B 7 8 7 7 4 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY lilllilill UCSB LIBRARY yz^^^^ ■^./^/ CHRISTMAS EVE; STORY OF POOR ANTHONY. FROM THE GERMAN OF CHRISTOPH SCHMID, Canon of Augsburg. PHILADELPHIA: HENRY F. ANNERS, 141 CHESNUT STREET. 1846. PHILADELPHIA : KING AND BAIRD, PRINTERS. CONTENTS. CHAP. I. The Christmas Hymn, II. Poor Anthony's Story, III. The Forester's Family, . IV. Continuation of Anthpny's Story, V. The Christmas Gift, VI. Misfortunes of the Forester, . VII. Further Disasters of the Forester VIII. The Unexpected Visitor, . IX. The Christmas Tree, PAGE 1 12 24 32 42 59 72 81 91 CHRISTMAS EVE CHAPTER I. THE CHRISTMAS HYMN. UPON Christmas eve, little Anthony (a fine child of eight years old) was pass- ing, towards even- ing, through a snow- covered country. His flaxen ringlets were whitened with frost; his head was protected only by a slight straw hat which he had worn the preceding summer ; and his half-frozen cheeks were quite blue with cold. He was dressed like a soldier, in a smart scarlet hussar's jacket. In his hand he held a stout 1 2 CHRISTMAS EVE. plum-Stick, and on his back he carried a little baff, containinor all he had in the world. He was cheerful, however, and delighted at the sight of the beautifnl winter landscape, with its hedges and bushes loaded with snow. The deep red sun had just set. The grass and the branches sparkled, and the tops of the firs in the neighbouring forest were gilded by its last rays. Anthony conceived that there would be no difficulty in reaching a village on the other side of this forest, into which he fearlessly plunged, heedless of its thickness and obscurity ; he hoped that he should be able to pass the Christmas holydays in that village, having heard that the inhabitants were rich and hospitable. Scarcely had he walked a quarter of an hour, when he missed the path, and became bewildered in the wildest part of the forest. Every moment he plunged deeper into the snow, and was often in great danger of falling into the pits, which were concealed beneath it. Night came on, and with it a cold wind arose ; the sky was covered with clouds, which obscured the stars that had glis- tened through the dark firs. Darker shadows succeeded, and the snow began again to fall in THE CHRISTMAS HYMN. 3 abundance. The poor boy had now lost all traces of a road, and knew not which way to direct his steps. Worn out with wandering for such a length of time, he could go no farther, and tremb- ling with cold he began to cry. Placing his bundle on the ground, he knelt down by the side of it, and taking off his hat, he raised his be- numbed hands to Heaven, and prayed for pro- tection. He remembered that it was the eve of the Christmas festival " Was it not," said he, *' on this night, O gracious Father, that Thy dear Son our Saviour came into the worldj Hear my prayer for His sake. Do not abandon me, when the whole world is rejoicing at the birth of the holy Child ; let me not perish in this forest." And laying his head on his little bundle, he sobbed violently. Suddenly was heard from the adjacent bank some melodious sounds resembling the strings of a harp, and a delicious chant arose, which was echoed by the surrounding rocks. The child could have believed it to be a concert of angels. He arose, and with clasped hands lis- tened. The wind had now ceased, and a pro- 4 CHRISTMAS EVE. found stillness had succeeded. Anthony then distinctly heard these words : Oh ! be consoled in every care ; See here thy God, with mercy rare, His Son has sent from heav'n : Confide in Him, and courage take ; What evil is, He good can make, And life for thee has given. The hymn ceased, and nothing was heard but a few soft notes of the harp still echoing faintly. Anthony was overcome. " Ah !" said he, " I feel as the shepherds of Bethlehem must have felt when they heard the celestial music of that holy night. I will take courage, and vex myself no more ; there must surely be charitable people near, who will pity me ; for I am led to hope that, as they sing like angels, they may also be as kind as they." Taking up his knapsack, he approached the spot from which he fancied the sweet song had reached him. He had walked but a few steps when he perceived a ray of light, which disap- peared in a moment, then beamed anew, and continued to appear and disappear, but with in- THE CHRISTMAS HYMN. O creased brightness. Anthony joyfully hurried on, and found himself before a lonely house in the middle of the forest. He knocked several times at the door; but although he heard voices and merriment within, no one replied. He then attempted to open the door, and succeeded. He felt his way for some time in the dark, until, arriving at the room where the party were as- sembled, he was struck with astonishment and delight. He was dazzled with the brilliancy of the illumination, and fancied that heaven itself was opened before him. In one corner of the room, between two case- ments, stood a beautiful landscape, a miniature imitation of nature in its most delightful season ; it presented the appearance of a mountainous country, with moss-covered rocks, verdant pine- woods, rural cottages, flocks feeding by their shepherds, and a little town on the top of the mountain. In the centre of the scene was a rocky grotto, where was seen the blessed Vir- gin, the infant Jesus, the pious Joseph, and the adoring shepherds ; above whom were angels hovering in the air, their countenances beaming with joy. The entire landscape shone with 1* D CHRISTMAS EVE. wonderful brightness ; it seemed to be spangled with thousands of little stars ; and it glittered like the dew-besprinkled green of the fields in a spring morning. The inmates were assembled round this re- presentation of the infant Jesus in his manger. On one side was the father with a harp, and on the other was seated the mother, with the youngest of her children on her knee. There were also a little boy and girl, who were regard- ing the manger with great devotion, and raising their hands in imitation of the pious shepherds kneeling before the Saviour. The father again touched his harp, and the mother sang with a sweet voice the succeeding verse of that hymn of which Anthony had heard a part. The two children united their sweet clear tones to the fine bass notes of their father, and sang : And if in need a wretched child "Within thy gate intrude, Repulse him not, but accents mild Bestow on him, — in gratitude For all God gives ; and let him share Thy fire and hospitable fare. THE CHRISTMAS HYMN. 7 Poor Anthony remained standing at the open door, with the latchet of the door in one hand, and in the other his hat and stick. He could not take his eyes off the beautiful picture of the manger, and he listened with open mouth to the song and the harp. No one observed him until the mother, feeling the draft of air from the door, turned her head. •' Good heavens !" exclaimed she, " what brings this child at this time of night through the thick forest here ? — Poor boy ! you must have missed your road?" *' Alas, yes," said the child, "I have lost my way in the forest." All eyes were now turned towards the door. The two children felt great pity for the litde boy ; but they were too timid to move from their places, as he was a stranger. The mother going towards him, asked him in a friendly tone, " Where do you come from, my little fellow ; what is your name ; and who are your parents ?" *'Alas!" said Anthony, his eyes filling with tears, " I have now no home. My name is An- thony Croner ; my father died in the war, and last autumn I lost my mother through grief and 8 CHRISTMAS EVE. distress. I am quite a stranger in this country, and I am wandering about the world like a strayed lamb. He then began to relate how he had been bewildered in the forest ; and how having heard their singing, he had been guided to their house. He would have continued to speak, but was un- able from the effects of cold. *• Poor Anthony," said the mother, " you are half perished with cold, and you must also be hungry and tired. Put down your bundle, and sit you down, and you shall have some nice hot soup, and what else remains of our supper." The two children. Christian and Catherine, took from him his hat, his stick, and his knapsack, after which they led their little guest to the sup- per-table, where their mother had ready for him some soup, a large piece of cake, and some stewed plums. She seated herself opposite to him, and smiled on him so kindly, that he seemed to eat with still better appetite. The children gladly shared with him their Christmas gifts- fine rosy-cheeked apples, golden pears, and large brown nuts. The soup made the poor child THE CHRISTMAS HYMN. 9 feel much better, and the gentle warmth of the room soon quite restoring him, he recovered his vivacity and good spirits. " But what is that beautiful thing in the corner of the room ?" said he at last ; for while he was eating, he had constantly kept his eyes on the picture. "It looks to me like spring in the middle of winter ; I never saw any thing so fine in my life. May I look at it a little nearer?'* and he advanced towards it, followed by the two children. "Do you know what all this represents!" asked Catherine. *' To be sure I do," replied Anthony ; " it is the birth of Jesus Christ." " But that is not the real child Jesus," said Catherine. "Jesus is no longer a child, but went up into heaven a long time ago." • "I know all that," replied Anthony; "do you take me for a heathen? Two thousand years are nearly passed away since the holy Jesus was a child in the manger. Is not that the town of Bethlehem up there ?" Catherine nodded assent. " You see, then," said Anthony, 10 CHRISTMAS EVE. '* that I know it all, and am not so ignorant as you took me for." Tlie children began to amuse themselves in pointing out to Anthony many little things, which, however, were to them of great import- ance. "Look, Anthony," cried Catherine; " look at this beautiful sheep with the white frizzy wool, and the two little lambs at its side. See the rest of the flock are browsing near them ; and yonder is the shepherd playing on his pipe. At night he sleeps in that pretty little red house upon wheels." "And pray," said Christian, "look at the little spring which, oozing from the rock like a silver thread, spreads itself in the lake below. See also the two white swans with such arching necks, which are swimming on the lake, and reflecting themselves in its clear and quiet water." "And further ofli'," said Catherine, "is a young shepherdess coming quickly down the hill, carrying on her head a covered basket. I dare say it is full of eggs or apples." In this way the children spent their evening, THE CHRISTMAS HYMN. 11 remarking every thing, from the smallest snail on the rock, to the shining shells which covered the edge of the lake. " All this is very pretty," said Anthony ; " but the finest of all is the divine Child's face ; for it was for the sake of the Child whose picture you here see that our heavenly Father has this night saved me from my great distress." CHAPTER II. POOR ANTHONY S STORY 7n The father of the family which Jtv^ had received Anthony was a game- keeper and forester. During the time that the children were con- versing in this manner, he sat in his arm-chair by the fire-place, apparently absorbed in profound meditation. His wife approached him with her baby in her arms, and, after a moment or two, said, " Why are you so silent? What are you thinking of?" *'I am thinking of the last lines of the song we have been singing," answered he. " By warming and feeding this poor child, you have done what is there spoken of; but it seems to me that we might do still more. We are now celebrating the anniversary of that holy night in which the divine Infant was born for us men POOR Anthony's story. 13 and for our salvation. In this same night God sends us a child whom we may be the means of saving. Elizabeth, give me frankly your opinion ; what ought we to do ?" "Receive him," said his wife, joyfully. "Has not He who was born on this night, said. What ye do to the least of these among you, you do it unto Me ? and Anthony appears to me to be a very good, mild, and yet noble-minded child ; his manner is so devout, so innocent; and even when imploring charity, he has not a bold or impertinent air. His parents must surely have been respectable people. Where five persons can be supported, there is also enough for six. We will keep this child." ** You are a worthy good woman," said the forester, pressing her hand; " God will reward you, and will repay to your own children all that you do for this poor stranger. But we will first talk to him, and find out whether he is de- serving the good we intend him. — " Come here, Anthony," said the forester aloud. Anthony advanced, and placed himself before him, like a soldier before his officer. " Your father, then, was a soldier, and died in 2 14 CHRISTMAS EVE. his country's service. It is an honourable death, although for you it was very sad. Now tell us something about your parents. Where did you live before the war ? How was your father killed ? What was the cause of your mother's death I What brought you into this forest ? Speak ; we are listening." Anthony then related as follows : " My father, when he was addressed by the hussars, was called quarter-master. Our regiment was in garrison at Glatz in Silesia. My mother gained a good deal by needlework, at which she was very clever. IVIy father came home in great haste one day, and told us that war was declared, and that we must be off to-morrow. He had a great deal of courage, and made up his mind to it ; but my mother wept bitterly, and was much alarmed. She would not allow him to go alone, not being able to bear the separation. She entreated him so earnestly to take us with him, that at last he consented. AVe travelled very, very far. Suddenly the word was heard, ' The enemy advances !' My father and his hussars hastened to meet them, while my mother and I remained behind. The noise of the cannons POOR Anthony's story. 15 alarmed us dreadfully. My mother said to me. ' Every shot appears to pierce through my heart ; for who knows that that very ball may not have reached the heart of your poor father V All the time that the firing was heard, we continued to weep and pray ; but happily my father returned safe. Thus things continued for some time, until one day after a skirmish, my father's horse was led home by a hussar, who told us that he was dangerously wounded, and dying on the field of battle, about half a mile ofif. We has- tened to him, and found him lying under a tree, while an old soldier was kneehng by him, sup- porting his head on his breast, and attended by two other hussars. He had been struck by a ball in the chest, and was already as pale as death. He fixed his dying eyes sadly upon me and my mother, then turned them to heaven, and in a few moments heaved his last sigh. My mother and I burst into tears. He was buried in a neighbouring cemetery, and the funeral was attended by several ofiicers and a great many soldiers. It seems to me that I still hear the strange melancholy sound of the trumpets. The last honours were paid by several shots being 16 CHRISTMAS EVE. fired over his grave. My mother and I were so much affected by this sad mark of respect, that it appeared to us almost as if they were firing upon ourselves. The soldiers dried their tears as they left the grave ; but we were inconsolable. My mother wished to return to her own country. She had no relations there, but several acquaint- ances who she hoped would receive us. She reckoned upon gaining her livelihood by her needle; but we had not travelled many days before she fell sick, and with the greatest diffi- culty we reached a little hamlet. When we arrived there no one would receive us, and our only shelter was a barn. My mother's illness increased every moment. She sent for a clergy- man, and prepared herself for death. When night came on, the countrywoman to whom the barn belonged, said to my mother, ' Since you are so ill, I am willing to do something for you.' And she brought us an oW lantern in which a litde oil was burning, and which she hung to a beam. Her good offices stopped there ; and after wishing us a good night, she troubled herself no more about us. I remained alone with my mother, seated on a truss of straw, and 17 weeping bitterly. Towards midnight, it ap- peared to me that my mother became paler and paler. Holding out her hand to me, she said, ' Do not weep, dear Anthony. Be always in- nocent and pious ; love to pray ; keep God always before your eyes, and He will provide you with another father and mother.' Those were her last words. She remained praying for some time, with her eyes lifted up to heaven, and then expired. I could only cry. The countryman and his wife had faithfully promised my mother to receive and treat me like their own child. They took possession of the little she had left, some gowns and a small sum of money ; but before three weeks had passed away, they turned me out, saying that I had already cost them three times as much as my mother had left. I took my departure, intending to go to Glatz to my school-fellows. But the country people could not show me the way to Silesia, and I begged my way through the country, without knowing where I was going, or what would become of me." The forester's wife was much affected, and turning to her children with tearful eyes, " See, 2* 18 CHRISTMAS EVE. my dears," said she, " what your fate might be ; you might also lose your father and mother; and what would you do ? Pray to God every day to preserve them to you. — I see very well, my dear Anthony, that your parents were worthy people ; but have you no papers which belonged to them?" *' To be sure I have," said Anthony, taking a pocket-book out of his bundle. " My mother placed these papers in my hand when she was dying. She desired me to take great care of them, and never to part with them ; but I think I may show them to you." The papers consisted of the certificate of his parents' marriage, of his own baptism, and the death of his father. The latter had been written by the chaplain of the regiment, and the colonel had added a very honourable testimony of the courage and good conduct of the quarter-master as well as that of his widow. "All this is very satisfactory," said the forester; *'but now, Anthony, tell me how do you like being amongst us ?" *'So well," answered Anthony, joyfully, " that I feel as if I were at home." POOR Anthony's story. 19 ** Would you like to stay with us ?" " Better than any where else. Your wife is as gentle as my mother was, and you are very kind too ; and your mustachios are exactly like those my father used to wear." At this the forester laughed. " Well," said he, " stay with us, my boy. I will be your father, and Elizabeth will treat you like her own child. Your part will be to prove yourself a good child to us, and to love your new brother and sisters. Do you hear, you are now my son, Anthony." The child remained for some moments staring at the good man, in doubt whether he spoke se- riously or not. He had so often been unkindly treated, that he could now hardly believe that the forester really intended to adopt him as his son. " Well, Anthony," said the latter, " will you not accept us ?" The child burst into tears, held out his hand to the forester, kissed that of his wife, and em- braced the three children as if he was their real brother. Christian and Catherine were very much pleased to keep Anthony, and thus to gain 20 CHRISTMAS EVE. a new playfellow. The forester then addressed Anthony in a serious manner. *' You perceive, my dear, that God has had your fate in His keeping. The blessing of your good parents rests upon you. God has heard the prayer of your dying mother, and also that which you addressed to Him in the forest. ' He led you here. Had you not heard our hymn, you would have fallen asleep on the snow, and I should have found you to-morrow dead in the wood. God has saved you ! In this holy night, while our hearts were penetrated with love and gratitude towards Him, He brought you to our lonely dweUing, which perhaps in daylight you would not have discovered. To God and to His blessed Son you owe the asylum which you have found ; to that blessed Jesus who, on this same night, nearly two thousand years ago, came into the world, and afterwards died for us all. Ac- knowledge these mercies, and all your life long be grateful towards God and towards your Sa- viour. Have God always before you ; and be- have as a Christian ought to do." Anthony promised to follow this good advice. His wife showed the child a small room with a POOR Anthony's story. 21 nice clean bed ; and they all resigned themselves to repose with contented hearts. The next morning the children were again gathered to- gether round the representation of the infant Jesus in the manger ; and during Christmas-day, and the holydays which followed it, it was a great delight to them. But this innocent pleasure had very nearly been spoiled. A certain young Mr. de Schilf, a great sportsman, who often visited the forester, came one day into the room. He took upon himself to make great fun of this manner of picturing to the children the manger of Jesus, and said that he could not imagine what use it was of. " Of what use?'* said the forester. "Look out of the window, young sir ; see the earth covered with snow, and the trees bending beneath the weight of it; not a flower is to be seen but what is formed by the ice against the panes of glass. Our trees are stripped of their leaves and fruit, and whitened by frost ; and icicles hang from our roof. These poor children are im- prisoned in this room ; the cold prevents their stepping out of the house. Is there, then, any harm in parents endeavouring to procure them 22 CHRISTMAS EVE. some instructive amusement? This miniature landscape, with its verdant woods, its flower- enamelled fields, its sheep feeding by their shep- herds, recalls spring to their recollection, and forms nearly the only pleasure which they can enjoy during the winter. But that is the least of it. We Christians rejoice, during the Christ- mas holydays, over all that God's infinite bounty has manifested to us in the person of Jesus under a human form. The greatest painters in those pictures which have been the admiration of ages, have endeavoured to represent this divine story. I have myself, when travelling, passed by Dres- den, and have often admired that master-piece which represents the birth of Jesus, and is known by the name of the Holy Night. The criticisms which you may be pleased to bestow upon my performance, imperfect as it is, may also be raised against that superb picture ; and therefore they need not be refuted. Besides, as these precious pictures are only painted for the rich, they would have no value in the eyes of children. I am sure that mine would not exchange their manger for the much-extolled Dresden picture. Allow us, then, my dear sir, to retain our fathers' POOR Anthony's story. 23 ancient manners. I remember that when I was a child the picture of the manger was my greatest delight; and it was not without its use to me. May it also become for my children a source of joy and of blessing I" CHAPTER III. THE FORESTER S FAMILY. The keeper who had adopted the poor orphan was an honest and good man. Religious, and benevolent towards every body* he unceasingly endeavoured to fulfil his duty to the utmost, and towards his prince he was tho- roughly faithful. His way of living was pre- cisely the same as that of his ancestors. His first employment in the morning was to join in prayer with his wife and children ; and he ended the day in the same manner. " How could we do less," said he, " than lift up our thoughts to Him who gives us life and nourish- ment, and who showers upon us all kinds of benefits ? It must, I think, be a touching spec- tacle even for angels to see a father and mother THE forester's FAMILY. 25 kneeling surrounded by their children, filled with gratitude, and lifting their hands and thoughts to God. The heavenly Father, at such a sight, will surely bless them." Before and after meals, also, the family addressed God. One day Mr. Schilf having accompanied the forester home, and entering just as the soup was about to be put on the table, was invited to stay dinner. The young gentleman seated himself, without waiting to utter any prayer. But the keeper, always candid and frank, said to him, "For shame, sir ; it is in this manner that the wild beasts of the forest behave ; they swallow the acorns without considering by whom they are sent." The young man endeavoured to ex- cuse himself, by saying that it was of very little consequence whether one uttered a prayer or not at sitting down to dinner. The forester then answered with great earnestness, " What- ever tends to make us better is of consequence. Piety is to be desired for every reason ; but never did I find that forgetfulness of God brought about good results ; quite the contrary. Join us, therefore, in prayer, as it becomes a good Chris- tian and a reasonable creature to do, or this will 3 20 ciiRiimiAii Evr. be your laal day's sporting with mc. 1 will partake of nothing in common with a hcallien, nor will I even .seal njysclf at " 'c with Ijim. Hui 1 am sure," :»' ro calmly, ♦' that you did it without reflection. You have seen youn;^ men weal lhcn)«»r|vcs at table without grace, and you have imitated them, thinking that it made you appear more foshioQ- able." Tlie liappicst moments of ihc worthy forciter were those he passed surrounded by his family. "Why," said he, "should I go far away to seek for pleasure, when the sweetest of all is at home?" When his work was finished, he quieily remained at home, chatting with his wife, or relating amusing and instnictivc stories to his children. When he was in particularly high spirits he would lake his harp. '* It is a very good amusement," said he, '* for the long winter evenings." In his youth he had played on the horn, but the physician had forbidden him to do so again ; and as he was fond of music, he had taken to the harp. His wife knew several pretty songs ; and he played the accompaniment to them on this instrument. Even the childrca THE FORESTER S FAMILY. 27 had learned some lillle childish verses, and lliey san^ ihcm all toj^ether, like ihe birds in llie wood. 'J'he children Irequentcd the parish school of Eschenthal. Christian and Catherine com- menced school again as soon as the Christmas holydays were over, and the roads passable. Anthony was delighted to accompany them ; and he soon surpassed all his companions. His love of study and his capacity were extraordi- nary. When the forester in the evening re- turned from shooting, and seated himself in his easy chair by the fire, he would make the chil- dren give him a recital of what they had learnt at school, and show him their copybooks. An- thony's account was always the best; his hand- writing the neatest; and he very soon knew how to read extremely well. When the children after supper took their turns of reading, Anthony was always heard with llie greatest pleasure. The good wife said that he read so naturally, that if one did not see the book in his hand, one M'ould fancy he was relating a story. The children dearly loved Sunday. The forester did not shoot on that day ; and he was able to pass the whole day at home. " I am 28 CHRISTMAS EVE. occupied," said he, "for six days in the week* without cessation, in my prince's service ; but the Sunday is devoted to the worship of a more powerful master ; bcsiilcs wljich, my labourers and 1 are very glad of a day of rest." Quite early in the morninjj, the father, mother, and children, all repaired to the church of E«- chonliml. Tlic road to it lay pardy through woody banks, and partly through narrow val- leys, surrounded by bush-covered rocks and high trees. *♦ Uh, how beautiful is the forest !" would Anthony say at such times : *• how charm- ing is the green of the trees in die splendour of the setting sun ! It appears to me that Uic wood is still more beautiful on a Sunday ; the green is of a softer hue ; and the song of the birds is gayer; and the silence which reigns around — there is nothing to be heard but the church-bell sounding afar ofT. It is all as quiet and as calm here as in the church itself." ** Yes, there is something almost as solemn here as in a church," said lljc forester. *' The forest is also the Lord's temple. The Almighty has placed these trees here like columns, which, joining their branches, form a roof of leaves. THE forester's FAMILY. 29 Every thing, from that enormous oak covered with moss, to this little lily of the valley grow- ing at our feet, proclaims His power. Yes, the whole earth, and as high as the vault of heaven, is a temple of His magnificence. Above all, on a Sunday, we ought to adore Him, and regard such beautiful works with devotion. Here, in this temple of His forming, we acknowledge His incomprehensible greatness and magnifi- cence ; but it is in our churches, although built by the hands of men, that He reveals the decrees of His sacred will. It was also to this end that tlie Son of God became man, that he taught men, and ordered them to preach to all the world. In all the places of worship in Christen- dom His doctrine is made known to thousands of men. For that reason, my children, when you are at church, listen to every word the preacher says, and retain them all in your hearts." Such was the conversation which he held with his children in going to church : and on their return he spoke to them of the service; and they all eagerly related what they could re- member of it. But, above all other times, their *8 80 CHRISTMAS EVE. Sunday's tliiincr was lljc beet, because ihe for- ester on vcck-days eat his dinner in ihe wood, whereas he was now ready lo help his chiltlrrn with ihe kindest attention. " Eat, my dears, cat," he would say ; •♦ and thank God for His inercirp." On rising frura table, lie walked out with them, pointed out the difTerent trees and planus, praisin^r their beauty and variouf uses. "Thus has (Jod," said lie, *' cnibcllislicd even the smallest plant, and made it useful to man.** l>urni[j the spring and summer months his wife woulil spread the dinner under a large lime-tree near the house. The good man played the harp; and the birds joined their songs to lliose of the family. Anthony was perfectly happy in the society of these worthy people, under whose roof reigned unanimity, love, tnic piety, indus- try, and contentment. lie was very grateful lo God for having conducted him to the habitation of such a family ; and he was full of the most obliging attentions towards his adopted parents. "When the forester returned in the evening, An- thony ran to meet him, found him his slippers, and his old grey coat faced with green. When the wife was busied in cooking, he brought her THE forester's FAMILY. 31 the wood, endeavoured to assist her, and fore- stalled all her wishes. He really could be of some use to his adopted father. The latter was making out a plan of all the woods entrusted to his care ; he coloured them, and wrote at the side in large letters the name of each of them, adding a wreath of the leaves of such trees as each wood contained. Anthony was very soon able to draw these plans ; and he succeeded so M-ell in ornamenting them, that the forester was astonished. At one time he would draw an oak, against which was hung a shield bearing the name of the wood, while at the side was a wild boar seeking for acorns. At another time the name of the wood was engraved upon a rock surmounted by firs, and at the foot of the rock lay a stag. Anthony soon showed a decided taste for drawing; he employed every leisure moment in pencilling or painting landscapes, animals, birds, flowers, or trees. He was never idle. The forester and his wife loved this good child as well as if he had been their own ; and their cliildren, excited by Anthony's example, became more obliging and more active than they had ever been before. CHAPTER IV. CONTINUATION OF ANTHONY S STORY. The forester one day commis- sioned Anthony to carry some woodcocks to tlie castle of Fel- -( ck, which was in the neigh- Mirhood, and belonged to the ^ Mice. The agent had a guest whom he wished to treat with this game. In his way thither Anthony passed a cascade, which, emerging from among the dark pines, fell from the top of a rock as white as snow. At a little distance he perceived a gentleman who was sketching the cascade ; and drawing near enough to him to see the sketch, he ex- claimed, "Oh, how beautiful! that is indeed a picture !" He requested to be allowed to see this beautiful performance a little nearer. " It looks," said he, "as if this paper were a look- > CONTINUATION OF ANTHONy's STORY. 33 ing-glass, in which is reflected in miniature the cascade with the trees and rocks around it. How clear is this water bubbling from the rock! and what a fine effect that white foam has on the moss-covered stones ! and how fresh is the tender green which covers the stone, — it invites one to take hold of it ! how boldly those firs rear their heads towards heaven ! and that stag, which you have just painted drinking at the brook, how natural it is ! it stands so lightly, that one fancies it can run swiftly; while the stags that I draw all look as if they were lame —I cannot give them any life." The candid praise of the young boy charmed the painter; but what pleased him still more was the taste which he showed for the art. *' So you are also a little painter?" said he to him. *' Oh !" said Anthony, "until this moment I fancied myself not a little, but a great painter ; but now I see that I am neither the one nor the other." *' And yet I should very much like to see what you have done," replied the artist, " I shall come and see you, and you shall show « 34 CHRISTMAS EVE. them to me. Who are your parents ? Where do you live ?'* '• Alas !" said Anlliony, ** I am a poor orphan. Mr. Griinewald, the forester, has given rae a home." " I suppose," said the painter, " you are some relation of his : perhaps a nephew ?" "No," replied Anthony; "I came as a stranjrer to his liouse ; he and his wife received me at once, and treated me like their own child." *'That was a good action," said the painter; *' but let me hear all about it." And Anthony related his whole story. The artist, after listening attentively, said to him, " The forester and his wife seem to be very worthy people. Salute them from me, and tell them that to-morrow I shall come to see them, and thank them in the name of humanity for the love they have shown to you." The painter's name was Riedinger. He had been a few days at the manor-house for the pur- pose of renovating some old pictures. lie took advantage of the opportunity to sketch some of the mountain scenery which he admired so much. On the morrow after this conversation CONTINUATION OF ANTHONy's STORY. 35 he visited the forester. These two men suited each other extremely well, and became great friends. The painter wished much to see An- thony's drawings. The forester's wife kindly praised them. *' Believe me," said she, " they are excellendy done." Anthony stayed by the door, covered with blushes. "Indeed, Mr. Riedinger," said he, " there is nothing to see." But as the painter pressed him to show them to him, he went for them. Mr. Riedenger looked them over with great attention, and smiled fre- quently. He was much pleased with them, not- withstanding their numerous faults. "Really," said he, " this child may become a good painter. Leave him to me, Mr. Griinewald, and he will be the cause of much happiness to you." " With all my heart," said the forester, giving him his hand. "For some time past I have been in doubt what to make of him. He will soon be fourteen years old ; and he knows all that the school at Eschenthal can teach him. He is too delicate and too tender-hearted to make a sportsman of. He has more of the mild character of his mother than of his courageous father. If you fancy that he can ever be made a 36 CHRISTMAS EVE. good painter of, take and teach him. AVhat do you ask a lesson ?" " What do I ask ?" said the artist; "do not let us talk of that. You have taught me by your example how poor orphans ouglit to be treated : one good action leads to many more ; they fol- low one another as a matter of course. Have no anxiety about him. As soon as I have fin- ished my work at the castle, I shall take An- thony to the town ; and I will spare no pains to make him a first-rate artist." Anthony leaped with joy. But when, at the end of three or four days, the painter's carriage stopped at the door, and the time arrived for leaving home, the poor child wept bitterly. But the forester said to him, "Do not weep, An- thony ; it is not far from tliis to the town ; we shall often go to see you, and you can easily get home on Sundays and holydays. — I make one condition," said he to JNIr. Riedingcr, " that Anthony may sometimes come to see us; and especially that he may always spend the Christ- mas holydays with us. You must allow this." " Willingly ; and if you and your wife do not dislike it, I will bring him home myself." CONTINUATION OF ANTHONy's STORY. 37 They then shook hands. Anthony again thank- ed his adopted parents. They advised him to pay the greatest respect to the master who had such kind intentions towards him. Anthony got into the carriage of his new protector amidst the blessings of the family. The good painter was punctual to his pro- mises. It was a real pleasure to him to direct the studies of one who had so much capability. He often came to visit the forester ; and even- passed some days with him, in order to sketch the surrounding scenery. He never failed to speak in praise of his scholar. *' Between our- selves," said he to the forester, "he will be a much cleverer artist than I am." After some years Mr. Riedinger being at the forester's house for the Christmas holydays with Anthony, who was now become a fine young man, he remained alone wiih the forester and his wife after supper. Anthony and the children had been some time in bed. The good people soon saw that Mr. Riedinger had something particular to say to them. At last he thus began : " Anthony knows all that I can teach him : he must now travel — he must go to Italy — it will cost a good deal, it 4 38 CHRISTMAS EVE. is true, but no money can be better employed ; and I will answer for the money in time returning a rich interest. The expenses of such a journey are far beyond the means of a private individual ; but a thought has struck me : Anthony will him- self make something, but he will want assistance, as it is necessary that he should have time to perfect himself in his art. I shall contribute as much as I possibly can ; for, encouraged by your example, I am determined to make Anthony a painter without any expense to himself. His works have already paid me very well. I have put this money aside, and I shall employ it in paying his journey; but it will not be nearly enough. Will you be disposed to supply the sum which is still wanting? I ought to tell you that it will be a considerable one ; but ought we not to finish a work so well begun ?" The forester had seen Anthony's good con- duct and improvement with great pleasure. His fortune was considerable. He looked at his wife, who answered him with a nod of approbation. So, striking the painter's hand, he said, " If the sum be within my means he shall have it." A calculation of the expenses of the journey CONTINUATION OF ANTHONl's STORY. 39 was quickly made ; and it was unanimously re- solved that Anthony should set out in the next spring. The following day the painter and his pupil mounted their sledge to return to town ; and during the winter the forester and his wife made preparations for Anthony's journey. The good man bought some cloth, that his adopted son might be properly clothed. He brought out his travelling trunk, and had it fresh covered with doe-skin. His wife and two daugh- ters worked most industriously to fill it with linen. In the beginning of spring he came again to pass a few days at home. His adopted father showed him the greatest affection, and gave him some more advice full of wisdom and prudence. He took upon himself the trouble of packing his things. The trunk was sent on before to a celebrated artist, to whom Mr. Riedinger had recommended Anthony, who wished to travel on foot. Christian, his intimate friend, made him a present of a little portmanteau, in which he could carry every thing he required for daily use. At last the hour of departure arrived. After dinner, Anthony wished to go again to Mr. 40 CHRISTMAS EVE. Riedinger, and to start from thence. They dined together for the last time. It was an affecting family feast. The forester looked around ; but all were silent. " Come, my children, be not so sorrowful; and you also, dear wife, dry your tears. We cannot help it. When sons grow up, they must go out into the world ; and you too, my daughters, you are getting near the age of quitting perhaps your father's roof. But even when mountains and valleys shall separate us, our spirits will be always together. However sad may be the parting, we shall one day meet again either here or in heaven." The worthy man succeeded at last in making them more cheerful. He produced a botUe of good wine, of a sort kept expressly for feast-days, and poured out a glass a piece for his wife and daughters. " We must give wine to those in affliction," said he, smiling. Anthony and Christian held out their glasses without any pressing. At the end of the meal the forester lifted his glass and said, "A good journey to you, Anthony, and a happy return !" " God grant it !" said his wife ; and they all drank with the same good wishes. " It is now time to part," continued the forester: CONTINUATION OF ANTHONy's STORY. 41 then rising he said, " Kneel down, my dear son, that I may give you a father's blessing." An- thony knelt down. The forester raised his eyes to heaven ; his countenance and his whole figure liad a look of solemnity. He blessed the young man, and added, "IVftiy God accompany thee in all thy ways; may He preserve thee from sin, and return thee to our arms good and pure !" The mother and children stood devoutly around with joined hands and tearful eyes, and all uttered a faltering amen. The forester raised Anthony, and pressing him in his arms said, " Go, and God be with you. Keep Him ever before your eyes, and forget not that His eye constantly fol- lows you. Forget not, too, what you owe to your- self. The wealth and pleasures of this world are not worth the trouble with which we burden our conscience for their sake. Reflect that we are not created merely for this short life, but that there is an eternity to come. Avoid every temp- tation to do evil ; avoid, above all things, the company of those men who ridicule the faith of their forefathers, and who make a mockery of religion and pure morality. Once more, adieu, and may God be with you !" 4* 42 CHRISTMAS EVE. The wliolc family accompanied the young man a little way. At last he bid them a final fare- well, and proceeded on his way ; but they remain- ed on the same spot for some lime. Anthony frequently turned and waved his hat to them, and the forester and Chrietian returned an an- swer in the same manner. The wife and daugh- ters waved their white handkerchiefs, until tiie young traveller, stick in hand and knapsack on back, disappeared behind a woodid liill. CHAPTER V. THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. The third anniversary of Christ- mas eve had arrived since the de- parture of Anthony. The keeper returned on that day earlier from the forest with his son Christian. ^ It was extremely cold ; the rays of the setting sun gilded the windows of the room ; the round panes of glass began already to be covered with ice, and shone like diamonds in the red light of the sky. The forester seated himself in his arm-chair near the stove. He stir- red the fire ; the flame arose, and shed an uncer- tain light through the room, and, reflected in the windows, added to the brilliancy of the frozen panes. The wife entered the room. " Has any letter arrived from Anthony ?" asked her husband. 44 CRMaTMAt BTI. *• No," replied she, sorrowfully. ** It ii very odd/* said he, shaking his liead ; '• wc have always had a Inter from him on Christ- mas eve. He wrote so circumstantially, that his letters were one of the greatest pleasures of the day to me. What can the boy be about, to pre- vent his writing ?** Hardly had the forester uttered these wordt when the door opened, and a man ap|>carcd at it. Mis hair was whitened with frost. He held a letter Ml his hand, and bore on his back a flat deal case of considerable width, and so high lliat ho wai obli|;rd to stoop to get into the room with it. ** ThisJ case inusloontriin n iookm'j-ijins!'," said Catherine. The mini pre>rntLil a i< u* t lo iiic luri-^it. r, ami put down the ra.'ic. •• It comes from the painter Mr. Riedinger,'* said the forester : '• what can it mean f I almost fear that something may have happened to poor Anthony." He opened the letter hastily, and read it by the light of the tire. *• Only imagine," said he, joyfully, " Anthony sends us a picture from Home for our Christmas present. He has directed it lo Mr. Hicdinger, and begged him THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 45 to put it into a fine gilt frame, and to take care that we had it without fail ou Christmas eve. The picture is a real masterpiece, so Mr. Ried- inger says. Antliony is really an excellent young man ; would that I could embrace him ! Cathe- rine," added he, " bring this good man a glass of wine while supper is preparing. It will do him good, for the cold is intense out of doors.'* The carrier was thankful for the wine, but de- clined any thing more, saying that he was going to spend the holydays with his friends at Eschen- Ihal. "Now," said the forester, "come all of you and sit down by me. Mr. Riedinger's letter encloses one from Anthony, and I will read it to you." Louisa'haslened to bring a light, that her fa- ther might more easily read. The contents were as follows : — "My dear Father, — You will receive with this a Christmas present, — a picture, with which I have taken a great deal of pains. It represents our Saviour in the manger. Several artists have assured me, that I have been successful in it. I 40 CHRISTMAS EVE. only wisli that it may give you half llio pleasure ihal I fell on scciiiir ilie reprcscnlaliou of ihe infant Jesus in the manger, on the niglit that I first entered your Ijousc, in wliich case your pleasure will not be trilling. Would that I could accompany my picture, and give it you myself! It is true Uiat Italy is a superb coun- try. I am writing to you in November; you liave already had some winter. The roof of your houiie, llie fir-trees and the oaks, already, with y9U, groan under tlicir weight of snow ; while iiere tlie orange ami lemon trees arc charming us with their silver Jlowers and golden fruit. iVcverlheless, in the midst of all this magnificence, I sigh for your rustic hcartli, by which I have passed the happiest moments of my life. It is to your kindness that I owe the means of seeing the fine sky of Italy, and becoming an artist, should I ever deserve the name. It was your repre- sentation of tlie manger wliich lirst awoke my talent. It is always before my eyes ; and how- ever tine are the masterpieces which I have had an opportunity of seeing here, they do not pro- duce the same delightful effect on me as that did. The happy years of childhood are, however, so THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 47 sweet, that all is embellished by the brilliancy of our early dawn : what a pity it is that they should pass so quickly ! When you are reading my letter and looking at my picture, I shall be with you in spirit. My heart beats afresh, when I remem- ber how I came for the first time to your house half dead with cold ; how our kind mother re- stored me by her warm food ; how you adopted me for your son ; and how Christian, Catherine, and Louisa, shared with me their Christmas gifts. Oh, my beloved father, I kiss with gratitude your venerable hands, and those of my adopted mother; 1 embrace my brother and sisters ; and I rejoice already in the anticipation of being able to say to you myself in a few years, how much I am, with all my heart, " Your grateful and affectionate son, " Anthony. ''Borne, November 15, 175G." *' There is a nice letter," said the forester. " All that we have done for this good young man is but litde. I never could have thought that he would have been the cause of so much happiness to me. But here is supper waiting for 48 CHRimiAS EVE. us ; we will look al llie piclure when wc hare liiiishcil.'* *• Oh no,*' said lliey all wiih one accord. •* Wc woiilJ much rather see the picture than cat/' saiil Louisa; *• but I will frt
  • vra|)|Kii in co irsc swaddling clothes, He reposes on a little hay aDd straw. Hut II is mother i^rceu Him with a Rofl smile, and lavishes the most tender cares uj>oii Him: the faitiiful fostcr-fatitcr, full of interest, slays al His side, ready to protect with his strong arm llie mother and child, and to support them with llio labour of his hands. A good father, • tender mother, a child who, though hanlly ar- rived al the age of reason, repays llieir love with ^^ralilude, — is ihat not the finest sight upon carlii — a sight at which llic Angels lliemselvcs re- joice f This alTcclmg union wc owe to God. Oh, my dears, when you sec this new-born babe in the manger, say to yourselves, ' I also, in my infancy, was feeble and incapable of helping my- self. I should have died for want of food, had not my parents tenderly clicrished me. Hut / was received with joy and happiness ; all was prcpartd for my arrival. My mother wrapped mc in the linen which she herself had spun, bleached, and made up for me — night and day she devoted her whole lime to me. When I slept, she watched near my cradle, and her anx- THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 5l iety for me often deprived her of sleep. My father shared her solicitude, and worked for my support.' Never forget these cares, and thank God for having given you good parents. It is He who filled your mother's heart with this inexpressible love ; it is He who inspired your father with such love for you. Be not, then, ungrateful towards your parents. A son, or a daughter, who could forget what their mother lias suffered for their sake, or how much trouble it has cost their father to feed, clothe, and bring them up, would be devoid of all feeling. After having looked at the holy family, let us glance at the Angels whicli float above them, and then upon the animals which are in the stable. But first of all, let us look once more at the blessed Virgin ; her face is expressive of divine inno- cence and of the greatest maternal tenderness. See then that divine Child, whose smile is so gracious, and whose eyes shine like stars : then look down at the rough coarse lieads of the ox and ass. Observe how they put forwards their noses, thinking only of their food ; they know no greater pleasure. Who can see the man standing by them, and not acknowledge him to 5^ cnRimiAS evk. be a hc'inicmre ol the birtli of Jesus, Anftiony's Iwautiful present. It occupied the place of the lookin^-glaM, and was covered with a veil for its preservation. The young forester's two lovely children, Francis and Clara, had anticipated the celebration of Christmas eve with great pleasure. They rose; and wiping away iheir tears, asked llieir grond- niolher to remove the veil from the picture, and to light the wax candles, as she had done the year before, so as to sec it belter. *' And, grandfather/* said Clara, ** take your harp, that we may sing the Christmas carols which mother taught us." *• You are right," said the forester ; *' let us sing a Christmas carol." '* But first," added he, ** has any thing particu- lar occurred during our absence?'* *• Notlungat all," replied his wife, '* but the arrival of another government paper ;** at the same time placing the sealed letter in his hand. THE FORESTER S FURTHER DISASTERS. 77 He opened it with much agitation, and raising his eyes to heaven, exclaimed, " Thy will Lord be done !" Every one looked anxiously towards him. " What is it?" said the grandmother. ** We must leave this house directly," answer- ed he ; " indeed we ought already to have quilted it. The ranger orders us in this letter to leave the house at the latest on Christmas eve, in order that the new woodman may enter upon his new office during the holydays. He threatens us, in case of disobedience, to have us turned out by the sherifT's officers. I am surprised that they are not already here ; we may expect them every moment to turn us out of doors." "Heavens," exclaimed the young woman; *♦ in this dreadful night ? Only listen how it pours, and how the wind whistles ! Where shall we find a shelter from the storm and rain ?" and pressing her two children to her breast she sank upon a chair. " Gracious God," exclaimed she, " have pity on these innocents !" Her husband, stand- ing motionless by her side, regarded her and his children with tearful eyes. '* Oh, my God !" said the old woman, sobbing 7* 78 CHRISTMAS EVE. and wringing her hands ; •* to ho turned out in nay old age, witli our rliiklrcn and our grand- cliildrcn, from llic house where I was horn, and where my father and grandfather lived. Clra- cious God1 let me die in the place of my hirih." Catherine wept in silence ; Louisa trrtnhled like a lanih led to slaughter; while the venerable- looking old forester, wiili his hald forehead and silver hair, snid, in a calm, tranquil voice, ** Yes, my dear cluldren, this liouse we must leave ; and where to seek for hospitality for us all, I know not; we must therefore separate. I did hope, it is true, to have enjoyed amongst you a peaceful old age ; I did hope to have seen you gathered round my dcnth-bcd under this roof; but (lod has otherwise decided it; let us submit to His holy will." He glanced towards his grand-chil- dren, and then continued, "If our hearts are wounded at the sight of their tears, is not the fatherly heart of God more tender still than ours ? Surely when He sends us such heavy trialn. He does it in the most perfect wisdom. This very sorrow will turn to our good. Our ancestors said, from experience, that when trouble is at its highest pilch, then does God send help. Wc THE forester's FURTHER DISASTERS. 79 have often celebrated the feast of Christmas eve in this very chamber, in joy; it is now God's will that we should pass it in sorrow : let us learn to submit with resignation." " You are quite right, my dear husband," said the good woman. "We will throw all our care upon Providence, and remain calm under the misfortune which strikes us. I have often put myself into the place of the blessed Mary, who M'as not only obliged to pass the night in a sta- ble, but who was also, like us, obliged to leave her dwelling in the night, and to carry the holy Child into a strange land. However great her faith, her love for her Child must have often caused her to shed tears. Ilcr anxieties were heart-rending. Every person during his sojourn upon earth must sufler as she did ; for God tries all His children. The events of the sacred history are, as one may say, renewed in us. But he who sent Mary in the stable — while on her melan- choly journey — comforting friends and angels for her guides, will not leave us comfortless, and will help us in his own good time." At that moment knockings were heard at the door. " Here they are to unhouse us," said the old man. 80 CHRISTMAS LVK. His son shuddered, :uul glancing at his gun, said, "Lei ihcni roine ! lei them dare to turn my old parents, my dear wife and eliildren, and my sisters, oul of doors ; and llie first dial lays a hand on cither of you I " *' Oh ! no, no, my son," said the father, "do not fmi.sh the terrible words which you were about to pronounce. God is above litem and us ; He only is our refuse and prolection. Should our prayers and representations have no eirecl on these men, we will leave the house wilhout being forced to do so; and wc will take refuge for the nigh I in that cavern which has so oflen sheltered us in our sporting expeditions. Alas!'* said he rising, *' would that we could all look forward with confidence into the future; and place our destiny in the hands of Him whose goodness towards us equals His power." CHAPTER VIII. THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR. More knocking at the door fol- \cil, and the forester ordered . hia son to open it, when in a few i _ ^1 moments there stepped into the ||| fjlj room a stranger; he was a tall I well-looking man, enveloped in u --:.- J, cloak with a fur cap shading great part of his face. "This is the new forester," said they all with alarm : but the stranger him- self seemed frightened at the tearful eyes and pale cheeks which he saw before Iiim. Having taken ofl' his cap, he remained for a moment motionless, and then said, " So you do not know me ?" At last Louisa suddenly exclaimed, " It is An- thony !" 82 CHRlfTMAS IVE. *• Anihony !'* cried (Catherine : •* is it poMH ble r "What arc you thinking ot .' ... the old woman ; '* this gentleman if much taller and stouter than Anthony.** •♦Indeed it is he,*' said Christian. .. .. An- thony. For heaTen*s sake, my dear brother, what brings you here ? I thought you were at Rome, hundreds of nnles away.*' The old man rubbed his eyes, and doubting the evidence o( his own tenses, slowly advanced, when nil at once, catching him in his arms, he exclaimed, *' Oh, my son Anihony !" and ihcy remained closely embraced fer some momenlt. Anthony then pressed his venerable mother 10 his heart, and in their turn his brother and sis- ters ; his joy at the sight of lliem was unbounded. He also showed gre.it interest in the young wife and her children, whom he now saw for the first lime. The happiness of this unexpected meeting banished sorrow. The good old grandmolher was the first to remind him of their painful situation. *' My dear Anthony," said she, *' you THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 83 arrive at a very uiirortiinate moment for us; sit near me, tliai I may talk to you of our disasters." '* I know all," said he : '* but liavc no further anxiety, my dear parents ; your alFairs are mend- ing. I have seen the prince, my dear father; and he desired to be kindly remembered to you." *' To me '." said llie old man ; *' how did you get lo speak to the prince ? I am amazed, and can only look on this as a happy dream." *' No, no," replied Anthony, "it is all true; seat yourself in your own chair, dear father — and you also my worthy motlier sit here a!id listen U) my story." The dclighicd parents sealed themselves on each side of him ; and surrounded by the other members of the family, who listened with allenlion anil astonishment, he began : " Our present prince as you well know travelled some time ago in Italy. When at Rome he visited an exhibition, where all the newest pictures of young artists were exposed. Among these pic- lures there was one which pleased him particu- larly ; and on inquiring, he found that the painter was a young man named Anthony Croner. He sent for me, praised my work excessively, and behaved towards me with the greatest afTability. 84 cuRirrXA!i i:vi:. He asked luc to fix a price fur my picture; and with a generosity equal lo his lii^rh birth, ho paid me much more than I dcniutiJcd. V'er)r' often, when he vimicd tiic most celebrated pio- tiires at Homo, ho mviled me to accompany him. I went with him m his carrb(n?» and often dmod at hiH la!)lo. Alniut tiut time there was at Uomc a sale of several old pietofet of great beauty. Tlie prince wiahcd mo to view them with him ; and whenever :i sulijecl plca.<! v.ir') nil n,v r.,l!r-!inn -iru! \:.r.<\cd THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 85 safely wiili my precious treasure. I then hired a carriage to convey the pictures; and that they might not be damaged, I did not lose sight of them unlil iheir arrival in the capital. On quil- ling the carriage, I hastened to court, and sent in my name. The prince rising from table, received me in liis own room. ' Welcome to Germany,' said he to me with great kindness; •what beautiful things do you bring me from Italy?' *The pictures,' I replied, 'that your highness commissioned me to purchase for you.' • And how many of them have you succeeded in getting ?' said he, quickly. * All, your highness.' ' What, all !' said he joyfully ; ' that is excellent.' He then gave orders that the pictures should be unpacked and hung up. I assisted in the work, and they were all found to be perfect. The prince was delighted. I delivered him up the receipts of the sums I had paid. * The purchase- money is much less,' said he, ' than the i^um I had allowed you to go to.' I asked him to whom I should remit the money which remained in my hands. ' Oh,' said he, with great aOability, • do not mention that ; for I owe you a debt of gratitude ; and if you arc satisfied with me, I am still more 8 86 CHRISTMAS EVE. SO wiili you. But you must be fatigued with your journey, and you have exerted yourself in unpacking — go and rest yourself.' He ordered nie a room in the palace. Upon retiring, I re- solved on a visit to the old counsellor Muller, who was (except the prince) the only person I knew ; and I well remembered, as head ranger, he used often to visit you, and was very intimate with you. He asked what business had brought me to tiie residence ; and when I told him, he said, * You arrive at a very fortunate time ;' and then he gave me an account of the trouble which the ranger had caused you ; how you had come to the residence ; and in short, how you had been obliged to go away without having suc- ceeded in your wishes. I expressed a desire to return instantly to the prince. ' No, no,' said Mr. Midler, 'it would not do now. You may ask to have a private audience early to-morrow morning, and I will accompany you. The affair is already sulTiciently advanced to secure us a favourable reception.' We were accordingly re- ceived on the following morning ; and I spoke of you, — I related with warmth in what manner you liad received me into your house, and told the THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 87 prince all that you had done for me — I went into the minutest details. Mr. MiJller frequently inter- rupted me with ' true, true ;' but the prince smil- ing, said, 'Let him speak ; I am much pleased with the gratitude this good son expresses for his adopted parents ; we shall know in time to what point he is coming.' I then touched upon the subject of Mr. Schiif, and clearly explained to him why that gentleman was so prejudiced against you ; and I added, that he would have been imprisoned for poaching, if the late prince had not been too idulgent towards him. ' Now,' said Mr. MuUer, ' you exceed the bounds of that respect which you owe to his highness. You know that princes must be indulgent ; Mr. Schiif was very young, and was for that reason gently dealt with.' ' Go on, go on,' said the prince. I then showed him the letters you had written to me while in Italy, in all of which you expressed your good wishes for the welfare of the hereditary prince, who was at that time in the same country with myself: these letters I had unpacked during the night. The prince did not confine himself to the passages which I pointed out to him, but kindly asked leaver to read the entire letter. ' I Doir/ md be, * your Apeaking lo me in luly of ihit gooil father of yours. A man who can write tuch Ivlier* m those, atiii who hai brought up «o gooil a ion. must be worth »omc- thiii(«* * For which rca»oo,' taid I. * your high* • ' •' - ', -' -"•' --ir- v. .. . ..a ttifrily al me : ' la iliat the way lo epeak lo his » ' • A he. I? . only •mil' I, ' Thr^' not to quickly Uespairhed, young man; the ru ;• r'<« :d: He :■ .-O ■« With th« !)d conversed with hiro in a low tone for some time ; «!own t«» ' '>d I , ., hi, * Hav. , it-r anxiety ; all will bo well.* He then f poke to mt of I . him a prci:, -^ . ij ..JVC my opinion of them. * They all need repairing or arranging,* added he, 'and I intrust you with the commission, if you are disposed to accept of it' *It will j^ire roe the greatest pleasure to do so,* I repied ; • but I can engage in noihinf^ till after the CJiristmas holydnys. On Christmas r\*- \ THE UNKXPECTED VISITOR. 89 first saw my revered adopted parents, and on that day I wish to see them again, particularly when I can be the means of carrying comfort to tlicm in their present apparenUy melancholy situation.' *I quite approve of your going,* said the prince; •filial gratitude is the first of duties.* Mr. MuUcr having finished writing, handed the letter to the prince who signed it. * Remember rao to your good father,* said he, * and assure the worthy old man that he has nothing to fear.* * How fami- liarly you spoke to the prince,* said Mr. Miillcr to me on our way to my lodging : * I endeavoured to restrain you, but you paid me no attention. Your love for your adopted parents excuses your warmth; besides which the slraightesl way is always the shortest.' " I then begged him to tell me what the prince had confided to him, and what he had told him to write. After many entreaties, he at last con- fessed that the prince had said, ' How nearly have I been committing an act of injustice ! Here is a deed, making over to another the old forester's place ; but I had so many doubts that I never signed it, although no means has been left un- tried to make me do so. I will now look more 8» 90 ciiRirrMAS its. into ihii affair/ He onlcrcU Mr. Miiller to write m particular order.atlUrcssed to the ranfer, the contents of v' Th a hi« highnen 1. . ^ . >re the unworthy manner in which the foreiter Gru- ncwald had horn ircilril by the mnprr, who wai now forhidden to annoy in any roauner either the old forester or his son ; and was likewise to ewsit further orders.' The pnnce desired the ro«n- sellor to send this Irtter express ; * for,* said he, ' I am muKt anxiott* to set the worthy man's heart at rest.* Mr. Midler also desired me to gire his re^rds to you, and to tell you, that the command* of the prince were sure to turn every thing to your advantage ; and that your son would, with- out any doubt, hold the place of keeper." During this recital, the old forcstrr and his family had often occasion to wipe their eyes ; and when Anthony had done .«r ' the old man rose and embraced him ; ai off the veil which covered the picture of the Nativity, threw a glance of ' towards heaven, ex- claiming, ** Let u-* I the Angrls in prais- ing God. Glory to God in heaven, and peace upon earth to all those who have pure hearts !*' CHAPTER IX. THE CHRISTMAS TREE. ff, : ...^-^ After Anlljony IkuI linislicd his 1^ V recital, he inquired, wilh great M^^^^.y^'^';^ ^i interest, after the health of his f; ^^; liear parents. He could not but I r»'mark with sorrow how aged •^ y had become during his ab- M iicc . Ill- liiiioM wept at the sight of their sil- vered locks and countless wrinkles, although he concealed his own atlliction for fear of increasing theirs. On the other hand, he was pleasingly surprised to find Christian, Catherine, and Louisa, in the flower of their age. He drew Christian's children towards him. " How lime passes !" he exclaimed. *' Eighteen years ago. Christian, Catherine, and myself, were just such children as these, and Louisa was still younger; 98 CBKinHAf EVE. and now they occupy our placet." He fell miMll pleasuro at seeing ihcso children ; and asked them if lliry had : ' my Chri- v<«. ••Oh, no !" »ai i ink ; *• 1)1- laa flpoiled our hulyday ; be if a real Herod." Hit rnotiicr reproved himforapcaking in such a niaiiMcr. •• I am sure, Anthony,** aaid little Clara in her turn, ** that an nii 1 here; but haro you brought us a <_ . ._ ^ :l'* ** To be sure,** said he ; ** I have not forgolleo you ; only you must await ilie arrival of my car- riage and lis baggnge.** This aniicipaiiou cootenlcd the children, and enabled them to wait with palicnre fur morning. Supper was then served ; but there was more talking tlian eating, the children alone doing honour to the good cheer ; they soon went to bed : but the rest of the party remained together some lime longer. •• We must prepare a surprise for these lilUe dears," said Anthony. •* We will have a Christ- mas tree for Uiem. In some countries the man- ger is represented on this evening; in others, m Christmas tree is exhibited. Christian will want THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 93 little persuasion to go and get a nice young fir- tree this very night to please his children ; I having brouglil from Eschenthal every thing that is necessary to ornament it. I left my coachman there and his horses {which were over tired), and I took the mountain path that I niiglit get here sooner. I expect my carriage and trunks before sunrise to-morrow." Very early on the following morning, while the children still slept, the inhabitants of the house were busied in preparing the Christmas tree. A fine young fir, with green tufted branches, was placed in a corner between the two windows. When the carriage was unpacked, Anthony open- ed a large box filled with every article that could please a child. He fastened all his little presents to tlie branches — as well as fine fruit, variegated bons-bons, beautiful little baskets full of sugared almonds, wreaths of artificial flowers tied with blue or pink ribbons — all of which he arranged very tastefully; and finally he melted wax into a number of little tin lamps, and fixed them care- fully on the tree, that they might illuminate without burning it. "NVhcn all was completed, Catherine and Louisa were going to awaken the children. 94 CHRISTMAS EVE. " Do not bring them in," said Antliony, '* until I have lighted the lamps; and tlieir mother will call them." No sooner did tlie children hear something about presents than sleep forsook their eyes ; and they could not be dressed too quickly. But when their mother cried, " Now come !" they rushed into the room, and, dazzled by the splendour and brilliancy which met their siglit, they stopped short, silent with astonishment and delight. Star- ing, with half-open mouths, they could not take their eyes IVom the dazzling tree. The beautiful green of the branches, the lights which, like stars, beamed through them, the fine red apples, the golden pears, and all the many-coloured shining things, appeared like the work of enchantment. They hardly knew whether they were dreaming or not; but finding their speech at last, they ex- claimed, " How beautiful ! how magnificent!" ** In the whole of our forest," said Frank, "you could not find so beautiful a tree, or one that produced such a fine variety of fruit." "To be sure," said Clara, "such trees only grow in paradise or in heaven. Mother, did not our Saviour Christ send us this tree ?" THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 95 *' Not exactly as you see it," said her mother ; " but it is to Him that you owe the pleasure you are feeling — to Jesus, who was once a child, and who is now in heaven ; for if he had not come down upon earth, we should have had neither presents nor happiness at Christmas." "Well," said both the children, "we should like very much to love and obey Him ; He is so good, and loves children so dearly. I do not suppose any body was ever so happy before as we are." " My dears," said the grandmother, " it would indeed be difficult to feel a purer joy than yours. Innocent children are doubtless the happiest beings on earth; their joys are all pure and tranquil. God preserve you good and innocent ! Ah !" said she addressing herself to the other members of the party, "the pleasures of a more advanced age are too often embittered by un- easiness and sorrow, by ambition, avarice and other passions, nay, often by remorse; therefore are the words of our blessed Saviour so true and so beautiful : ' Except ye be as one of these little ones, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.' " The grandfather then added, " This custom of 90 CHRISTMAS EVE. ornamenting a Christmas tree is very pleasing. Our ancestors showed as much wisdom as pru- dence in seeking to render the riles of Cliris- tianity interesting to children. Tliis innocent pleasure makes them love these hoiydays, and prepares their hearts to share the greatest joys that religion has to oiler. Every year, from this time, our dear children shall have their Christ- mas tree ; and even if it should not be so richly ornamented as this one, it will give them very great pleasure; so litUe pleases children : a few apples and pears and gilded nuts make up for the want of more costly presents. Every parent must be happy in procuring such innocent joys for his children. I think also that the Christmas tree might be made of use as a matter of educa- tion, and often be rendered of greater service than the rod. Children who have once enjoyed the sight of such a tree, will anticipate for the whole year long the delight of having such another ; and the threat of depriving them of it will surely have much more ellect than the severest punish- ment." The parents expressed their thanks to Anthony for the pleasure he had procured to their children. THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 97 "Do not mention such trifles," said he. "I must beg you also to accept some Christmas gifts ;" and opening a chest which stood in the corner of the room, *' You gave me this trunk abundantly filled," said he, *'when I set out on my journey ; and it is but fair that I should re- turn it not entirely empty :" and presenting the good old woman with some silks and valuable furs, he added, " It is the duty of a good son to clothe his parents warmly during the hard wea- ther." For the young wife and the two sisters he brought green sarsnels for dresses, Milan silk handkerchiefs, and other articles of dress. To Christian he presented an excellent double-bar- relled gun, the stock of which was of walnut- wood, richly embossed with silver. " You, my dear father," said Anthony, addressing the old forester, " ought not to shoot any more ; you must rest from your labours ; and you ought to have some strengthening cordials at your ad- vanced age ; here is a basketful of good old Rhine wine of the very best quality, and here is a goblet to drink it out of;" at the same time presenting him with a silver drinking cup, gilt in the inside. In the centre of a wreath of oak- 9 08 ciiKirrxAs kvi:. learcf were engrarcd ihcic words : «• To my dear father, Frederick Grtincwald, in rpmrmbranceof the ChrisUiuacTC of 1740; prr^^ • ' i Chrisl- nias day I75H, |»y Ins grateful > \ uy Cro- ncr.** The old forcflter prrvaed Anthony to his heart. The latter then placed in hit hands a rouleau of gold pieces : *• My drarest Father," said he, ** you spent a great deal upon me ; and it u ' ' ' lat your chddren and gr.i; r for me. The old man deelined aecepting the last present. " It is no- ■ ■ \ 1 prince ha'' ^ _ wne Uie power of repaying you a small part of the debt of gmtittidc which I can never en nit myself of." Here the old man ngn r the I'uresier. Antliony purchased a nice hooot 1' ' ' ' ro he hu ' ••• ..f Id a very . r, itid lived roott happdy with hw l.ouiia. In t* arri*' , _ iv counflcUur MuUer and a strani^er, who waa well i . :. - -- - - ...th the viaiL *• Yoo bavecx v ordera,'* Baid " your rcporta, 1 did in- , - *icr oi' hia •ituation, and ^rnn^ed to give an inferior one to hit ton : but I never uilrnn\n no rnmmrnl. Within the bit < ii li.iit b«'rn introducrd rcry j;rm»r»lly in " ^1 Churclkos ihrougboui the L'iutc