s were ringing joyously; and from every chimney, even
the lowest in the peasant's cot, curled from the altars of the
Druidical feast the blue smoke of the thanksgiving oblation. The sea
became more and more calm, and on a large vessel in the offing, which
had weathered the tempest during the night, were hoisted all its flags
in honour of the day.

"The tree is gone--that old oak tree which was always our landmark!"
cried the sailors. "It must have fallen in the storm last night. Who
shall replace it? Alas! no one can."

This was the tree's funeral oration--short, but well meant--as it lay
stretched at full length amidst the snow upon the shore, and over it
floated the melody of the psalm tunes from the ship--hymns of
Christmas joy, and thanksgivings for the salvation of the souls of
mankind by Jesus Christ, and the blessed promise of everlasting life.

"Let sacred songs arise on high,
Loud hallelujahs reach the sky;
Let joy and peace each mortal share,
While hymns of praise shall fill the air."

Thus ran the old psalm, and every one out yonder, on the deck of the
ship, lifted up his voice in thanksgiving and prayer, just as the old
oak tree was lifted up in its last and most delightful dream on that
Christmas eve.

_The Wind relates the Story of Waldemar Daae and his Daughters._

When the wind sweeps over the grass it ripples like water; when it
sweeps over the corn, it undulates like waves of the sea. All that is
the wind's dance. But listen to what the wind tells. It sings it
aloud, and it is repeated amidst the trees in the wood, and carried
through the loopholes and the chinks in the wall. Look how the wind
chases the skies up yonder, as if they were a flock of sheep! Listen
how the wind howls below through the half-open gate, as if it were the
warder blowing his horn! Strangely does it sound down the chimney and
in the fireplace; the fire flickers under it; and the flames, instead
of ascending, shoot out towards the room, where it is warm and
comfortable to sit and listen to it. Let the wind speak. It knows more
tales and adventures than all of us put together. Hearken now to what
it is about to relate.

It blew a tremendous blast: that was a prelude to its story.

* * * * *

"There lay close to the Great Belt an old castle with thick red
walls," said the wind. "I knew every stone in it. I had seen them
before, when they were in Marshal Stig's castl