ime, in the young life within you.'

And the wind kissed it and the dew wept tears over it, but the fir-tree
did not understand.

Towards Christmas-time quite little trees were cut down, some not as big
as the young fir-tree, or just the same age, and now it had no peace or
rest for longing to be away. These little trees, which were chosen for
their beauty, kept all their branches; they were put in carts and drawn
out of the wood by horses.

'Whither are those going?' asked the fir-tree; 'they are no bigger than
I, and one there was much smaller even! Why do they keep their branches?
Where are they taken to?'

'We know! we know!' twittered the sparrows. 'Down there in the city we
have peeped in at the windows, we know where they go! They attain to the
greatest splendour and magnificence you can imagine! We have looked in
at the windows and seen them planted in the middle of the warm room and
adorned with the most beautiful things-golden apples, sweet-meats, toys
and hundreds of candles.'

'And then?' asked the fir-tree, trembling in every limb with eagerness,
'and then? what happens then?'

'Oh, we haven't seen anything more than that. That was simply
matchless!'

'Am I too destined to the same brilliant career?' wondered the fir-tree
excitedly. 'That is even better than sailing over the sea! I am sick
with longing. If it were only Christmas! Now I am tall and grown-up like
those which were taken away last year. Ah, if I were only in the cart!
If I were only in the warm room with all the splendour and magnificence!
And then? Then comes something better, something still more beautiful,
else why should they dress us up? There must be something greater,
something grander to come--but what? Oh! I am pining away! I really
don't know what's the matter with me!'

'Rejoice in us,' said the air and sunshine, 'rejoice in your fresh youth
in the free air!'

But it took no notice, and just grew and grew; there it stood fresh and
green in winter and summer, and all who saw it said, 'What a beautiful
tree!' And at Christmas-time it was the first to be cut down. The axe
went deep into the pith; the tree fell to the ground with a groan; it
felt bruised and faint. It could not think of happiness, it was sad at
leaving its home, the spot where it had sprung up; it knew, too, that it
would never see again its dear old companions, or the little shrubs
and flowers, perhaps not even the birds. Altogether the parting was not
pleas