You, friendly Earth! how far do you go

With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that

flow,

With cities and gardens, and cliffs, and isles,

And people upon you for thousands of miles?

Ah, you are so great, and I am so small,
I tremble to think of you, World, at all;
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper inside me seemed to say:

"You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot

You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"

THE FIR TREE

By HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

UT in the forest stood a pretty little Fir Tree. It had a good place; it could have sunlight, air there was in plenty, and all around grew many larger comrades-pines as well as firs. But the little Fir Tree wished ardently to become greater. It did not care for the warm sun and the fresh air; it took no notice of the peasant children, who went about talking together, when they had come out to look for strawberries and raspberries. The children often came with a whole basketful, or with a string of berries which they had strung on a straw. Then they would sit down by the little Fir Tree and say, "How pretty and small this one is!" The Fir Tree did not like that at all.

Next year he had grown bigger, and the following year he was taller still.

"Oh, if I were only as tall as the others!" sighed the little Fir. "Then I would spread my branches far around and look out from my crown into the wide world. The birds would then build nests in my boughs, and when the wind blew I would nod grandly."

It took no pleasure in the sunshine, in the birds, or in the red clouds that went sailing over it morning and evening.

When it was winter, and the snow lay all around,

white and sparkling, a hare would often come jumping along and spring right over the little Fir Tree. O, that made him so angry! But two win

ters went by, and when the third came, the little Tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run around it.

"Oh, to grow, to grow, and become old; that's

the only fine thing in the world," thought the Tree.

In the autumn the woodcutters always came and felled a few of the largest trees; that was done this year, too, and the little Fir Tree, that was now quite well grown, shuddered with fear, for the stately trees fell to the ground with a crash, and their branches were cut off, so that the trees looked quite naked, long and slender, and could hardly be recognized. Then they were laid upon wagons, and the horses dragged them away out of the wood. Where were they going? What destiny awaited them?

In the spring, when the Swallows and the Stork came, the Tree asked them, "Do you know where the big firs were taken? Did you meet them?"

The Swallows knew nothing about it, but the Stork looked thoughtful, nodded his head and said: "Yes, I think so. I met many new ships when I flew out of Egypt; on the ships were tall masts; I fancy these were the trees. They smelt like fir. I can assure you they're stately-very stately."

"Oh, that I were big enough to go over the sea. What kind of a thing is this sea, and how does it look?"

"It would take long to explain all that," said the Stork, and he went away.

"Rejoice in thy youth," said the Sunbeams; "rejoice in thy fresh growth, and in the young life that is within thee."

And the wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears upon it; but the Fir Tree did not understand. When Christmas time approached, quite young trees were felled, sometimes trees which were neither

so old nor so large as this Fir Tree, that never rested, but always wanted to go away. These beautiful young trees kept all their branches; they were put upon wagons, and horses dragged them away out of the wood.

"Where are they all going?" asked the Fir Tree. "They are not greater than I-indeed, one of them was much smaller. Why do they keep all their branches? Whither are they taken?"

"We know that! We know that!" chirped the Sparrows. "Yonder in the town we looked in at the windows. We know where the fir trees go. We have looked in at the windows and have seen that they are planted in the middle of a warm room and dressed up in the greatest splendor with the most beautiful things-gilt apples, honey-cakes, playthings, and many hundreds of candles."

"And then?" asked the Fir Tree, trembling through all its branches. "And then? what happens then?" "Why, we have not seen anything more. But it was wonderful!"

"Perhaps I may be destined to this glorious end one day!" cried the Fir Tree, rejoicing. "That is even better than traveling across the sea. How I long for it! If it were only Christmas! Now I am great and grown up like the rest who were led away last year. Oh, if I were only on the wagon! If I were only in the warm room amidst all the pomp and splendor! And then? Yes, then something even better will come, something far more charming, else why should they adorn me so? There must be something grander, something greater still to come; but what? Oh! I'm suffering, I'm longing! I don't know myself what is the matter with me!"