m, and on board a great ship that had withstood
the tempest during the night, all the flags were displayed as a token of
joy and festivity.

"The tree is down! the old oak--our landmark on the coast!" exclaimed
the sailors. "It must have fallen in the storm of last night. Who can
replace it? Alas! no one." This was the old tree's funeral oration,
brief but well said.

There it lay stretched on the snow-covered shore, and over it sounded
the notes of a song from the ship--a song of Christmas joy, of the
redemption of the soul of man, and of eternal life through Christ.

Sing aloud on this happy morn,
All is fulfilled, for Christ is born;
With songs of joy let us loudly sing,
"Hallelujahs to Christ our King."

Thus sounded the Christmas carol, and every one on board the ship felt
his thoughts elevated through the song and the prayer, even as the old
tree had felt lifted up in its last beautiful dream on that Christmas
morn.

[Illustration]

THE PORTUGUESE DUCK

A DUCK once arrived from Portugal. There were some who said she came
from Spain, but that is almost the same thing. At all events, she was
called the Portuguese duck, and she laid eggs, was killed and cooked,
and that was the end of her.

The ducklings which crept forth from her eggs were also called
Portuguese ducks, and about that there may be some question. But of all
the family only one remained in the duck yard, which may be called a
farmyard, since the chickens were admitted to it and the cock strutted
about in a very hostile manner.

"He annoys me with his loud crowing," said the Portuguese duck, "but
still, he's a handsome bird, there's no denying that, even if he is not
a duck. He ought to moderate his voice, like those little birds who are
singing in the lime trees over there in our neighbor's garden--but that
is an art only acquired in polite society. How sweetly they sing there;
it is quite a pleasure to listen to them! I call it Portuguese singing.
If I only had such a little singing bird, I'd be as kind and good to him
as a mother, for it's in my Portuguese nature."

While she was speaking, one of the little singing birds came tumbling
head over heels from the roof into the yard. The cat was after him, but
he had escaped from her with a broken wing and so came fluttering into
the yard. "That's just like the cat; she's a villain," said the
Portuguese duck. "I remember her ways when I h