorious works of Nature, it seems to 

 be his glory to be able to destroy in a few hours what it 

 was the work of ages to produce. The noble oak, that has 

 been cut away to build this contemptible human dwelling, 

 had a life older and wiser than that of any man in this 

 country. That tree has seen generations of men come and 

 go. It was a fresh young tree when Shakespeare was 

 born ; it was hardly a middle-aged tree when he died ; it 

 was growing here when the first ship brought the white 

 men to our shores, and hundreds and hundreds of those 

 whom they call bravest, wisest, strongest, warriors, states- 

 men, orators, and poets, have been born, have grown up, 

 lived, and died, while yet it has outlived them all. It has 

 seen more wisdom than the best of them ; but two or three 

 hours of brutal strength sufficed to. lay it low. Which of 

 these dolts could make a tree ? I 'd like to see them do 

 anything like it. How noisy and clumsy are all their move- 

 ments, chopping, pounding, rasping, hammering ! And, 

 after all, what do they build? In the forest we do every- 

 thing so quietly. A tree would be ashamed of itself that 

 could not get its growth without making such a noise and 

 dust and fuss. Our life is the perfection of good manners. 

 For my part, I feel degraded at the mere presence of these 

 human beings ; but, alas ! I am old ; a hollow place at 



