bird sang with all his might, and all was music and gladness.

24. "But the little blue flower near the water — I want that too," said the Oak-tree; “and the bellflower, and the dear little daisy!" The tree wanted all these.

25. "We are here! we are here!" chanted sweet, low voices on all sides.

26. “But the pretty anemones of last spring, and the bed of lilies of the valley that blossomed the year before that! and the wild crab-apple tree! and all the beautiful trees and flowers that have adorned the wood through so many seasons- -oh, would that they had lived till now!"

27. We are here! we are here!" was the answer; and this time it seemed to come from the air above, as though they had fled upward first.

28. “Oh, this is too great happiness, it is almost incredible!" exclaimed the Oak-tree; "I have them all, small and great; not one of them is forgotten! How can such blessedness be possible?"

29. "In the kingdom of God all things are possible," was the answer.

30. And the tree now felt that his roots were loosening themselves from the earth. "This is best of all," he said; "now no bonds shall detain me, I can soar up to the height of light and glory; and

my dear ones are with me, small and great them all!"

*

*

*

*

- I have

*

31. Such was the old Oak-tree's dream; and all the while, on that holy Christmas Eve, a mighty storm swept over sea and land; the ocean rolled its heavy billows on the shore, the tree cracked, was rent and torn up by the roots, at the very moment when he dreamt that his roots were disengaging themselves from the earth. He fell. His three hundred and sixty-five years were now as a day is to the May-fly.

32. On Christmas morning, when the sun burst forth, the storm was laid; all the church bells were ringing joyously, and from every chimney, even the poorest, the blue smoke curled upward, as from the Druids' altar of old uprose the sacrificial steam. The sea was calm again, and a large vessel that had weathered the storm the night before now hoisted. all its flags, in token of Yule festivity.

is

The tree

gone, -the old Oak-tree, our beacon," crew; "it has fallen during last night's storm.

can its place ever be supplied?"

said the

How

33. This was the tree's eulogium, brief but well meant. There he lay, outstretched upon the snowy carpet near the shore, whilst over it reëchoed the hymn sung on shipboard, the hymn sung in thanksgiving for the joy of Christmas.

- HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

LXXX. RED RIDING HOOD

1. On the wide lawn the snow lay deep,

Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap;
The wind that through the pine trees sung
The naked elm boughs tossed and swung;
While, through the window, frosty starred,
Against the sunset purple-barred,

We saw the somber crow flap by,
The hawk's gray fleck along the sky,
The crested blue jay flitting swift,
The squirrel poising on the drift,
Erect, alert, his broad, gray tail
Set to the north wind like a sail.

2. It came to pass, our little lass,
With flattened face against the glass,
And eyes in which the tender dew
Of pity shone, stood gazing through
The narrow space her rosy lips
Had melted from the frost's eclipse:
"Oh, see," she cried, "the poor
blue jays!
What is it that the black crow says?
The squirrel lifts his little legs
Because he has no hands, and begs;
He's asking for my nuts, I know:
May I not feed them on the snow?"

3.

Half lost within her boots, her head
Warm-sheltered in her hood of red,
Her plaid skirt close about her drawn,
She floundered down the wintry lawn;
Now struggling through the misty veil
Blown round her by the shrieking gale;
Now sinking in a drift so low

Her scarlet hood could scarcely show
Its dash of color on the snow.

4. She dropped for bird and beast forlorn
Her little store of nuts and corn,
And thus her timid guests bespoke:

"Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak, Come, black old crow,

Come, poor blue jay,

Before your supper's blown away!

Don't be afraid, we all are good;

And I'm mamma's Red Riding Hood!"

5. O Thou whose care is over all,
Who heedest even the sparrow's fall,
Keep in the little maiden's breast
The pity which is now its guest!
Let not her cultured years make less
The childhood charm of tenderness,
But let her feel as well as know,
Nor harder with her polish grow!

Unmoved by sentimental grief
That wails along some printed leaf,
But prompt with kindly word and deed
To own the claims of all who need,
Let the grown woman's self make good
The promise of Red Riding Hood!

-JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

LXXXI. CHEERY PEOPLE

I. O the comfort of them! There is but one thing like them - that is sunshine. That the cheery people are brighter and better even than sunshine, is easily proved; for who has not seen a cheery person make a room and a day bright, in spite of the sun's not shining at all, in spite of clouds, and rain, and cold, all doing their very best to make it dismal?

2. The more you think of it, the more you see how wonderfully alike the two are. The sun on the fields makes things grow fruits, flowers, and grains; the cheery person in the house makes everybody do his best — makes the one who can sing feel like singing, and the one who has an ugly, hard job of work to do feel like shouldering it bravely and having it over with. And the music and mirth.