t what it
was, but it rang so consolingly, so joyously!... Christopher drove
on, and he felt as though a bandage had been taken from his eyes; he
reflected what a nice house, what a bonny wife and rosy children he had,
and how warm the cloak which he had thrown over him was, and how well
off were both man and beast; and through the still night he drove along,
and beside him sat a spirit; but not an illusion of the brain, such as
in olden time men conjured up to their terror, a good spirit sat beside
him--beside the woodman who his whole life long had never believed that
anything could have power over him but what had hands and feet.

It is said that, on troublous nights, evil spirits settle upon the necks
of men, and belabor them so that they gasp and sweat for very terror;
quite another sort it was to-day which sat by the woodman: and his heart
was warm, and its beating quick.

In ancient times, men also carried loads of wood through the night, that
heretics might be burned thereon: these men thought they were doing a
good deed in helping to execute justice; and who can say how painful it
was to their hearts, when they were forced to think: To morrow, on this
wood which now you carry, will shriek, and crackle, and gasp, a human
being like yourself? Who can tell what black spirits settled on the
necks of those who bore the wood to make the funeral-pile? How very
different was it to-day with our woodman Christopher!

And earlier still, in ancient times, men brought wood to the temple,
whereon they offered victims in the honor of God; and, according to
their notions, they did a good deed: for when words can no longer
suffice to express the fervency of the heart, it gladly offers what
it prizes, what it dearly loves, as a proof of its devotion, of the
earnestness of its intent.

How differently went Christopher from the Duben Forest upon his way! He
knew not whether he were intending to bring a purer offering than men
had brought in bygone ages; but his heart grew warm within him.

It was day as he arrived before the gates of Leipzig. Here there met
him a funeral-procession; behind the bier the scholars of St. Thomas,
in long black cloaks, were chanting. Christopher stopped and raised his
hat. Whom were they burying? Supposing it were Gellert. Yes, surely,
he thought, it is he: and how gladly, said he to himself, would you now
have done him a kindness,--ay, even given him your wood! Yes, indeed you
would, and now he i