The Fir Tree

								
Far down in the forest, where the warm sun and the fresh air
made a sweet resting-place, grew a pretty little fir-tree; and yet
it was not happy, it wished so much to be tall like its companions--the
pines and firs which grew around it. The sun shone, and the soft
air fluttered its leaves, and the little peasant children passed by,
prattling merrily, but the fir-tree heeded them not. Sometimes the
children would bring a large basket of raspberries or strawberries,
wreathed on a straw, and seat themselves near the fir-tree, and say,
"Is it not a pretty little tree?" which made it feel more unhappy than
before. And yet all this while the tree grew a notch or joint taller
every year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree we
can discover its age. Still, as it grew, it complained, "Oh! how I
wish I were as tall as the other trees, then I would spread out my
branches on every side, and my top would over-look the wide world. I
should have the birds building their nests on my boughs, and when
the wind blew, I should bow with stately dignity like my tall
companions." The tree was so discontented, that it took no pleasure in
the warm sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated over
it morning and evening. Sometimes, in winter, when the snow lay
white and glittering on the ground, a hare would come springing along,
and jump right over the little tree; and then how mortified it would
feel! Two winters passed, and when the third arrived, the tree had
grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet it
remained unsatisfied, and would exclaim, "Oh, if I could but keep on
growing tall and old! There is nothing else worth caring for in the
world!" In the autumn, as usual, the wood-cutters came and cut down
several of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was now
grown to its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the
earth with a crash. After the branches were lopped off, the trunks
looked so slender and bare, that they could scarcely be recognized.
Then they were placed upon wagons, and drawn by horses out of the
forest. "Where were they going? What would become of them?" The
young fir-tree wished very much to know; so in the spring, when the
swallows and the storks came, it asked, "Do you know where those trees
were taken? Did you meet them?"

The swallows knew nothing, but the stork, after a little
reflection, nodded his head, and said, "Yes, I think I do. I met
several new ships when I flew from Egypt, and they had fine masts that
smelt like fir. I think these must have been the trees; I assure you
they were stately, very stately."

"Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea," said the
fir-tree. "What is the sea, and what does it look like?"

"It would take too much time to explain," said the stork, flying
quickly away.

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

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears;
but the fir-tree regarded them not.

Christmas-time drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some
even smaller and younger than the fir-tree who enjoyed neither rest
nor peace with longing to leave its forest home. These young trees,
which were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, and were also
laid on wagons and drawn by horses out of the forest.

"Where are they going?" asked the fir-tree. "They are not taller
than I am: indeed, one is much less; and why are the branches not
cut off? Where are they going?"

"We know, we know," sang the sparrows; "we have looked in at the
windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them.
They are dressed up in the most splendid manner. We have seen them
standing in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts of
beautiful things,--honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and many
hundreds of wax tapers."

"And then," asked the fir-tree, trembling through all its
branches, "and then what happens?"

"We did not see any more," said the sparrows; "but this was enough
for us."

"I wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,"
thought the fir-tree. "It would be much better than crossing the
sea. I long for it almost with pain. Oh! when will Christmas be
here? I am now as tall and well grown as those which were taken away
last year. Oh! that I were now laid on the wagon, or standing in the
warm room, with all that brightness and splendor around me!
Something better and more beautiful is to come after, or the trees
would not be so decked out. Yes, what follows will be grander and more
splendid. What can it be? I am weary with longing. I scarcely know how
I feel."

"Rejoice with us," said the air and the sunlight. "Enjoy thine own
bright life in the fresh air."

But the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day;
and, winter and summer, its dark-green foliage might be seen in the
forest, while passers by would say, "What a beautiful tree!"

A short time before Christmas, the discontented fir-tree was the
first to fall. As the axe cut through the stem, and divided the
pith, the tree fell with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain and
faintness, and forgetting all its anticipations of happiness, in
sorrow at leaving its home in the forest. It knew that it should never
again see its dear old companions, the trees, nor the little bushes
and many-colored flowers that had grown by its side; perhaps not
even the birds. Neither was the journey at all pleasant. The tree
first recovered itself while being unpacked in the courtyard of a
house, with several other trees; and it heard a man say, "We only want
one, and this is the prettiest."

Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir-tree
into a large and beautiful apartment. On the walls hung pictures,
and near the great stove stood great china vases, with lions on the
lids. There were rocking chairs, silken sofas, large tables, covered
with pictures, books, and playthings, worth a great deal of money,--at

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