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 ■^./^/
 
 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<li .moiImt 
 light, that we may examine it better. 
 
 Christian opened the case. •• Oh, how beau- 
 tiful ! how charming !" cried they all together. 
 •' What heavenly figures ! and the colouring is 
 not to be surpassed." 
 
 The forester placed the piclure on a little table 
 near the wall, and set a light on either side of it. 
 All eyes were fixed on the brilliant performance. 
 The forester's wife devoutly joined her hands, 
 saying, " Truly, nothing can be more beautiful I 
 I seem almost to have been myself at the manger. 
 In what a loving and gracious manner the holy 
 Child looks atone; it appears as if upon His very 
 arrival into the world, He would greet us kindly ! 
 And Mary, kneeling before the crib— how her 
 eyes, full of lender alTcclion, rest upon the Child, 
 whom she holds in one arm, while her other 
 hand is placed upon her trembling heart; the 
 sight of ihnt dear Child mnkes her unmindful of 
 the misery around her! IIow venerable is the
 
 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 49 
 
 appearance of Joseph, and in what a devout man- 
 ner he raises his hands to heaven ! How honest 
 and upright are the countenances of the shep- 
 herds — with what piety and devotion are they 
 kneeling ! And the angels above them — with 
 what heavenly beauty they are adorned! And 
 the light which beams from the Child, illumi- 
 nating all around Him, surpasses the splendour 
 of the Angels themselves. He must have a heart 
 of stone who does not rejoice at the birih of a 
 Saviour, and joiu the heavenly choir in celebrat- 
 ing the glory of the Eternal." 
 
 The forester had hitherto examined the pic- 
 ture in silence, never taking his eyes from it or 
 uttering a single word ; but on a sudden, as if 
 awaking from a dream, he exclaimed, " Yes, 
 you are right. When this divine story, so ably 
 represented, is before us, it has a particular 
 effect on our hearts. I would try to express all 
 the thoughts it gives rise to, and all the feelings 
 it inspires." He drew his arm-chair to a little 
 distance from the picture, and thus began : " We 
 are desirous, my dear children, to direct our 
 looks to thelioly Child in the manger. For some 
 moments let us not think of His heavenly origin, 
 5
 
 50 CIIRIiiTMAS I.VK, 
 
 bill let un t MI in a?< a mere luiman child, 
 retljlo ail . . ^"*« ■'^''il >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'in<r of a superior nature, Im lon<,Mii}» to a 
 higher claas ? 'I'lie most vulgar of u»cn would 
 think himnelf insulted, if one were to say that he 
 Avas not of more value than the ox that draws the 
 plough, or llie ass that bears the burden, who 
 after death perish. No ; man is more like the 
 Angela of (iod, who (*an acknowledge their Crea- 
 tor, and sing His praise; for ho is the only 
 earthly creature who can do so. Whatever 
 analogy he may have to the animals, he is much 
 nearer allied to the heavenly Angels. Although 
 he enters the world with tears, and sutTcrs much 
 while in it, flourishing but for a time, to fade at 
 last like the flower of the field, — although he 
 becomes dust like the animals, it is only his out- 
 ward form that does so. He has in him an im- 
 mortal spirit; he is an Angel under a material 
 form. As soon as this earthly covering drops, 
 man becomes perfect aa the angels, provided he 
 has fulfilled his destination upon earth, and has 
 lived conformably to the will of his heavenly 
 Father. The painter has done well to add a 
 lamb and a basket of fruit as being presented to 
 the new-born child. All earthly creatures are 
 subject to man ; he subdues the strongest beasts,
 
 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 53 
 
 and compels them to serve him ; the sheep gives 
 to him its flesh and its wool ; and earth pro- 
 duces for him its finest fruits. God has made 
 man only a little lower than the angels ; He has 
 crowned him with glory and honour; lie has 
 made him lord of all Ilis works, and has suhject- 
 ed all to his dominion. The very place in which 
 we perceive this child and His parents, the mise- 
 rable crib in ihe lowly stable, is not \vithout its 
 meaning. Man requires not the aid of a palace 
 to fulfil his destiny ; he may live happily in the 
 meanest cabin, and die there in peace. "We see 
 nought in the stable but poverty and indigence. 
 To be really happy and worthy of honour, man 
 wants neither velvet, nor silk, nor gold, nor 
 silver. In all matters of real importance, God 
 has made no distinction between men. My chil- 
 dren, all that I have until now told you is most 
 consoling to us ; but the finest portion of the 
 story, humanly speaking, is to come. The most 
 important circumstance is the heavenly origin and 
 high destination of this holy child ; for Jesus 
 Christ, the Son of the Almighty, became man, 
 descended upon earth for the salvation of man- 
 kind (which was fallen from its state of purity 
 5*
 
 54 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 and dignity), and to lead it again to God. In 
 Him is manifested the goodness of the Most 
 High ; in Him we see God concealed under tlie 
 form of a mortal. Born in the extremesl poverty, 
 He was cradled in a manger, had not where to 
 lay His head, and died on the cross like a male- 
 factor. And yet without help, witlioul riches 
 or any warlike pomp, He changed the aspect of 
 the earth by His divine wisdom, His love, and 
 His omnipotence ; He has enlightened, enno- 
 bled, and saved tlie human race, and thus proved 
 His divine origin. These are the ideas whicli 
 are suggested by the view of this picture, in the 
 same manner as if it were the Scripture itself. 
 You see, it is at night; darkness covers the 
 country, and the scene is only illuminated by 
 the light which the holy child sheds around 
 Him. Thus, at the lime of Christ's birth, did 
 the darkness of ignorance and paganism cover 
 the earth ; but in Him a light appeared wliich 
 shone upon all mankind. They were plunged 
 in sin and vice ; lliey were become like the beasts 
 of the stable, many among them were even more 
 degraded by their wickedness; but Christ came 
 to convert iheni, and to make all who believed
 
 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 55 
 
 in Him better men, saints, angels under a human 
 form. Before He came, men were as miserable 
 as ihey were ignorant and vicious. But observe 
 all those who surround the manger of Jesus, 
 how happy they are, how they rejoice in His 
 birth ! At sight of the new-born Saviour, Mary, 
 Joseph, the shepherds, all seem to be lifted 
 above the cares of life. He who was to deliver 
 mankind from their misery brings them pure joy 
 and heavenly peace. Behold Him there who 
 began at the moment of His birth to accomplish 
 His sacred mission. The words of the angel 
 were addressed to the whole world : " Behold, 
 I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be 
 to all people ; for to you is born a Saviour, even 
 Christ the Lord.' We are all of us allowed to 
 approach Him. He first discovered Himself to 
 poor and simple country people, to shepherds. 
 His mother also was poor; His foster-father 
 was a workman, who gained his livelihood by 
 the sweat of his brow. While contemplating 
 this scene, we are taught that riches, honours, 
 and human wisdom, have no price in His eyes ; 
 He only desires that men's wills may be pure, 
 like the blessed Virgin, the upright Joseph,
 
 of rnRi5rrMAS eve. 
 
 and \.hc shepherds, those pious honest men, full 
 of the fear of llic Lord. Nevertheless He will 
 receive even the greatest sinner, provided he re- 
 pents of his sins, and lias a firm intention of for- 
 sakino^ thcin. This is what the child's name 
 signified ; this is why the angel announced to 
 Mary the message from God, ' Thou shall call 
 His name Jesus ;' pnd wliy he repeated the com* 
 niand to Joseph, ' Tliou shalt call his name 
 Jesus, for He shall save His people from their 
 sins.' Notwithstanding its corruption, the hu- 
 man race was to hecome Hii people, the holy 
 people of God. It is for this reason that the 
 sky above the manger is represented as open. 
 Jesus was to open again to men that heaven 
 which had been sliut to them ; was to found a 
 heavenly kingdom upon earth, and thus to re- 
 unite heaven and earth. This is why the angels 
 of God rejoiced with exceeding great joy : they 
 glorified God, and congratulated men upon the 
 salvation which was prepared for them through 
 Christ. Jesus has now accomplished that which 
 His binh announced, however great have been 
 the obstacles which the unbelief and the obsti- 
 nacy of men opposed to Him. He established
 
 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 57 
 
 the kingdom of heaven upon earth, and His work 
 yet subsists. Many conquerors liave since that 
 time founded terrestrial kingdoms, but these have 
 had a short duration, and have crumbled away 
 even before the eyes of their founders. The 
 kingdom of Jesus, the church, extends more and 
 more, and has lasted even to our days. Whole 
 nations have been converted to His faith, and 
 princes have made the cross the ornament of 
 their crowns. Human sacrifices, and all the 
 other abominations of paganism, disappeared 
 from Christian countries. A crowd of temples 
 and churches arose, where the worship of the 
 true God and divine truth was taught. Innume- 
 rable schools, charitable establishments, and 
 hospitals, were built by Christian humanity. 
 How many children, how many poor and sick, 
 must have perished in ignorance, in crime, and 
 in misery, without these charitable institutions ! 
 Millions of men find in the faith of Christ the 
 assurance of pardon for their former sins, and 
 guided by its lessons have become better men. 
 And at this present time, in spite of the increase 
 of impiety, there are countless souls devoted to 
 His service, who find in Him their consolation
 
 58 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 in life and in death; and the Gospel, ihc glad 
 tidings, is even now being preached to ihc hea- 
 then ; and savage nations, embracing the faith of 
 Christ, congratulate each other on the divine 
 truths whicli are announced to iheni. Tor this 
 reason, the day of Christ's birth is the most im- 
 portant in the liistory of the human race ; and 
 our wise ancestors began with reason a new era 
 on that day. Each year that passes should re- 
 call to our rcmcm!)rance that the birth of Christ 
 is also the birth of all those who will lay open 
 their hearts to Him. Now then, my children, 
 let us join our voices to the angels' hymn, and 
 offer our homage to our Saviour." 
 
 Thus spoke the forester. His wife, much 
 affected, added, " Yes, my children. Ictus glorify 
 Jesus. The splendid picture sent us by Anthony 
 is the most valuable present that any one, even 
 that a prince, could have made us. The devout 
 attention with which you have listened to the ex- 
 hortation of your father is the fittest manner of 
 celebrating this sacred evening. We will receive 
 with gratitude the salvation sent us by God in 
 the person of the new-born Saviour ; thus the day 
 of the Redeemer's birth will also become that of 
 our salvation."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE MISFORTUNES OF THE FORESTER. 
 
 From the time of Anthony's 
 departure, the excellent forester 
 lived a tranquil and happy life. 
 His children were grown up ; his 
 son had become a strong active 
 young man ; the blooming fresh- 
 ness of his daughters could not 
 be surpassed ; and the conduct of all was the just 
 recompense for the care he had bestowed upon 
 their education. Little by little the good old 
 man began to suffer the infirmities of age ; and 
 he entertained the idea of giving up his situation 
 to his son. The prince his master came regularly 
 every year for some days to the Casde of Fel- 
 seck, as he was extremely fond of shooting. His 
 manners were most affable, and he listened with 
 the greatest condescension to any thing that the
 
 60 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 meanest of his subjects might have to say. Oii 
 liis arrival he sporlcii in lliat wood of which the 
 old forester had llie care ; and finding it in the 
 best possible order, he advanced to the forester, 
 and tapj)ing him on the shoulder, said, "How 
 goes it with you, good man T* 
 
 " IMease your highness," said the keeper, **I 
 begin to grow old, and I would willingly shift my 
 burden to younger shoulders." 
 
 ** Well," said the prince, •♦ to your son Chris- 
 tian's, I suppose? I sec him yonder. He is a 
 good sportsman, and, what I value more, a clever 
 forester. I have remarked, during my walk this 
 morning, that these woods are perfectly well at- 
 tended to. Depend on me, no one else shall 
 have your situation, and he may meanwhile com- 
 mence business. But I should wish you some 
 time longer to continue the superintendence, under 
 the title of head forester. The best young people 
 become careless and presumptuous when they are 
 too soon allowed to wear an embroidered uniform. 
 It is for my advantage as well as your own that 
 you should still remain in office." 
 
 The forester expressed his gratitude to the 
 prince, and then added, ♦' There is yet another
 
 MISFORTUNES OF THE FORESTER. 61 
 
 subject on which I wish to speak to your high- 
 ness. JMy son has at present an opportunity of 
 making a desirable marriage with the daughter 
 of my old friend Bosh, who died some time ago ; 
 this young girl has just lost her mother, and 
 knows not what she ought to do. She is poor, 
 but honest, industrious, good, and modest." 
 
 "I consent most willingly to your son's mar- 
 rying," said the prince; "and I commend him 
 for seeking for innocence and virtue more than 
 for fortune. I promise to give him the succes- 
 sion of the forester's office ; and I will take care 
 to have the agreement written out." 
 
 The keeper's son, who had been waiting in 
 great anxiety at some distance, now advanced 
 upon a sign from his father, and thanked the 
 prince. The marriage took place ; the young 
 woman proved a blessing to the family ; peace 
 and unanimity dwelt under the good forester's 
 roof, who before long had the happiness of em- 
 bracing his grandchildren, the care of whom 
 seemed to bring a renewal of youth to his excel- 
 lent wife. The daughters of the house also 
 loved the young woman like a sister, and they 
 were all extremely happy. But this worthy 
 6
 
 63 ClIRISTMAB EVE. i^tt 
 
 family soon experienced a chanfrc of fortune, 
 brought about by a circumstance which hail oc- 
 curred long before, — so long as to have totally 
 escaped the forester's memor)'. The young Mr. 
 dc Schilf, who had often been his companion in 
 Uie field, soon took the liberty of beating the 
 covers without llic keeper's permission ; he even 
 took upon himself to kill all the game he could 
 find williout mercy. The forester meeting him 
 one day, told him that poaching waa strictly 
 forbidden, and that if he wished to enjoy the 
 pleasure of sliooting, he must continue to go to 
 his house, when he would always accompany 
 him and show him the best sport, and that he 
 might then shoot what he pleased; but tliat he 
 could not allow him to shoot alone in the covers 
 which he had the care of. The young gentleman, 
 however, did not desist. The forester again met 
 him, took from him his gun, saying, at the same 
 time, " God knows with what regret I do this ; 
 but it is ray duly, and I have no alternative. 
 Should I again meet you, I sliall be obliged to 
 serve you with a notice, and it may then become 
 a very serious affair for you." The honest keeper 
 also went to the elder Mr. de Schilf, and entreat-
 
 MISFORTUNES OF THE FORESTER. 63 
 
 ed him to keep a watch over the conduct of his 
 son. This gentleman usually allowed the young 
 man to have his own way entirely ; but at this 
 information he became exceedingly angry ; for he 
 was afraid of drawing upon himself the displea- 
 sure of the prince. He threatened to disinherit 
 his son if ever he went shooting again without 
 the keeper. But the young man was too much 
 accustomed to disobedience to heed his father's 
 word. A short time afterwards, hearing the re- 
 port of a gun, and running to the spot whence 
 the sound appeared to proceed, the keeper found 
 the younger De Schilf standing near a stag which 
 he had just killed. He accordingly brought an ac- 
 tion against him. The elder De Schilf addressed 
 himself to the prince to obtain his son's pardon ; 
 the answer he received was, that according to law, 
 his son ought to go to prison. " But," said the 
 prince, " I will pardon him this once. Should it, 
 however, again occur, let him be assured that he 
 will certainly be conducted to prison ; and you 
 may well imagine that I shall never choose any 
 servant or officer of mine from a place of con- 
 finement.'* 
 
 The affair was thus concluded ; but young De
 
 64 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Schilf conceived a iiiorlal hatred against the 
 forester, and through a hmg course of years he 
 thirsted for an opportunity of revenging himself. 
 The reigning prince dying suddenly, and his heir 
 being yet a minor and on his travels, a regency 
 was appointed, and many changes took place in 
 the country. The younger Mr. de Schilf, who 
 was very rich, and had powerful friends, obtained 
 the situation of ranger. The Casdc of Felseck 
 was appointed as his residence, and he came with 
 great ceremony to lake possession of it. lie thus 
 became head over tlie forester, and never allowed 
 an opportunity to escape him of annoying him; 
 he was perpetually finding fault with him, and 
 llie poor keeper cculd never do any thing to 
 please him. At last the hereditary prince came 
 into possession; but Mr. de Schilf, who was very 
 clever and eloquent, succeeded in obtaining the 
 good opinion of the surveyor of the woods and 
 waters, who was much esteemed by the prince. 
 Upon this he beliavcd to the forester with more 
 insolence and animosity than ever. *' You are 
 no longer fit for service," said he one day to 
 the old man ; '* and I shall endeavour to pro-
 
 MISFORTUNES OF THE FORESTER. 65 
 
 cure a more proper superintendent for these fine 
 woods." 
 
 The forester replied, •' I resign my charge 
 most willingly; and I should long ago have 
 done so, if the deceased prince had allowed 
 me to do it. My son is therefore now keeper 
 and forester." 
 
 "You think so," said Mr. de Schilf, smiling 
 disdainfully. " I imagine I should have known 
 something aboiii it." 
 
 The forester appealed to the agreement of the 
 prince, in consequence of which his son had 
 married. 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. de Schilf, " all that I know 
 very well ;" and he explained it in the following 
 artful manner : " This is a simple promise, de- 
 pending on good behaviour, that is all ; but this 
 boy is good for nothing. I shall, I hope, make 
 a better choice." 
 
 The poor old forester could hardly restrain his 
 tears. " Mr. Ranger," said he, **do not be un- 
 just. You conceived yourself injured by me ; 
 but this is only another reason why you should 
 fear to do me harm." 
 
 *« What !" cried Mr. de Schilf, '* you dare to 
 6*
 
 60 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 remind mc of your own inipcrlinenrc ; you your- 
 self call lo my remembrance llial you deprived 
 nie of the sole enjoyment of my youth, and de- 
 famed me at court ? You are an impudent rascal, 
 who have never shown any respect for your supe- 
 riors, but liave encouraged beggars. You allowed 
 your son to marry a girl without a penny, a 
 regular pauper; you spent your money on lliat 
 little good-for-noihing wretched Anthony ; you 
 never knew how to economize )(|)urown fortune 
 — how, then, should you be able to dispose of 
 that of another, or watch over the interest of the 
 prince ? Go — go — you are of no further use. I 
 trust we may be soon independent of each other ; 
 till when, pray keep out of my sight." 
 
 The forester retired, saying to himself, •' Let 
 the ranger say w'hat he may, my w oods are in the 
 best possible order. Notwillislaiuling iho malice 
 he shows me, he can do me no harm." 
 
 When he went home he made no iiit iiiion of 
 what had passed to his family, being unwilling 
 to annoy them unnecessarily ; but shortly after- 
 wards, one evening on his return from the forest, 
 he had scarcely had time to scat himself in 
 his arm-chair, when a messenger from the ofhce
 
 MISFORTUNES OF THE FORESTER. 67 
 
 of the woods and forests made his appearance, 
 bearing a letter. This paper signified that the 
 old forester was discharged from his situation 
 on account of incapacity occasioned by old age ; 
 and that while inquiries were made after another 
 forester to replace him, the care of the forest 
 should be committed to the neighbouring forester 
 living at Waldenbusch. Not a word was said of 
 a pension for the old man who had been of so 
 much service, norof any employment for his son. 
 It was moreover added, that from the time of the 
 discharge being delivered to the woodman, he 
 was forbidden to fire a shot, or to carry a gun, 
 under pain of arrest. The old man was astound- 
 ed, and his hand trembled violently ; but soon 
 recovering himself, he read the paper aloud to 
 his wife and children, who were seated around 
 him at their different occupations. The wife and 
 daughters grew pale with alarm, while the young 
 man burned with indignation at the malice of the 
 ranger. His young wife, after a moment's silence, 
 began to weep bitterly, and her children, who 
 were playing near her, wept also at the sight of 
 their mother's tears. It was a scene of complete 
 despair. The venerable old man alone remained
 
 68 rURISTMAfl EVE. 
 
 calm amidsl his family. '• Forget not,'* said he, 
 ** that (Jod remains to us. He then the first to 
 dry your tears, my dear wife, and give our child- 
 ren an example of trust in (lod. Had men can 
 do us no harm without His permission. It is He 
 who sends ns this trial, which will one day or 
 other turn to our profit. He of good courage. 
 God is all-powerful; He is our protector, and 
 eren when the whole world ahandons us, He will 
 be with us. Our heavenly Father, who is the 
 giver of all good, will never let us want for 
 bread ; let us put our tnisl in Him, and not de- 
 spair." He however added, •* I will not neglect 
 any thing that may be in our favour. Early to- 
 morrow morning I will set out for the capital. 
 The prince is as generous as his deceased fa- 
 ther ; and whatever may be his occupations at 
 this commencement of his administration, he 
 will listen to me; he will never allow his old 
 servant for fifty years, with his wife, his rhild- 
 ren, and grandchildren, who has faithfully ful- 
 filled his duty, to die of hunger. Christian, you 
 must accompany me; we may now both absent 
 ourselves without leave of the ranger. We shall 
 go on foot, for in our present circumstances,
 
 MISFORTUNES OF THE FORESTER. G9 
 
 horse or carriage-travelling would be Hir too ex- 
 pensive, even if it were necessary. Our game- 
 bags will carry the clothes which we want for 
 the journey — so bestir yourselves, that all may 
 be ready early to-morrow." The next morning 
 before daylight the good man was up, and 
 awakening his son, said, "Let us be off; I can- 
 not wait until sunrise ; there is moonlight, and 
 we know our way.'* 
 
 The old woman carefully folded up her Iius- 
 band's green and gold embroidered uniform in a 
 clean napkin, that it might be more easily packed 
 in the game-bag; Catherine attended to the 
 linen and provisions for the journey ; and the 
 young wife and Louisa set out the breakfast 
 which they had prepared. The children still 
 slept. 
 
 " And when do you purpose returning ?" said 
 the forester's wife to him. 
 
 *' I cannot say for certain," replied he ; *' pro- 
 bably not for a week." 
 
 "To-morrow fortnight will be Christmas eve," 
 said the good woman ; " before that lime you will 
 surely return ?" 
 
 "I hope to be here in a week," replied he;
 
 T% CHRISTMAS BTI. 
 
 ♦• but happen what may, I am determined to 
 celebrate Christmas eve with you." 
 
 ♦* (Jod grant that it may be a joyful mating !'* 
 said the wife. 
 
 *' In the nionn tiiuf prny, imd jmi your ini"*i in 
 God," said her huj*band. '•All that He hy^ 
 upon us is for our final good." 
 
 The two travellers were acrompanicd to iIk* 
 door of the hou.se by the whole family. It was 
 rery dark, and the middle of a terribly cold De- 
 cember night. Those who were left beliinil could 
 not conceal their uneasiness ; they trembled for 
 the health of the old forester. During the first 
 week the srood people found great difTiculty in 
 tranquillizing their minds; but when one day 
 after another passed away, and the weather be- 
 came rainy and disngrecnble, they abandoned 
 themselves to the liveliest anxiety. *' Ah," said 
 they, •• Christian, though strong and healthy, 
 will have much to bear ; but what will become 
 of our poor old father ?" 
 
 The children were incessantly running to the 
 door to see if their father and grandfather were 
 arrived. Another week had passed away in the 
 greatest inquietude, to add to which, one of the
 
 MISFORTUNES OF THE FORESTER. 
 
 71 
 
 ranger's huntsmen delivered an official paper. 
 The wife of the forester dared not open it, fearing 
 that its contents might be of bad import ; the 
 lacquey having remarked, in an impertinent man- 
 ner, *' that the forester was a silly old man to set 
 out for the palace with his wild son. The ranger 
 is on the safe side, and they will get nothing but 
 shame for their pains." 
 
 Nevertheless the family of CJri^newald prayed 
 daily to God for the travellers' safe return as 
 well as for their favourable reception at the court 
 of the prince.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE forester's FURTHER DISASTERS. 
 
 In the mitlst of these dismal oc- 
 currences Christmas eve arrived. 
 N ight closed in sooner than usual, 
 for the sky was overcast with 
 thick clouds. A stormy wind 
 whistled through the old oaks, 
 and bent the pines of the forest. 
 It snowed and rained ; and the water from the 
 gutters of the roof resembled torrents from the 
 top of a rock. 
 
 " Alas !" exclaimed the old woman, after hav- 
 ing looked out of the window for some time, 
 " they do not come. Should they not arrive for 
 this Christmas eve, some misfortune must surely 
 have befallen them. My anxiety becomes insup- 
 portable. The weather is terrific, and the roads 
 must be impassable. If they were but returned,
 
 THE FORESTER S FURTHER DISASTERS. 73 
 
 all my cares would vanish," ackled she, again 
 opening the window. A moment passed. *' God 
 be praised 1" she ejcclaimed, " they are here !" 
 All ran to the door to question them as to the 
 issue of their visit to the town. 
 
 " I hope," said the old man, " that all will turn 
 out for the best ; but you must have been uneasy 
 about us ; we have been a long time away. I 
 was obliged by illness to stop on the road ; and 
 when I recovered, the rivers and brooks were so 
 swollen by these heavy rains, that we were de- 
 tained for several days. But, God be praised ! 
 here we are." And entering the house he changed 
 his clothes, and seated himself in his arm-chair 
 by the fire. His wife brought a lamp, a bottle 
 of wine and two glasses. 
 
 " Refresh yourselves a little," said she, pouring 
 out some wine. " you must be in great want of 
 it. Supper will be ready directly." 
 
 " Very well," said the forester, looking around 
 him by the light of the lamp. " It is a blessing 
 to find oneself at home, surrounded by joyful 
 and affectionate faces." But the young man had 
 M'hispered to his wife that things were not going 
 on so smoothly, and that probably the forester 
 7
 
 74 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 would lose his place. Hcing much alarmed, she 
 confided ihc intelligence to the rest of the family ; 
 mid the old man quickly perceived thai their 
 coimtenanccs were overiMsl wiih ft*ar and anxiety. 
 "Christian has been chattering/* said he, '*«o I 
 have notliing more to conceal. You shall know 
 all; but do not give way to sorrow. On this 
 night our Saviour was born ; and the joy which 
 wc onglit to feci should make us fitrgetall earthly 
 cares, or at least prevent us from fretting about 
 tliem. We arrived late in the evening at the 
 capital," continued he; "but, late as it was, I 
 called on the minister of the foresU*, Mr. Mull<?r« 
 He is an upri«;lit man, said I to myself. He 
 was for a long time over me as ranger ; and was 
 always my friend. The other members of the 
 council are dead, or retired; and although he 
 abo has declined liaving any thing to do with 
 affairs, on arcount of Wis age, he may be able to 
 advise me well. The worthy man received rac 
 most cortlialiy. After I had laid open to him the 
 object of my journey, he said, ♦ You have a very 
 dangerous enemy in the ranger; who is supported 
 by powerful interest. He wishes to place a former 
 servant of his in vour situation, and he is con-
 
 THE FORESTER S FURTHER DISASTERS. 75 
 
 tinually making unfavourable reports of your con- 
 duct and that of your son; and I much fear that 
 he will succeed, and deprive good Christian of 
 liis father's office.' I answered him, that I in- 
 tended myself to go to the prince. ' Do so,' said 
 my adviser ; ' and I will accompany you : but you 
 arrive at an unfavourable moment. His highness 
 is much occupied just now; and you will find 
 difficulty in being admitted. You must also call 
 on the director-general of the administration of 
 the forests as well as on the ministers ; but I fear 
 you will not have a good reception, Mr. de Schilf 
 has prejudiced them all against you.' I found 
 that Mr. Miiller was perfectly right. The director- 
 general received me very coldly, and granted me 
 but a moment's audience. The ministers treated 
 me hardly any better; I saw only gloomy counte- 
 nances ; and I was obliged to endure very hard 
 words. The prince did not receive me, because 
 the director-general was with him at that very 
 time. Mr. de Schilf had most artfully calum- 
 niated both me and Christian ; but as you under- 
 stand nothing of these things I will drop this 
 subject. Our only hope now was to lay an infor- 
 mation ; but it is to be feared that those to whom
 
 76 CHRISTMAS EVK. 
 
 our cause inny be commillcd will be ill disposed 
 towards ua. Enough of tliis. On ibis evening 
 all Cbrislendom should rejoice; il is (Hiristnins 
 eve. Lei us medilate on our Saviour's hii ih ; this 
 thought will dispel our sorrows." 
 
 He turned his eyes towards the |>icmre 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.<<cd iiim. he a^ked 
 my opinion of ita worth. The collection was to 
 bo sold by ' ' ' ' ' ' 
 
 the prince i ■ 
 
 to return to his countr}'. to take the conduct of 
 atTairs. He coi: 1 me to ' the 
 
 pictures for hin . < l»c cani liiey 
 
 reached him uninjured. I felt much flattered by 
 this conlidonre, ami t " 'mif 
 
 his cominii^Hion. I v . ' ob- 
 
 tain the paintings for a much less sum than that 
 to which I hail heen limited. Ilavini^ seen all 
 thai was worth a painter's notice in Italvi I de- 
 termined to return to my own country; and 
 learninu that a vessel was on the point of sailing. 
 
 I rin'. :..'..>! 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 <d 
 
 his adopted son ; and the whole family partook 
 of his emotion. 
 
 **.\hl dear Anthony," said the old woman, 
 ** who would have thought that, on Christmas 
 eve years aijo, when you tirsl came to us, yoo 
 would now prepare us such a fete, or that, by 
 your interest with the pnnce, you would be the 
 mean^ of delivering us from our sad condition ;
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 99 
 
 thereby repaying us over and over again for any 
 ihing we may have done for you ?" 
 
 ♦' It has all been brought about by God," said 
 Anthony. " He led me to your house, that lie 
 might bless you through me ; glory be to His 
 name ! — I must now," continued Anthony, 
 "leave you." 
 
 *' Why ? liow ?" exclaimed they all. 
 
 *' I go to Mr. Riedinger," replied he. " I hope 
 to be in the town in time for divine service, and 
 afterwards to surprise ray excellent master by my 
 visit, and to bring him here to-night. We will 
 pass the Christmas holydays happily together." 
 
 They all accompanied Anthony to the carriage. 
 
 The very same evening he returned with Mr. 
 Riedingcr; and the old keeper's lodge, in the 
 centre of the gloomy forest, sheltered for several 
 days the happiest set of people that ever lived. 
 
 Here ends the most interesting part of An- 
 thony's story. He asked Louisa's hand from 
 her parents, who willingly consented. "Ah! 
 Louisa," said her mother, '* how little I thought, 
 when you gave Anthony your apple as a Christ- 
 mas box, that he would ever lead you as a bride 
 to the altar!" The wedding was the most joyful
 
 100 CSIIl«TMAfl BTB. 
 
 event that had evvr taken place beneath iho roof 
 >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 uilrn<Jctl to banish the whole family from 
 their home, in the inhuman manner in wtiich you 
 have attempted to do it Now let us tec the 
 woodii." Tliai district which was under the ran- 
 
 er's care was found to lie terribly out of order. 
 
 • ni§ own report," said the prince, *• led roc to 
 expect to find all in the boat order; but the ap- 
 jwannre of titc forest is very far from answering 
 ihis ilescription. I clearly perceive that in many 
 jiarts the covers exceed in number the aceounta 
 which he has rendered np : he has deceived mc.*'
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 101 
 
 It was aficrwards discovered Uiat the ranger had 
 sold to a neigiibouring forge many thousand cords 
 of wood, without giving any account of ihem. 
 To keep up his excessive display, which equalled 
 that of the prince himself, he not only dissipated 
 the fortune left him by his father, but had con- 
 tracted debts, and been guilty of dishonesty to- 
 wards his master, who stripped him of his ill- 
 gotten wealth, and demanded a restitution of 
 all that he had so dishonestly pocketed. 
 
 Poor Mr. Schilf lived from that time in a small 
 country house wiili the little that remained of his 
 paternal fortune. 
 
 Tlie prince found tlic portion of forest under 
 the forester's care in the very best order. He 
 condescended to visit him at his house ; and as- 
 sured him tliat he was content with Iiis services. 
 He was then introduced to, and conversed with, 
 every member of the family in the most affable 
 manner. Before mounting the liorse which a ser- 
 vant held at the door, he turned to Christian, and 
 said, ** You are now keeper and forester. Take 
 always the same care of what is confided to you." 
 Then addressing himself to the old forester : 
 '• You are," said he, *' it is true, a little advanced
 
 lOS 
 
 CBKinHAS BVK. 
 
 in years, but you iro not f o decrepit u Mr. Schilf 
 wished lo make you out lo epiie of your yean 
 you are ttill •trolt^' ; and I cannot yrt dispense 
 wtih your •ervucs. I appoint you to another 
 office. Remember, then, my last words— Adieu 
 Mr. Ra.nccr !"
 
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 MORNING & EVENING PRAYER, 
 
 N til 
 
 Throtachowt the Ttar. 
 
 Jdapiid to tkt tu€ if tkt F.pUtopal Ckurtk in tht 
 I'niUd Statu, 
 
 in YARMMTf fTTLM Of »I5DI?I0. 
 
 The ^rol . ■ pro- 
 prime rotnpni ! vrr, 
 v>n\n no rnmmrnl. Within the bit < ii 
 li.iit b«'rn introducrd rcry j;rm»r»lly in " ^1 
 Churclkos ihrougboui the L'iutc<l Mat* 
 
 IT HAS Tlir 8A5CTIO!( uF TIIC 
 
 I{t. 11. -V. William KoUiofon Whiuiogham, Dithop 
 
 of Mar)- land. 
 nx. RcT. J. p. K. Tlrru<haw, Bishop of Rhode UUnd. I 
 I\cr. W. H. « Mrr, Rccior Su Peter*! church, 
 
 Phil 
 »• K. Nevillr, •' Si.PhiIip'8chorrh,PbiI. 
 
 *' W. Suddard*, '• «.r.... 
 
 •» S. H. Tyn^:. 
 
 *' Henry V. D.J' r.r,'./* i r;'i-t i i;ur«-;i, n...i;i:i r.
 
 UCSB LIBRART
 
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 B 000 007 877 4
 
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