will begin again," thought the Tree. He felt the fresh
air, the first sunbeam--and now he was out in the courtyard. All passed
so quickly, there was so much going on around him, the Tree quite forgot
to look to himself. The court adjoined a garden, and all was in flower;
the roses hung so fresh and odorous over the balustrade, the lindens
were in blossom, the Swallows flew by, and said, "Quirre-vit! My husband
is come!" but it was not the Fir Tree that they meant.

"Now, then, I shall really enjoy life," said he exultingly, and spread
out his branches; but, alas, they were all withered and yellow! It was
in a corner that he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden star of
tinsel was still on the top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine.

In the court-yard some of the merry children were playing who had danced
at Christmas round the Fir Tree, and were so glad at the sight of him.
One of the youngest ran and tore off the golden star.

"Only look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!" said he,
trampling on the branches, so that they all cracked beneath his feet.

And the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in
the garden; he beheld himself, and wished he had remained in his dark
corner in the loft; he thought of his first youth in the wood, of the
merry Christmas-eve, and of the little Mice who had listened with so
much pleasure to the story of Humpy-Dumpy.

"'Tis over--'tis past!" said the poor Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I
had reason to do so! But now 'tis past, 'tis past!"

And the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a
whole heap lying there. The wood flamed up splendidly under the large
brewing copper, and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was like a shot.

The boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star
on his breast which the Tree had had on the happiest evening of his
life. However, that was over now--the Tree gone, the story at an end.
All, all was over--every tale must end at last.

THE SNOW QUEEN

FIRST STORY. Which Treats of a Mirror and of the Splinters

Now then, let us begin. When we are at the end of the story, we shall
know more than we know now: but to begin.

Once upon a time there was a wicked sprite, indeed he was the most
mischievous of all sprites. One day he was in a very good humor, for
he had made a mirror with the power of causing all that was good and
beautiful when it was reflected therein, t