This is the tree that seems to be longer lived than any other in Britain, and though it would appear to be the prey of nearly, if not quite, two hundred species of insects, it has still had vigour of constitution to survive them all; and in many instances we might point to brave old trees which must have been veterans at the time of the Norman Conquest. Now, however, they are old and staggy, with hollow trunks truly—but what trunks!—from forty to fifty feet in circumference, presenting the following picture to us as it did to Spenser:— There grew an aged tree on the green, A goodly oak some time had it been, With arms full long, and largely displayed, But of their leaves they were disarrayed; The body big, and mightily pight, Thoroughly rooted, and of wond’rous height: Whilom had been the king of the field, And mockel mast to the husband did yield; And with his nuts larded many a swine, But now the grey moss marred his rine; His bared boughs were beaten with storms, His top was bald and wasted with worms, His honour decay’d, his branches sere. _Shepherd’s Calendar._ This, indeed, is a melancholy sight, like the Stag’s Horn Oak by the roadside between Farnham and Woolmer, in the ancient boundary of Alice Holt Forest; yet this has a young tree growing by its side, perhaps one of his own children, which gracefully conceals much of his gaunt nakedness. In the same forest are many old staggy trees, their contorted horn-like branches sticking out in a most picturesque manner from the top and sides of a still leafy head. In these the white owls may yet be seen peering out of dark cavernous hollows as they did in Gilbert White’s day; and during the summer of 1861 we with pleasure watched their motions, which so minutely agreed with those described by the father of observing naturalists, that we cannot forbear quoting his remarks thereon in his “Natural History of Selborne,” a not very distant parish from the Holt, and to which he indeed often refers:— As I have paid particular attention to the manner of life of these birds (the White Owl), during their season of breeding, which lasts the summer through, the following remarks may not be unacceptable. About an hour before sunset (for then the mice begin to run), they sally forth in quest of prey, and hunt all round the hedges of meadows and small enclosures for them, which seem to be their only food. In this irregular country we can stand on an eminence and see them beat the fields over like a setting-dog, and often drop down in the grass or corn. I have minuted these birds with my watch for an hour together, and have found that they return to their nest, the one or the other of them, about once in five minutes; reflecting at the same time on the adroitness that every animal is possessed of as far as regards the well-being of itself and offspring.