﻿THE CLEVER BOY. 173 



he said a number of foolish words ; amongst others, that " there 

 were birds that could not fly over him." 



"Ay, indeed," answered the rook, "wrens that never mount 

 higher than a hedge ! " 



The rook soon flew away " caw cawing," at the folly and conceit 

 of the little tree, and meeting the gardener "Good friend," he 

 said, " I have just now been much struck by the conceit and absurd- 

 ity of a little tree beside yonder hedge. It is rather a pretty little 

 thing, and might be brought to something, if it were in the society 

 of trees taller and wiser than itself; but while it has no other com- 

 panions than brambles and bushes it will never try to grow tall : do, 

 good friend, take pity on this tree, and remove it into better com- 

 pany." And the gardener had a great respect for the opinion of the 

 old rook, and went, the next day, with a spade, and removed the 

 turf, and bared the roots of the conceited tree. " It is a stunted little 

 thing," he said, " but I will place it in society that will draw it up," 

 and he transplanted it into a plantation where there were straight 

 and noble trees. The little sapling felt bitterly its own insignifi- 

 cance, and its leaves hung helplessly from the boughs ; there were 

 neither hedges, nor brambles, nor nettles, to flatter its vanity 

 nothing to parnper its self-love. There was nothing it could look 

 down on ; the woodbine turned to the oak for support, and the wild 

 vine clung around the ash. Thus, when the little tree derived no 

 pleasure from looking down, it began to look up; there was a proud 

 fierce sound amid the leaves of the noble trees, and the breezes car- 

 ried the sound far and wide. The gardener had planted the little 

 tree where it had plenty of head-room, and a very beautiful beech, 

 which grew near it, said, " Dear me, how you are shooting ! " and 

 several of the good-natured trees remarked one to the other, that 

 " their little neighbor seemed determined to grow." This was quite 

 true ; when removed from the babble of low bred flattery, and placed 

 with those that were better and higher than itself, the little tree 

 began to understand that false praise that is, praise for what is 

 riot deserved is the bitterest of all censures ; and all his hope was, 

 that he might grow like other trees, to be useful according to his 

 kind. One stormy night, a sheep and her lamb sheltered beneath 

 his branches ; that made the tree, now no longer little, very happy, 



