I cannot dwell upon the scene, nor could I describe my feelings, should I attempt it. For nearly an hour my heart was stunned, my mind bewildered. But tears at length came to my relief, and after a time I was able to hear from Raymond the sad story of my uncle’s death. He had died in a fit, cut down without a moment’s warning, and, as I afterwards learned, in consequence of his intemperate habits. The funeral took place the next day. I walked in the procession to the burial ground, but I was so completely overwhelmed with my loss as scarcely to notice anything around me. But when the coffin was let down into the ground and the earth was thrown upon it, I felt such a pang at the idea of being forever separated from my uncle, as almost to distract me. For a moment, I was on the point of leaping into the grave and asking to be buried with him; but it was closed, and the procession moved away. I returned, and I was then alone, without a relative in the world, so far as I knew. A few days after these events, an examination of my uncle’s affairs was made, and it was discovered that his estate was insolvent. Every dollar of my own property was gone, and I was now a beggar! These facts were told me by Raymond; they did not, however, immediately make a deep impression upon me; but I soon learned what it is to be without parents, without money, and without a home. Who planted the Oaks? The truth that no animal is created but for some wise purpose, is beautifully illustrated in the case of the squirrel. It is a singular, but well authenticated circumstance, that most of those oaks that we call spontaneous, are planted by this little animal, in which way he has performed the most essential service to mankind, and particularly to the inhabitants of Great Britain. It is related in some English work, that a gentleman walking out one day in the woods belonging to the Duke of Beaufort, his attention was attracted by a squirrel, which was on the ground at no great distance from him. He stopped to observe his motions: in a few moments, the squirrel darted to the top of a tree, beneath which he had been sitting. In an instant, he was down again with an acorn in his mouth, and after digging a small hole, he stooped down and deposited the acorn; then covering it, he darted up the tree again. In a moment he was down with another, which he buried in the same manner. This he continued to do, as long as his observer thought proper to watch him. This industry of the little animal is directed to the purpose of securing him against want in winter; and it is probable that his memory is not sufficiently retentive to enable him to remember the spot in which he had deposited every acorn. He, no doubt, loses a few every year; these few spring up, and are destined to supply the place of the parent tree. Thus is Britain, in some measure, indebted to the industry and bad memory of a squirrel for her pride, her glory, and her very existence.