of old; it was ripe, too; man and tree were both ripe and ready to
fall.

What a sympathy there was between them, what a friendship, what a
secret! How many storms had both those old trees encountered since God
first threw them together! The old elm had shaken, bent, and groaned
under the violent grasp of the tempest, which hundreds of times had
swept across that common. But it still stood, patiently and bravely
waiting, amid the rolling years, for the end. Brave old elm! There is
no sympathy in a tree, or this final meeting would have awakened it;
but what matter? There is enough in man for the tree and himself too,
enough to kindle regard in his heart for every square inch of timber in
that old trunk; enough to make him see eyes in every joint--loving
eyes, looking at him in mute affection; enough to transform every limb
into strong arms stretched out to protect the old man in his
feebleness, and enable him to see a smile in every wrinkling crack and
fissure in thy hard, weather-beaten bark. Dear old elm, there needs no
apology if a man love thee.

Who could wonder if Old Abe felt something like this for that tree? we
should wonder if he did not. There, Old Abe, dear trembling old man,
rest thy white, honoured head against the breast of that elm, and weep
if thou wilt, and never mind whether man understand thee or not, God
does. Weep, old man, but not in fear; thou hast nothing to fear, God
is with thee, and "the place whereon thou standest is holy ground." It
is the natural vent for those feelings which come crowding in upon
thee, some from the long past, and some from the approaching future,
now rapidly drawing on, with all its revelations of wonder and delight.

And thus old Abe stood with his head resting against the tree, his eyes
closed, his tears running, and his lips silently moving in prayer to
God; so he paid his vows once more, and gathered strength for the few
remaining days of his pilgrimage; then he retraced his steps towards
home, and by the time he arrived there he was entirely himself again,
and no one would guess the emotion he had felt at Bethel.

"Well, Sally," he exclaimed, as he re-entered his cottage, "I've been
to th' owd spot! They have hewn all abaat it, but th' owd tree stands
yet God 'll keep that tree while I live, and then they may do what they
like wi' it."

So Abe went on, quietly severing himself from one tie after another
which bound him to this world, and getting rea