46 The Catskill Fazirtes.

been a storm, and the brook, swollen by mountain torrents,
rushed along noisily, instead of rippling calmly, and the break
of the waters seemed to the sprite the finest melody he had
ever heard. Day by day he listened as the flood gradually
subsided, and quietly sang to himself as the brook sang.

“ This delighted the oak-tree beyond measure.

“*Now we have music in ourselves, said the tree, joyously.
‘We shall always be happy.’

“ The tree spoke too soon. Ever since its roots had struck
into the soil it had stood there on the bank, and it naturally ©
supposed that matters would never be changed.

“ Dull blows were heard, and many stately trees toppled over
to the ground.

“* What is it? said the sprite, pausing in his play.

“* The wood-cutters,’ said the oak-tree, trembling with fear.
‘You will have no home, little sprite, if they fell me.’

“The sprite ran quickly, and hung his magic carpet -bag
around his neck. Soon a party of wood-cutters approached,
with their sharp axes over their shoulders, and they paused
before our oak-tree because it was the finest they had seen.
They girdled the brave trunk, and then began their work,
each stroke of the cruel steel cutting deeper into the heart
of the wood, as well as the heart of the sprite, who wept as he
clung to the branch from which he must soon be torn. A
shudder of all the leaves, a slow rocking from side to side, and
the oak sank down upon the green bank never to rise again.

“The sprite, with his bag about his neck, which made him
invisible, sorrowfully watched the men at their labor, while they
stripped the boughs, and cut the trunk into logs, so that there