四六级考试网

A KING1 was once hunting2 in a great wood,3 and he hunted the game so eagerly that none of his courtiers4 could follow him. When evening came on he stood still and looked round him, and he saw that he had quite lost himself. He sought a way out, but could find none. Then he saw an old woman with a shaking head coming towards him; but she was a witch.5 “Good woman,”‘ he said to her, “can you not show me the way out of the wood?” “Oh, certainly, Sir King,” she replied, “I can quite well do that, but on one condition,6 which if you do not fulfil you will never get out of the wood, and will die of hunger.” “What is the condition?”‘ asked the King. “I have a daughter,”7 said the old woman, “who is so beautiful that she has not her equal in the world,8 and is well fitted to be your wife; if you will make her lady-queen9 I will show you the way out of the wood.” The King in his anguish of mind consented, and the old woman led him to her little house where her daughter was sitting by the fire. She received the King as if she were expecting him,10 and he saw that she was certainly very beautiful; but she did not please him, and he could not look at her without a secret feeling of horror.11 As soon as he had lifted the maiden on to his horse the old woman showed him the way, and the King reached his palace, where the wedding was celebrated. The King had already been married once, and had by his first wife seven children, six boys and one girl,12 whom he loved more than anything in the world.13 And now, because he was afraid that their stepmother14 might not treat them well and might do them harm, he put them in a lonely castle that stood in the middle of a wood.15 It lay so hidden, and the way to it was so hard to find, that he himself could not have found it out had not a wise-woman16 given him a reel of thread17 which possessed a marvellous property: when he threw it before him it unwound itself and showed him the way. But the King went so often to his dear children that the Queen was offended at his absence. She grew curious, and wanted to know what he had to do quite alone in the wood. She gave his servants a great deal of money, and they betrayed the secret to her,18 and also told her of the reel which alone could point out the way. She had no rest now till she had found out where the King guarded the reel, and then she made some little white shirts,19 and, as she had learnt from her witch-mother, sewed an enchantment in each of them.20 And when the King had ridden off she took the little shirts and went into the wood, and the reel showed her the way. The children, who saw someone coming in the distance, thought it was their dear father coming to them, and sprang to meet him very joyfully. Then she threw over each one a little shirt, which when it had touched their bodies changed them into swans,21 and they flew away over the forest. The Queen went home quite satisfied, and thought she had got rid of her step-children; but the girl had not run to meet her with her brothers, and she knew nothing of her. The next day the King came to visit his children, but he found no one but the girl. “Where are your brothers?”‘ asked the King. “Alas! dear father,” she answered, “they have gone away and left me all alone.”22 And she told him that looking out of her little window she had seen her brothers flying over the wood in the shape of swans,23 and she showed him the feathers which they had let fall in the yard, and which she had collected. The King mourned, but he did not think that the Queen had done the wicked deed, and as he was afraid the maiden would also be taken from him, he wanted to take her with him. But she was afraid of the stepmother, and begged the King to let her stay just one night more in the castle in the wood. The poor maiden thought, “My home is no longer here; I will go and seek my brothers.”24 And when night came she fled away into the forest. She ran all through the night and the next day, till she could go no farther for weariness. Then she saw a little hut,25 went in, and found a room with six little beds.26 She was afraid to lie down on one, so she crept under one of them, lay on the hard floor, and was going to spend the night there. But when the sun had set she heard a noise, and saw six swans flying in at the window. They stood on the floor and blew at one another, and blew all their feathers off, and their swan-skin came off like a shirt. Then the maiden recognised her brothers, and overjoyed she crept out from under the bed. Her brothers were not less delighted than she to see their little sister again, but their joy did not last long. “You cannot stay here,” they said to her. “This is a den of robbers;27 if they were to come here and find you they would kill you.” “Could you not protect me?” asked the little sister. “No,” they answered, “for we can only lay aside our swan skins for a quarter of an hour every evening.28 For this time we regain our human forms, but then we are changed into swans again.” Then the little sister cried and said, “Can you not be freed?” “Oh, no,” they said, “the conditions are too hard. You must not speak or laugh for six years,29 and must make in that time six shirts for us out of star-flowers.30 If a single word comes out of your mouth, all your labour is vain.” And when the brothers had said this the quarter of an hour came to an end, and they flew away out of the window as swans. But the maiden had determined to free her brothers even if it should cost her her life.31 She left the hut, went into the forest, climbed a tree, and spent the night there.32 The next morning she went out, collected star-flowers,33 and began to sew.34 She could speak to no one, and she had no wish to laugh, so she sat there, looking only at her work. When she had lived there some time, it happened that the King of the country was hunting in the forest,35 and his hunters came to the tree on which the maiden sat. They called to her and said “Who are you?” But she gave no answer. “Come down to us,” they said, “we will do you no harm.” But she shook her head silently. As they pressed her further with questions, she threw them the golden chain from her neck.36 But they did not leave off, and she threw them her girdle,37 and when this was no use, her garters,38 and then her dress.39 The huntsmen would not leave her alone, but climbed the tree, lifted the maiden down, and led her to the King. The King asked, “Who are you? What are you doing up that tree?” But she answered nothing. He asked her in all the languages he knew,40 but she remained as dumb41 as a fish. Because she was so beautiful, however, the King’s heart was touched, and he was seized with a great love for her. He wrapped her up in his cloak, placed her before him on his horse. and brought her to his castle. There he had her dressed in rich clothes, and her beauty shone out as bright as day, but not a word could be drawn from her. He set her at table by his side, and her modest ways and behaviour pleased him so much that he said, “I will marry this maiden and none other in the world,” and after some days he married her.42 But the King had a wicked mother who was displeased with the marriage, and said wicked things of the young Queen. “Who knows who this girl is?” she said; “she cannot speak, and is not worthy of a king.”43 After a year, when the Queen had her first child,44 the old mother took it away from her.45 Then she went to the King and said that the Queen had killed it.46 The King would not believe it, and would not allow any harm to be done her. But she sat quietly sewing at the shirts and troubling herself about nothing. The next time she had a child the wicked mother did the same thing, but the King could not make up his mind to believe her. He said, “She is too sweet and good to do such a thing as that. If she were not dumb and could defend herself, her innocence would be proved.”47 But when the third child48 was taken away, and the Queen was again accused, and could not utter a word in her own defence, the King was obliged to give her over to the law, which decreed that she must be burnt to death.49 When the day came on which the sentence was to be executed, it was the last day of the six years50 in which she must not speak or laugh, and now she had freed her dear brothers from the power of the enchantment. The six shirts were done; there was only the left sleeve wanting to the last.51

IN a large town, full of houses and people, there is not room for everybody to have even a little garden, therefore they are obliged to be satisfied with a few flowers in flower-pots. In one of these large towns lived two poor children who had a garden something larger and better than a few flower-pots. They were not brother and sister, but they loved each other almost as much as if they had been. Their parents lived opposite to each other in two garrets, where the roofs of neighboring houses projected out towards each other and the water-pipe ran between them. In each house was a little window, so that any one could step across the gutter from one window to the other. The parents of these children had each a large wooden box in which they cultivated kitchen herbs for their own use, and a little rose-bush in each box, which grew splendidly. Now after a while the parents decided to place these two boxes across the water-pipe, so that they reached from one window to the other and looked like two banks of flowers. Sweet-peas drooped over the boxes, and the rose-bushes shot forth long branches, which were trained round the windows and clustered together almost like a triumphal arch of leaves and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew they must not climb upon them, without permission, but they were often, however, allowed to step out together and sit upon their little stools under the rose-bushes, or play quietly. In winter all this pleasure came to an end, for the windows were sometimes quite frozen over. But then they would warm copper pennies on the stove, and hold the warm pennies against the frozen pane; there would be very soon a little round hole through which they could peep, and the soft bright eyes of the little boy and girl would beam through the hole at each window as they looked at each other. Their names were Kay and Gerda. In summer they could be together with one jump from the window, but in winter they had to go up and down the long staircase, and out through the snow before they could meet. “See there are the white bees swarming,” said Kay’s old grandmother one day when it was snowing. “Have they a queen bee?” asked the little boy, for he knew that the real bees had a queen. “To be sure they have,” said the grandmother. “She is flying there where the swarm is thickest. She is the largest of them all, and never remains on the earth, but flies up to the dark clouds. Often at midnight she flies through the streets of the town, and looks in at the windows, then the ice freezes on the panes into wonderful shapes, that look like flowers and castles.” “Yes, I have seen them,” said both the children, and they knew it must be true. “Can the Snow Queen come in here?” asked the little girl. “Only let her come,” said the boy, “I’ll set her on the stove and then she’ll melt.” Then the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him some more tales. One evening, when little Kay was at home, half undressed, he climbed on a chair by the window and peeped out through the little hole. A few flakes of snow were falling, and one of them, rather larger than the rest, alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes. This snow-flake grew larger and larger, till at last it became the figure of a woman, dressed in garments of white gauze, which looked like millions of starry snow-flakes linked together. She was fair and beautiful, but made of ice— shining and glittering ice. Still she was alive and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, but there was neither peace nor rest in their glance. She nodded towards the window and waved her hand. The little boy was frightened and sprang from the chair; at the same moment it seemed as if a large bird flew by the window. On the following day there was a clear frost, and very soon came the spring. The sun shone; the young green leaves burst forth; the swallows built their nests; windows were opened, and the children sat once more in the garden on the roof, high above all the other rooms. How beautiful the roses blossomed this summer. The little girl had learnt a hymn in which roses were spoken of, and then she thought of their own roses, and she sang the hymn to the little boy, and he sang too:— “Roses bloom and cease to be,But we shall the Christ-child see.” Then the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed the roses, and looked at the bright sunshine, and spoke to it as if the Christ-child were there. Those were splendid summer days. How beautiful and fresh it was out among the rose-bushes, which seemed as if they would never leave off blooming. One day Kay and Gerda sat looking at a book full of pictures of animals and birds, and then just as the clock in the church tower struck twelve, Kay said, “Oh, something has struck my heart!” and soon after, “There is something in my eye.” The little girl put her arm round his neck, and looked into his eye, but she could see nothing. “I think it is gone,” he said. But it was not gone; it was one of those bits of the looking-glass— that magic mirror, of which we have spoken— the ugly glass which made everything great and good appear small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became more visible, and every little fault could be plainly seen. Poor little Kay had also received a small grain in his heart, which very quickly turned to a lump of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was there still. “Why do you cry?” said he at last; “it makes you look ugly. There is nothing the matter with me now. Oh, see!” he cried suddenly, “that rose is worm-eaten, and this one is quite crooked. After all they are ugly roses, just like the box in which they stand,” and then he kicked the boxes with his foot, and pulled off the two roses. “Kay, what are you doing?” cried the little girl; and then, when he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another rose, and jumped through his own window away from little Gerda. When she afterwards brought out the picture book, he said, “It was only fit for babies in long clothes,” and when grandmother told any stories, he would interrupt her with “but;” or, when he could manage it, he would get behind her chair, put on a pair of spectacles, and imitate her very cleverly, to make people laugh. By-and-by he began to mimic the speech and gait of persons in the street. All that was peculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate directly, and people said, “That boy will be very clever; he has a remarkable genius.” But it was the piece of glass in his eye, and the coldness in his heart, that made him act like this. He would even tease little Gerda, who loved him with all her heart. His games, too, were quite different; they were not so childish. One winter’s day, when it snowed, he brought out a burning-glass, then he held out the tail of his blue coat, and let the snow-flakes fall upon it. “Look in this glass, Gerda,” said he; and she saw how every flake of snow was magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering star. “Is it not clever?” said Kay, “and much more interesting than looking at real flowers. There is not a single fault in it, and the snow-flakes are quite perfect till they begin to melt.” Soon after Kay made his appearance in large thick gloves, and with his sledge at his back. He called up stairs to Gerda, “I’ve got to leave to go into the great square, where the other boys play and ride.” And away he went. In the great square, the boldest among the boys would often tie their sledges to the country people’s carts, and go with them a good way. This was capital. But while they were all amusing themselves, and Kay with them, a great sledge came by; it was painted white, and in it sat some one wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing a white cap. The sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay fastened his own little sledge to it, so that when it went away, he followed with it. It went faster and faster right through the next street, and then the person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to Kay, just as if they were acquainted with each other, but whenever Kay wished to loosen his little sledge the driver nodded again, so Kay sat still, and they drove out through the town gate. Then the snow began to fall so heavily that the little boy could not see a hand’s breadth before him, but still they drove on; then he suddenly loosened the cord so that the large sled might go on without him, but it was of no use, his little carriage held fast, and away they went like the wind. Then he called out loudly, but nobody heard him, while the snow beat upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. Every now and then it gave a jump as if it were going over hedges and ditches. The boy was frightened, and tried to say a prayer, but he could remember nothing but the multiplication table. The snow-flakes became larger and larger, till they appeared like great white chickens. All at once they sprang on one side, the great sledge stopped, and the person who had driven it rose up. The fur and the cap, which were made entirely of snow, fell off, and he saw a lady, tall and white, it was the Snow Queen. “We have driven well,” said she, “but why do you tremble? here, creep into my warm fur.” Then she seated him beside her in the sledge, and as she wrapped the fur round him he felt as if he were sinking into a snow drift. “Are you still cold,” she asked, as she kissed him on the forehead. The kiss was colder than ice; it went quite through to his heart, which was already almost a lump of ice; he felt as if he were going to die, but only for a moment; he soon seemed quite well again, and did not notice the cold around him. “My sledge! don’t forget my sledge,” was his first thought, and then he looked and saw that it was bound fast to one of the white chickens, which flew behind him with the sledge at its back. The Snow Queen kissed little Kay again, and by this time he had forgotten little Gerda, his grandmother, and all at home. “Now you must have no more kisses,” she said, “or I should kiss you to death.” Kay looked at her, and saw that she was so beautiful, he could not imagine a more lovely and intelligent face; she did not now seem to be made of ice, as when he had seen her through his window, and she had nodded to him. In his eyes she was perfect, and she did not feel at all afraid. He told her he could do mental arithmetic, as far as fractions, and that he knew the number of square miles and the number of inhabitants in the country. And she always smiled so that he thought he did not know enough yet, and she looked round the vast expanse as she flew higher and higher with him upon a black cloud, while the storm blew and howled as if it were singing old songs. They flew over woods and lakes, over sea and land; below them roared the wild wind; the wolves howled and the snow crackled; over them flew the black screaming crows, and above all shone the moon, clear and bright,— and so Kay passed through the long winter’s night, and by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

1872FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENIB AND LITTLE CHRISTINAby Hans Christian AndersenIN the forest that extends from the banks of the Gudenau, in NorthJutland, a long way into the country, and not far from the clearstream, rises a great ridge of land, which stretches through thewood like a wall. Westward of this ridge, and not far from theriver, stands a farmhouse, surrounded by such poor land that the sandy soil shows itself between the scanty ears of rye and wheat which grow in it. Some years have passed since the people who lived here cultivated these fields; they kept three sheep, a pig, and two oxen; in fact they maintained themselves very well, they had quite enough to live upon, as people generally have who are content with their lot. They even could have afforded to keep two horses, but it was a saying among the farmers in those parts, “The horse eats himself up;” that is to say, he eats as much as he earns. Jeppe Janscultivated his fields in summer, and in the winter he made woodenshoes. He also had an assistant, a lad who understood as well as hehimself did how to make wooden shoes strong, but light, and in thefashion. They carved shoes and spoons, which paid well; therefore no one could justly call Jeppe Jans and his family poor people. LittleIb, a boy of seven years old and the only child, would sit by,watching the workmen, or cutting a stick, and sometimes his fingerinstead of the stick. But one day Ib succeeded so well in hiscarving that he made two pieces of wood look really like two littlewooden shoes, and he determined to give them as a present to LittleChristina.”And who was Little Christina?” She was the boatman’s daughter,graceful and delicate as the child of a gentleman; had she beendressed differently, no one would have believed that she lived in ahut on the neighboring heath with her father. He was a widower, andearned his living by carrying firewood in his large boat from theforest to the eel-pond and eel-weir, on the estate of Silkborg, andsometimes even to the distant town of Randers. There was no oneunder whose care he could leave Little Christina; so she was almostalways with him in his boat, or playing in the wood among theblossoming heath, or picking the ripe wild berries. Sometimes, whenher father had to go as far as the town, he would take LittleChristina, who was a year younger than Ib, across the heath to thecottage of Jeppe Jans, and leave her there. Ib and Christina agreedtogether in everything; they divided their bread and berries when theywere hungry; they were partners in digging their little gardens;they ran, and crept, and played about everywhere. Once they wandered a long way into the forest, and even ventured together to climb the high ridge. Another time they found a few snipes’ eggs in the wood, which was a great event. Ib had never been on the heath where Christina’s father lived, nor on the river; but at last came an opportunity.Christina’s father invited him to go for a sail in his boat; and theevening before, he accompanied the boatman across the heath to hishouse. The next morning early, the two children were placed on the top of a high pile of firewood in the boat, and sat eating bread andwild strawberries, while Christina’s father and his man drove the boatforward with poles. They floated on swiftly, for the tide was in theirfavor, passing over lakes, formed by the stream in its course;sometimes they seemed quite enclosed by reeds and water-plants, yetthere was always room for them to pass out, although the old treesoverhung the water and the old oaks stretched out their bare branches, as if they had turned up their sleeves and wished to show their knotty, naked arms. Old alder-trees, whose roots were loosened from the banks, clung with their fibres to the bottom of the stream, and the tops of the branches above the water looked like little woodyislands. The water-lilies waved themselves to and fro on the river,everything made the excursion beautiful, and at last they came tothe great eel-weir, where the water rushed through the flood-gates;and the children thought this a beautiful sight. In those days therewas no factory nor any town house, nothing but the great farm, withits scanty-bearing fields, in which could be seen a few herd ofcattle, and one or two farm laborers. The rushing of the water throughthe sluices, and the scream of the wild ducks, were almost the onlysigns of active life at Silkborg. After the firewood had beenunloaded, Christina’s father bought a whole bundle of eels and asucking-pig, which were all placed in a basket in the stern of theboat. Then they returned again up the stream; and as the wind wasfavorable, two sails were hoisted, which carried the boat on as wellas if two horses had been harnessed to it. As they sailed on, theycame by chance to the place where the boatman’s assistant lived, ata little distance from the bank of the river. The boat was moored; andthe two men, after desiring the children to sit still, both went onshore. they obeyed this order for a very short time, and then forgotit altogether. First they peeped into the basket containing the eelsand the sucking-pig; then they must needs pull out the pig and take itin their hands, and feel it, and touch it; and as they both wantedto hold it at the same time, the consequence was that they let it fallinto the water, and the pig sailed away with the stream.Here was a terrible disaster. Ib jumped ashore, and ran a littledistance from the boat.”Oh, take me with you,” cried Christina; and she sprang after him.In a few minutes they found themselves deep in a thicket, and could no longer see the boat or the shore. They ran on a little farther, andthen Christina fell down, and began to cry.Ib helped her up, and said, “Never mind; follow me. Yonder isthe house.” But the house was not yonder; and they wandered stillfarther, over the dry rustling leaves of the last year, and treadingon fallen branches that crackled under their little feet; then theyheard a loud, piercing cry, and they stood still to listen.Presently the scream of an eagle sounded through the wood; it was anugly cry, and it frightened the children; but before them, in thethickest part of the forest, grew the most beautiful blackberries,in wonderful quantities. They looked so inviting that the childrencould not help stopping; and they remained there so long eating,that their mouths and cheeks became quite black with the juice.Presently they heard the frightful scream again, and Christinasaid, “We shall get into trouble about that pig.”"Oh, never mind,” said Ib; “we will go home to my father’shouse. It is here in the wood.” So they went on, but the road led themout of the way; no house could be seen, it grew dark, and the childrenwere afraid. The solemn stillness that reigned around them was now and then broken by the shrill cries of the great horned owl and otherbirds that they knew nothing of. At last they both lost themselvesin the thicket; Christina began to cry, and then Ib cried too; and,after weeping and lamenting for some time, they stretched themselvesdown on the dry leaves and fell asleep.The sun was high in the heavens when the two children woke. Theyfelt cold; but not far from their resting-place, on a hill, the sunwas shining through the trees. They thought if they went there theyshould be warm, and Ib fancied he should be able to see his father’shouse from such a high spot. But they were far away from home now, in quite another part of the forest. They clambered to the top ofthe rising ground, and found themselves on the edge of a declivity,which sloped down to a clear transparent lake. Great quantities offish could be seen through the clear water, sparkling in the sun’srays; they were quite surprised when they came so suddenly upon such an unexpected sight.Close to where they stood grew a hazel-bush, covered withbeautiful nuts. They soon gathered some, cracked them, and ate thefine young kernels, which were only just ripe. But there was anothersurprise and fright in store for them. Out of the thicket stepped atall old woman, her face quite brown, and her hair of a deep shiningblack; the whites of her eyes glittered like a Moor’s; on her back shecarried a bundle, and in her hand a knotted stick. She was a gypsy.The children did not at first understand what she said. She drew outof her pocket three large nuts, in which she told them were hidden themost beautiful and lovely things in the world, for they were wishingnuts. Ib looked at her, and as she spoke so kindly, he took courage,and asked her if she would give him the nuts; and the woman gavethem to him, and then gathered some more from the bushes forherself, quite a pocket full. Ib and Christina looked at the wishingnuts with wide open eyes.”Is there in this nut a carriage, with a pair of horses?” askedIb.”Yes, there is a golden carriage, with two golden horses,” repliedthe woman.”Then give me that nut,” said Christina; so Ib gave it to her, andthe strange woman tied up the nut for her in her handkerchief.Ib held up another nut. “Is there, in this nut, a pretty littleneckerchief like the one Christina has on her neck?” asked Ib.”There are ten neckerchiefs in it,” she replied, “as well asbeautiful dresses, stockings, and a hat and veil.”"Then I will have that one also,” said Christina; “and it is apretty one too. And then Ib gave her the second nut.The third was a little black thing. “You may keep that one,”said Christina; “it is quite as pretty.”"What is in it?” asked Ib.”The best of all things for you,” replied the gypsy. So Ib heldthe nut very tight.Then the woman promised to lead the children to the right path,that they might find their way home: and they went forward certainlyin quite another direction to the one they meant to take; therefore noone ought to speak against the woman, and say that she wanted to steal the children. In the wild wood-path they met a forester who knew Ib, and, by his help, Ib and Christina reached home, where they found every one had been very anxious about them. They were pardoned and forgiven, although they really had both done wrong, and deserved to get into trouble; first, because they had let the sucking-pig fall into the water; and, secondly, because they had run away. Christina was taken back to her father’s house on the heath, and Ib remained in the farm-house on the borders of the wood, near the great land ridge.The first thing Ib did that evening was to take out of hispocket the little black nut, in which the best thing of all was saidto be enclosed. He laid it carefully between the door and thedoor-post, and then shut the door so that the nut cracked directly.But there was not much kernel to be seen; it was what we should callhollow or worm-eaten, and looked as if it had been filled with tobacco or rich black earth. “It is just what I expected!” exclaimed Ib.”How should there be room in a little nut like this for the best thingof all? Christina will find her two nuts just the same; there willbe neither fine clothes or a golden carriage in them.”Winter came; and the new year, and indeed many years passedaway; until Ib was old enough to be confirmed, and, therefore, he went during a whole winter to the clergyman of the nearest village to be prepared.One day, about this time, the boatman paid a visit to Ib’sparents, and told them that Christina was going to service, and thatshe had been remarkably fortunate in obtaining a good place, with most respectable people. “Only think,” he said, “She is going to the rich innkeeper’s, at the hotel in Herning, many miles west from here. She is to assist the landlady in the housekeeping; and, if afterwardsshe behaves well and remains to be confirmed, the people will treather as their own daughter.”So Ib and Christina took leave of each other. People alreadycalled them “the betrothed,” and at parting the girl showed Ib the twonuts, which she had taken care of ever since the time that they lostthemselves in the wood; and she told him also that the little woodenshoes he once carved for her when he was a boy, and gave her as apresent, had been carefully kept in a drawer ever since. And so theyparted.After Ib’s confirmation, he remained at home with his mother,for he had become a clever shoemaker, and in summer managed the farm for her quite alone. His father had been dead some time, and hismother kept no farm servants. Sometimes, but very seldom, he heardof Christina, through a postillion or eel-seller who was passing.But she was well off with the rich innkeeper; and after beingconfirmed she wrote a letter to her father, in which was a kindmessage to Ib and his mother. In this letter, she mentioned that hermaster and mistress had made her a present of a beautiful new dress,and some nice under-clothes. This was, of course, pleasant news.One day, in the following spring, there came a knock at the doorof the house where Ib’s old mother lived; and when they opened it,lo and behold, in stepped the boatman and Christina. She had come to pay them a visit, and to spend the day. A carriage had to come from the Herning hotel to the next village, and she had taken theopportunity to see her friends once more. She looked as elegant as areal lady, and wore a pretty dress, beautifully made on purpose forher. There she stood, in full dress, while Ib wore only his workingclothes. He could not utter a word; he could only seize her hand andhold it fast in his own, but he felt too happy and glad to open hislips. Christina, however, was quite at her ease; she talked andtalked, and kissed him in the most friendly manner. Even afterwards,when they were left alone, and she asked, “Did you know me again, Ib?” he still stood holding her hand, and said at last, “You are become quite a grand lady, Christina, and I am only a rough working man; but I have often thought of you and of old times.” Then theywandered up the great ridge, and looked across the stream to theheath, where the little hills were covered with the flowering broom.Ib said nothing; but before the time came for them to part, itbecame quite clear to him that Christina must be his wife: had theynot even in childhood been called the betrothed? To him it seemed asif they were really engaged to each other, although not a word hadbeen spoken on the subject. They had only a few more hours to remain together, for Christina was obliged to return that evening to theneighboring village, to be ready for the carriage which was to startthe next morning early for Herning. Ib and her father accompaniedher to the village. It was a fine moonlight evening; and when theyarrived, Ib stood holding Christina’s hand in his, as if he couldnot let her go. His eyes brightened, and the words he uttered camewith hesitation from his lips, but from the deepest recesses of hisheart: “Christina, if you have not become too grand, and if you can becontented to live in my mother’s house as my wife, we will bemarried some day. But we can wait for a while.”"Oh yes,” she replied; “Let us wait a little longer, Ib. I cantrust you, for I believe that I do love you. But let me think itover.” Then he kissed her lips; and so they parted.On the way home, Ib told the boatman that he and Christina were asgood as engaged to each other; and the boatman found out that he had always expected it would be so, and went home with Ib that evening, and remained the night in the farmhouse; but nothing further was said of the engagement. During the next year, two letters passedbetween Ib and Christina. They were signed, “Faithful till death;” butat the end of that time, one day the boatman came over to see Ib, witha kind greeting from Christina. He had something else to say, whichmade him hesitate in a strange manner. At last it came out thatChristina, who had grown a very pretty girl, was more lucky than ever.She was courted and admired by every one; but her master’s son, who had been home on a visit, was so much pleased with Christina that he wished to marry her. He had a very good situation in an office at Copenhagen, and as she had also taken a liking for him, his parentswere not unwilling to consent. But Christina, in her heart, oftenthought of Ib, and knew how much he thought of her; so she feltinclined to refuse this good fortune, added the boatman. At first Ibsaid not a word, but he became as white as the wall, and shook hishead gently, and then he spoke,- “Christina must not refuse thisgood fortune.”"Then will you write a few words to her?” said the boatman.Ib sat down to write, but he could not get on at all. The wordswere not what he wished to say, so he tore up the page. Thefollowing morning, however, a letter lay ready to be sent toChristina, and the following is what he wrote:-”The letter written by you to your father I have read, and seefrom it that you are prosperous in everything, and that still betterfortune is in store for you. Ask your own heart, Christina, andthink over carefully what awaits you if you take me for yourhusband, for I possess very little in the world. Do not think of me orof my position; think only of your own welfare. You are bound to me by no promises; and if in your heart you have given me one, I release you from it. May every blessing and happiness be poured out upon you, Christina. Heaven will give me the heart’s consolation.Ever your sincere friend, IB.”This letter was sent, and Christina received it in due time. Inthe course of the following November, her banns were published inthe church on the heath, and also in Copenhagen, where thebridegroom lived. She was taken to Copenhagen under the protectionof her future mother-in-law, because the bridegroom could not sparetime from his numerous occupations for a journey so far intoJutland. On the journey, Christina met her father at one of thevillages through which they passed, and here he took leave of her.Very little was said about the matter to Ib, and he did not refer toit; his mother, however, noticed that he had grown very silent andpensive. Thinking as he did of old times, no wonder the three nutscame into his mind which the gypsy woman had given him when a child, and of the two which he had given to Christina. These wishing nuts, after all, had proved true fortune-tellers. One had contained a gilded carriage and noble horses, and the other beautiful clothes; all ofthese Christina would now have in her new home at Copenhagen. Her part had come true. And for him the nut had contained only black earth. The gypsy woman had said it was the best for him. Perhaps it was, and this also would be fulfilled. He understood the gypsy woman’s meaning now. The black earth- the dark grave- was the best thing for him now.Again years passed away; not many, but they seemed long years toIb. The old innkeeper and his wife died one after the other; and thewhole of their property, many thousand dollars, was inherited by theirson. Christina could have the golden carriage now, and plenty offine clothes. During the two long years which followed, no letter camefrom Christina to her father; and when at last her father received onefrom her, it did not speak of prosperity or happiness. Poor Christina!Neither she nor her husband understood how to economize or save, and the riches brought no blessing with them, because they had not asked for it.Years passed; and for many summers the heath was covered withbloom; in winter the snow rested upon it, and the rough winds blewacross the ridge under which stood Ib’s sheltered home. One spring day the sun shone brightly, and he was guiding the plough across hisfield. The ploughshare struck against something which he fancied was a firestone, and then he saw glittering in the earth a splinter ofshining metal which the plough had cut from something which gleamed brightly in the furrow. He searched, and found a large golden armlet of superior workmanship, and it was evident that the plough had disturbed a Hun’s grave. He searched further, and found morevaluable treasures, which Ib showed to the clergyman, who explainedtheir value to him. Then he went to the magistrate, who informed thepresident of the museum of the discovery, and advised Ib to take thetreasures himself to the president.”You have found in the earth the best thing you could find,”said the magistrate.”The best thing,” thought Ib; “the very best thing for me,- andfound in the earth! Well, if it really is so, then the gypsy woman wasright in her prophecy.”So Ib went in the ferry-boat from Aarhus to Copenhagen. To him who had only sailed once or twice on the river near his own home, this seemed like a voyage on the ocean; and at length he arrived atCopenhagen. The value of the gold he had found was paid to him; it was a large sum- six hundred dollars. Then Ib of the heath went out, and wandered about in the great city.On the evening before the day he had settled to return with thecaptain of the passage-boat, Ib lost himself in the streets, andtook quite a different turning to the one he wished to follow. Hewandered on till he found himself in a poor street of the suburbcalled Christian’s Haven. Not a creature could be seen. At last a verylittle girl came out of one of the wretched-looking houses, and Ibasked her to tell him the way to the street he wanted; she looked uptimidly at him, and began to cry bitterly. He asked her what was thematter; but what she said he could not understand. So he went alongthe street with her; and as they passed under a lamp, the light fellon the little girl’s face. A strange sensation came over Ib, as hecaught sight of it. The living, breathing embodiment of LittleChristina stood before him, just as he remembered her in the days ofher childhood. He followed the child to the wretched house, andascended the narrow, crazy staircase which led to a little garret inthe roof. The air in the room was heavy and stifling, no light wasburning, and from one corner came sounds of moaning and sighing. It was the mother of the child who lay there on a miserable bed. With the help of a match, Ib struck a light, and approached her.”Can I be of any service to you?” he asked. “This little girlbrought me up here; but I am a stranger in this city. Are there noneighbors or any one whom I can call?”Then he raised the head of the sick woman, and smoothed herpillow. He started as he did so. It was Christina of the heath! No onehad mentioned her name to Ib for years; it would have disturbed hispeace of mind, especially as the reports respecting her were not good.The wealth which her husband had inherited from his parents had made him proud and arrogant. He had given up his certain appointment, and travelled for six months in foreign lands, and, on his return, had lived in great style, and got into terrible debt. For a time he had trembled on the high pedestal on which he had placed himself, tillat last he toppled over, and ruin came. His numerous merry companions, and the visitors at his table, said it served him right, for he had kept house like a madman. One morning his corpse was found in the canal. The cold hand of death had already touched the heart ofChristina. Her youngest child, looked for in the midst ofprosperity, had sunk into the grave when only a few weeks old; andat last Christina herself became sick unto death, and lay, forsakenand dying, in a miserable room, amid poverty she might have borne inher younger days, but which was now more painful to her from theluxuries to which she had lately been accustomed. It was her eldestchild, also a Little Christina, whom Ib had followed to her home,where she suffered hunger and poverty with her mother.It makes me unhappy to think that I shall die, and leave this poorchild,” sighed she. “Oh, what will become of her?” She could say nomore.Then Ib brought out another match, and lighted a piece of candlewhich he found in the room, and it threw a glimmering light over thewretched dwelling. Ib looked at the little girl, and thought ofChristina in her young days. For her sake, could he not love thischild, who was a stranger to him? As he thus reflected, the dyingwoman opened her eyes, and gazed at him. Did she recognize him? He never knew; for not another word escaped her lips.* * * * * * *In the forest by the river Gudenau, not far from the heath, andbeneath the ridge of land, stood the little farm, newly painted andwhitewashed. The air was heavy and dark; there were no blossoms on the heath; the autumn winds whirled the yellow leaves towards theboatman’s hut, in which strangers dwelt; but the little farm stoodsafely sheltered beneath the tall trees and the high ridge. The turfblazed brightly on the hearth, and within was sunlight, thesparkling light from the sunny eyes of a child; the birdlike tonesfrom the rosy lips ringing like the song of a lark in spring. Allwas life and joy. Little Christina sat on Ib’s knee. Ib was to herboth father and mother; her own parents had vanished from hermemory, as a dream-picture vanishes alike from childhood and age. Ib’s house was well and prettily furnished; for he was a prosperous man now, while the mother of the little girl rested in the churchyard atCopenhagen, where she had died in poverty. Ib had money now- money which had come to him out of the black earth; and he had Christina for his own, after all.THE ENDLastIndexNextWritten By Anderson

1872FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENA ROSE FROM HOMER’S GRAVEby Hans Christian AndersenALL the songs of the east speak of the love of the nightingale for the rose in the silent starlight night. The winged songster serenades the fragrant flowers.Not far from Smyrna, where the merchant drives his loadedcamels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath thelofty pines over holy ground, I saw a hedge of roses. Theturtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as thesunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened as if they weremother-of-pearl. On the rose-bush grew a flower, more beautiful thanthem all, and to her the nightingale sung of his woes; but the roseremained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on herleaves. At last she bowed her head over a heap of stones, and said,”Here rests the greatest singer in the world; over his tomb will Ispread my fragrance, and on it I will let my leaves fall when thestorm scatters them. He who sung of Troy became earth, and from that earth I have sprung. I, a rose from the grave of Homer, am too lofty to bloom for a nightingale.” Then the nightingale sung himself todeath. A camel-driver came by, with his loaded camels and his blackslaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the lovelysongster in the grave of the great Homer, while the rose trembled inthe wind.The evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closelyround her, and dreamed: and this was her dream.It was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who hadundertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of Homer. Among the strangers was a minstrel from the north, the home of the clouds and the brilliantlights of the aurora borealis. He plucked the rose and placed it ina book, and carried it away into a distant part of the world, hisfatherland. The rose faded with grief, and lay between the leaves ofthe book, which he opened in his own home, saying, “Here is a rosefrom the grave of Homer.”Then the flower awoke from her dream, and trembled in the wind.A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer’s grave. The sunrose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. The day washot, and she was still in her own warm Asia. Then footstepsapproached, strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, cameby, and among them was a poet from the north; he plucked the rose,pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to thehome of the clouds and the northern lights. Like a mummy, the flowernow rests in his “Iliad,” and, as in her dream, she hears him say,as he opens the book, “Here is a rose from the grave of Homer.”THE ENDLastIndexNextWritten By Anderson

BUT how fared little Gerda during Kay’s absence? What had become of him, no one knew, nor could any one give the slightest information, excepting the boys, who said that he had tied his sledge to another very large one, which had driven through the street, and out at the town gate. Nobody knew where it went; many tears were shed for him, and little Gerda wept bitterly for a long time. She said she knew he must be dead; that he was drowned in the river which flowed close by the school. Oh, indeed those long winter days were very dreary. But at last spring came, with warm sunshine. “Kay is dead and gone,” said little Gerda. “I don’t believe it,” said the sunshine. “He is dead and gone,” she said to the sparrows. “We don’t believe it,” they replied; and at last little Gerda began to doubt it herself. “I will put on my new red shoes,” she said one morning, “those that Kay has never seen, and then I will go down to the river, and ask for him.” It was quite early when she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep; then she put on her red shoes, and went quite alone out of the town gates toward the river. “Is it true that you have taken my little playmate away from me?” said she to the river. “I will give you my red shoes if you will give him back to me.” And it seemed as if the waves nodded to her in a strange manner. Then she took off her red shoes, which she liked better than anything else, and threw them both into the river, but they fell near the bank, and the little waves carried them back to the land, just as if the river would not take from her what she loved best, because they could not give her back little Kay. But she thought the shoes had not been thrown out far enough. Then she crept into a boat that lay among the reeds, and threw the shoes again from the farther end of the boat into the water, but it was not fastened. And her movement sent it gliding away from the land. When she saw this she hastened to reach the end of the boat, but before she could so it was more than a yard from the bank, and drifting away faster than ever. Then little Gerda was very much frightened, and began to cry, but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land, but they flew along by the shore, and sang, as if to comfort her, “Here we are! Here we are!” The boat floated with the stream; little Gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on her feet; the red shoes floated after her, but she could not reach them because the boat kept so much in advance. The banks on each side of the river were very pretty. There were beautiful flowers, old trees, sloping fields, in which cows and sheep were grazing, but not a man to be seen. Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay, thought Gerda, and then she became more cheerful, and raised her head, and looked at the beautiful green banks; and so the boat sailed on for hours. At length she came to a large cherry orchard, in which stood a small red house with strange red and blue windows. It had also a thatched roof, and outside were two wooden soldiers, that presented arms to her as she sailed past. Gerda called out to them, for she thought they were alive, but of course they did not answer; and as the boat drifted nearer to the shore, she saw what they really were. Then Gerda called still louder, and there came a very old woman out of the house, leaning on a crutch. She wore a large hat to shade her from the sun, and on it were painted all sorts of pretty flowers. “You poor little child,” said the old woman, “how did you manage to come all this distance into the wide world on such a rapid rolling stream?” And then the old woman walked in the water, seized the boat with her crutch, drew it to land, and lifted Gerda out. And Gerda was glad to feel herself on dry ground, although she was rather afraid of the strange old woman. “Come and tell me who you are,” said she, “and how came you here.” Then Gerda told her everything, while the old woman shook her head, and said, “Hem-hem;” and when she had finished, Gerda asked if she had not seen little Kay, and the old woman told her he had not passed by that way, but he very likely would come. So she told Gerda not to be sorrowful, but to taste the cherries and look at the flowers; they were better than any picture-book, for each of them could tell a story. Then she took Gerda by the hand and led her into the little house, and the old woman closed the door. The windows were very high, and as the panes were red, blue, and yellow, the daylight shone through them in all sorts of singular colors. On the table stood beautiful cherries, and Gerda had permission to eat as many as she would. While she was eating them the old woman combed out her long flaxen ringlets with a golden comb, and the glossy curls hung down on each side of the little round pleasant face, which looked fresh and blooming as a rose. “I have long been wishing for a dear little maiden like you,” said the old woman, “and now you must stay with me, and see how happily we shall live together.” And while she went on combing little Gerda’s hair, she thought less and less about her adopted brother Kay, for the old woman could conjure, although she was not a wicked witch; she conjured only a little for her own amusement, and now, because she wanted to keep Gerda. Therefore she went into the garden, and stretched out her crutch towards all the rose-trees, beautiful though they were; and they immediately sunk into the dark earth, so that no one could tell where they had once stood. The old woman was afraid that if little Gerda saw roses she would think of those at home, and then remember little Kay, and run away. Then she took Gerda into the flower-garden. How fragrant and beautiful it was! Every flower that could be thought of for every season of the year was here in full bloom; no picture-book could have more beautiful colors. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun went down behind the tall cherry-trees; then she slept in an elegant bed with red silk pillows, embroidered with colored violets; and then she dreamed as pleasantly as a queen on her wedding day. The next day, and for many days after, Gerda played with the flowers in the warm sunshine. She knew every flower, and yet, although there were so many of them, it seemed as if one were missing, but which it was she could not tell. One day, however, as she sat looking at the old woman’s hat with the painted flowers on it, she saw that the prettiest of them all was a rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made all the roses sink into the earth. But it is difficult to keep the thoughts together in everything; one little mistake upsets all our arrangements. “What, are there no roses here?” cried Gerda; and she ran out into the garden, and examined all the beds, and searched and searched. There was not one to be found. Then she sat down and wept, and her tears fell just on the place where one of the rose-trees had sunk down. The warm tears moistened the earth, and the rose-tree sprouted up at once, as blooming as when it had sunk; and Gerda embraced it and kissed the roses, and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and, with them, of little Kay. “Oh, how I have been detained!” said the little maiden, “I wanted to seek for little Kay. Do you know where he is?” she asked the roses; “do you think he is dead?” And the roses answered, “No, he is not dead. We have been in the ground where all the dead lie; but Kay is not there.” “Thank you,” said little Gerda, and then she went to the other flowers, and looked into their little cups, and asked, “Do you know where little Kay is?” But each flower, as it stood in the sunshine, dreamed only of its own little fairy tale of history. Not one knew anything of Kay. Gerda heard many stories from the flowers, as she asked them one after another about him. And what, said the tiger-lily? “Hark, do you hear the drum?— ‘turn, turn,’— there are only two notes, always, ‘turn, turn.’ Listen to the women’s song of mourning! Hear the cry of the priest! In her long red robe stands the Hindoo widow by the funeral pile. The flames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of her husband; but the Hindoo woman is thinking of the living one in that circle; of him, her son, who lighted those flames. Those shining eyes trouble her heart more painfully than the flames which will soon consume her body to ashes. Can the fire of the heart be extinguished in the flames of the funeral pile?” “I don’t understand that at all,” said little Gerda. “That is my story,” said the tiger-lily. What, says the convolvulus? “Near yonder narrow road stands an old knight’s castle; thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf over leaf, even to the balcony, in which stands a beautiful maiden. She bends over the balustrades, and looks up the road. No rose on its stem is fresher than she; no apple-blossom, wafted by the wind, floats more lightly than she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she bends over and exclaims, ‘Will he not come?’ “Is it Kay you mean?” asked Gerda. “I am only speaking of a story of my dream,” replied the flower. What, said the little snow-drop? “Between two trees a rope is hanging; there is a piece of board upon it; it is a swing. Two pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with long green ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it swinging. Their brother who is taller than they are, stands in the swing; he has one arm round the rope, to steady himself; in one hand he holds a little bowl, and in the other a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. As the swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most beautiful varying colors. The last still hangs from the bowl of the pipe, and sways in the wind. On goes the swing; and then a little black dog comes running up. He is almost as light as the bubble, and he raises himself on his hind legs, and wants to be taken into the swing; but it does not stop, and the dog falls; then he barks and gets angry. The children stoop towards him, and the bubble bursts. A swinging plank, a light sparkling foam picture,— that is my story.” “It may be all very pretty what you are telling me,” said little Gerda, “but you speak so mournfully, and you do not mention little Kay at all.” What do the hyacinths say? “There were three beautiful sisters, fair and delicate. The dress of one was red, of the second blue, and of the third pure white. Hand in hand they danced in the bright moonlight, by the calm lake; but they were human beings, not fairy elves. The sweet fragrance attracted them, and they disappeared in the wood; here the fragrance became stronger. Three coffins, in which lay the three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part of the forest across the lake. The fire-flies flew lightly over them, like little floating torches. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The scent of the flower says that they are corpses. The evening bell tolls their knell.” “You make me quite sorrowful,” said little Gerda; “your perfume is so strong, you make me think of the dead maidens. Ah! is little Kay really dead then? The roses have been in the earth, and they say no.” “Cling, clang,” tolled the hyacinth bells. “We are not tolling for little Kay; we do not know him. We sing our song, the only one we know.” Then Gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering amongst the bright green leaves. “You are little bright suns,” said Gerda; “tell me if you know where I can find my play-fellow.” And the buttercups sparkled gayly, and looked again at Gerda. What song could the buttercups sing? It was not about Kay. “The bright warm sun shone on a little court, on the first warm day of spring. His bright beams rested on the white walls of the neighboring house; and close by bloomed the first yellow flower of the season, glittering like gold in the sun’s warm ray. An old woman sat in her arm chair at the house door, and her granddaughter, a poor and pretty servant-maid came to see her for a short visit. When she kissed her grandmother there was gold everywhere: the gold of the heart in that holy kiss; it was a golden morning; there was gold in the beaming sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, and on the lips of the maiden. There, that is my story,” said the buttercup. “My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda; “she is longing to see me, and grieving for me as she did for little Kay; but I shall soon go home now, and take little Kay with me. It is no use asking the flowers; they know only their own songs, and can give me no information.” And then she tucked up her little dress, that she might run faster, but the narcissus caught her by the leg as she was jumping over it; so she stopped and looked at the tall yellow flower, and said, “Perhaps you may know something.” Then she stooped down quite close to the flower, and listened; and what did he say? “I can see myself, I can see myself,” said the narcissus. “Oh, how sweet is my perfume! Up in a little room with a bow window, stands a little dancing girl, half undressed; she stands sometimes on one leg, and sometimes on both, and looks as if she would tread the whole world under her feet. She is nothing but a delusion. She is pouring water out of a tea-pot on a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is her bodice. ‘Cleanliness is a good thing,’ she says. Her white dress hangs on a peg; it has also been washed in the tea-pot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties a saffron-colored handkerchief round her neck, which makes the dress look whiter. See how she stretches out her legs, as if she were showing off on a stem. I can see myself, I can see myself.” “What do I care for all that,” said Gerda, “you need not tell me such stuff.” And then she ran to the other end of the garden. The door was fastened, but she pressed against the rusty latch, and it gave way. The door sprang open, and little Gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. She looked back three times, but no one seemed to be following her. At last she could run no longer, so she sat down to rest on a great stone, and when she looked round she saw that the summer was over, and autumn very far advanced. She had known nothing of this in the beautiful garden, where the sun shone and the flowers grew all the year round. “Oh, how I have wasted my time?” said little Gerda; “it is autumn. I must not rest any longer,” and she rose up to go on. But her little feet were wounded and sore, and everything around her looked so cold and bleak. The long willow-leaves were quite yellow. The dew-drops fell like water, leaf after leaf dropped from the trees, the sloe-thorn alone still bore fruit, but the sloes were sour, and set the teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and weary the whole world appeared!

1872FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENA STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLSby Hans Christian AndersenTHIS story is from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of Jutland, but itdoes not begin there in the North, but far away in the South, in Spain. The wide sea is the highroad from nation to nation; journey in thought; then, to sunny Spain. It is warm and beautiful there;the fiery pomegranate flowers peep from among dark laurels; a coolrefreshing breeze from the mountains blows over the orange gardens,over the Moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls.Children go through the streets in procession with candles andwaving banners, and the sky, lofty and clear with its glitteringstars, rises above them. Sounds of singing and castanets can be heard, and youths and maidens dance upon the flowering acacia trees, while even the beggar sits upon a block of marble, refreshing himself with a juicy melon, and dreamily enjoying life. It all seems like a beautiful dream.Here dwelt a newly married couple who completely gave themselvesup to the charm of life; indeed they possessed every good thing theycould desire- health and happiness, riches and honour.We are as happy as human beings can be,” said the young couplefrom the depths of their hearts. They had indeed only one stephigher to mount on the ladder of happiness- they hoped that Godwould give them a child, a son like them in form and spirit. The happylittle one was to be welcomed with rejoicing, to be cared for withlove and tenderness, and enjoy every advantage of wealth and luxurythat a rich and influential family can give. So the days went bylike a joyous festival.”Life is a gracious gift from God, almost too great a gift forus to appreciate!” said the young wife. “Yet they say that fulnessof joy for ever and ever can only be found in the future life. Icannot realise it!”"The thought arises, perhaps, from the arrogance of men,” said thehusband. “It seems a great pride to believe that we shall live forever, that we shall be as gods! Were not these the words of theserpent, the father of lies?”"Surely you do not doubt the existence of a future life?”exclaimed the young wife. It seemed as if one of the first shadowspassed over her sunny thoughts.”Faith realises it, and the priests tell us so,” replied herhusband; “but amid all my happiness I feel that it is arrogant todemand a continuation of it- another life after this. Has not somuch been given us in this world that we ought to be, we must be,contented with it?”"Yes, it has been given to us,” said the young wife, “but thislife is nothing more than one long scene of trial and hardship to manythousands. How many have been cast into this world only to endurepoverty, shame, illness, and misfortune? If there were no future life,everything here would be too unequally divided, and God would not be the personification of justice.”"The beggar there,” said her husband, “has joys of his own whichseem to him great, and cause him as much pleasure as a king would find in the magnificence of his palace. And then do you not think thatthe beast of burden, which suffers blows and hunger, and worksitself to death, suffers just as much from its miserable fate? Thedumb creature might demand a future life also, and declare the lawunjust that excludes it from the advantages of the higher creation.”"Christ said: ‘In my father’s house are many mansions,’” sheanswered. “Heaven is as boundless as the love of our Creator; the dumb animal is also His creature, and I firmly believe that no life will be lost, but each will receive as much happiness as he can enjoy, which will be sufficient for him.”"This world is sufficient for me,” said the husband, throwinghis arm round his beautiful, sweet-tempered wife. He sat by her sideon the open balcony, smoking a cigarette in the cool air, which wasloaded with the sweet scent of carnations and orange blossoms.Sounds of music and the clatter of castanets came from the roadbeneath, the stars shone above then, and two eyes full of affection-those of his wife- looked upon him with the expression of undyinglove. “Such a moment,” he said, “makes it worth while to be born, todie, and to be annihilated!” He smiled- the young wife raised her handin gentle reproof, and the shadow passed away from her mind, andthey were happy- quite happy.Everything seemed to work together for their good. They advancedin honour, in prosperity, and in happiness. A change came certainly,but it was only a change of place and not of circumstances.The young man was sent by his Sovereign as ambassador to theRussian Court. This was an office of high dignity, but his birth andhis acquirements entitled him to the honour. He possessed a largefortune, and his wife had brought him wealth equal to his own, for shewas the daughter of a rich and respected merchant. One of thismerchant’s largest and finest ships was to be sent that year toStockholm, and it was arranged that the dear young couple, thedaughter and the son-in-law, should travel in it to St. Petersburg.All the arrangements on board were princely and silk and luxury onevery side.In an old war song, called “The King of England’s Son,” it says:”Farewell, he said, and sailed away.And many recollect that day.The ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,And everywhere riches and wealth untold.”These words would aptly describe the vessel from Spain, for herewas the same luxury, and the same parting thought naturally arose:”God grant that we once more may meetIn sweet unclouded peace and joy.”There was a favourable wind blowing as they left the Spanishcoast, and it would be but a short journey, for they hoped to reachtheir destination in a few weeks; but when they came out upon the wide ocean the wind dropped, the sea became smooth and shining, and the stars shone brightly. Many festive evenings were spent on board. At last the travellers began to wish for wind, for a favourable breeze; but their wish was useless- not a breath of air stirred, or if itdid arise it was contrary. Weeks passed by in this way, two wholemonths, and then at length a fair wind blew from the south-west. Theship sailed on the high seas between Scotland and Jutland; then thewind increased, just as it did in the old song of “The King ofEngland’s Son.”"‘Mid storm and wind, and pelting hail,Their efforts were of no avail.The golden anchor forth they threw;Towards Denmark the west wind blew.”This all happened a long time ago; King Christian VII, who saton the Danish throne, was still a young man. Much has happened since then, much has altered or been changed. Sea and moorland have been turned into green meadows, stretches of heather have become arable land, and in the shelter of the peasant’s cottages, apple-trees and rose-bushes grow, though they certainly require much care, as the sharp west wind blows upon them. In West Jutland one may go back in thought to old times, farther back than the days when Christian VII ruled. The purple heather still extends for miles, with its barrows and aerial spectacles, intersected with sandy uneven roads, just as it did then; towards the west, where broad streams run into the bays, are marshes and meadows encircled by lofty, sandy hills, which, like a chain of Alps, raise their pointed summits near the sea; they are only broken by high ridges of clay, from which the sea, year by year, bites out great mouthfuls, so that the overhanging banks fall down as if by the shock of an earthquake. Thus it is there today and thus it was long ago, when the happy pair were sailing in the beautiful ship.It was a Sunday, towards the end of September; the sun wasshining, and the chiming of the church bells in the Bay of Nissumwas carried along by the breeze like a chain of sounds. The churchesthere are almost entirely built of hewn blocks of stone, each like apiece of rock. The North Sea might foam over them and they would not be disturbed. Nearly all of them are without steeples, and the bellsare hung outside between two beams. The service was over, and thecongregation passed out into the churchyard, where not a tree orbush was to be seen; no flowers were planted there, and they had notplaced a single wreath upon any of the graves. It is just the samenow. Rough mounds show where the dead have been buried, and rank grass, tossed by the wind, grows thickly over the whole churchyard; here and there a grave has a sort of monument, a block of half-decayed wood, rudely cut in the shape of a coffin; the blocks are brought from the forest of West Jutland, but the forest is the sea itself, and the inhabitants find beams, and planks, and fragments which the waves have cast upon the beach. One of these blocks had been placed by loving hands on a child’s grave, and one of the women who had come out of the church walked up to it; she stood there, her eyes resting on the weather-beaten memorial, and a few moments afterwards her husband joined her. They were both silent, but he took her hand, and they walked together across the purple heath, over moor and meadow towards the sandhills. For a long time they went on without speaking.”It was a good sermon to-day,” the man said at last. “If we hadnot God to trust in, we should have nothing.”"Yes,” replied the woman, “He sends joy and sorrow, and He has aright to send them. To-morrow our little son would have been fiveyears old if we had been permitted to keep him.”"It is no use fretting, wife,” said the man. “The boy is wellprovided for. He is where we hope and pray to go to.”They said nothing more, but went out towards their houses amongthe sand-hills. All at once, in front of one of the houses where thesea grass did not keep the sand down with its twining roots, whatseemed to be a column of smoke rose up. A gust of wind rushedbetween the hills, hurling the particles of sand high into the air;another gust, and the strings of fish hung up to dry flapped andbeat violently against the walls of the cottage; then everything wasquiet once more, and the sun shone with renewed heat.The man and his wife went into the cottage. They had soon takenoff their Sunday clothes and come out again, hurrying over the duneswhich stood there like great waves of sand suddenly arrested intheir course, while the sandweeds and dune grass with its bluishstalks spread a changing colour over them. A few neighbours alsocame out, and helped each other to draw the boats higher up on thebeach. The wind now blew more keenly, it was chilly and cold, and when they went back over the sand-hills, sand and little sharp stonesblew into their faces. The waves rose high, crested with white foam,and the wind cut off their crests, scattering the foam far and wide.Evening came; there was a swelling roar in the air, a wailing ormoaning like the voices of despairing spirits, that sounded abovethe thunder of the waves. The fisherman’s little cottage was on thevery margin, and the sand rattled against the window panes; everynow and then a violent gust of wind shook the house to its foundation.It was dark, but about midnight the moon would rise. Later on theair became clearer, but the storm swept over the perturbed sea withundiminished fury; the fisher folks had long since gone to bed, but insuch weather there was no chance of closing an eye. Presently therewas a tapping at the window; the door was opened, and a voice said:”There’s a large ship stranded on the farthest reef.”In a moment the fisher people sprung from their beds and hastilydressed themselves. The moon had risen, and it was light enough tomake the surrounding objects visible to those who could open theireyes in the blinding clouds of sand; the violence of the wind wasterrible, and it was only possible to pass among the sand-hills if onecrept forward between the gusts; the salt spray flew up from the sealike down, and the ocean foamed like a roaring cataract towards thebeach. Only a practised eye could discern the vessel out in theoffing; she was a fine brig, and the waves now lifted her over thereef, three or four cables’ length out of the usual channel. She drovetowards the shore, struck on the second reef, and remained fixed.It was impossible to render assistance; the sea rushed in upon thevessel, making a clean breach over her. Those on shore thought theyheard cries for help from those on board, and could plainlydistinguish the busy but useless efforts made by the stranded sailors.Now a wave came rolling onward. It fell with enormous force on thebowsprit, tearing it from the vessel, and the stern was lifted highabove the water. Two people were seen to embrace and plunge together into the sea, and the next moment one of the largest waves that rolled towards the sand-hills threw a body on the beach. It was a woman; the sailors said that she was quite dead, but the women thought they saw signs of life in her, so the stranger was carried across the sand-hills to the fisherman’s cottage. How beautiful and fair she was!She must be a great lady, they said.They laid her upon the humble bed; there was not a yard of linenon it, only a woollen coverlet to keep the occupant warm.Life returned to her, but she was delirious, and knew nothing ofwhat had happened or where she was; and it was better so, foreverything she loved and valued lay buried in the sea. The samething happened to her ship as to the one spoken of in the song about”The King of England’s Son.”"Alas! how terrible to seeThe gallant bark sink rapidly.”Fragments of the wreck and pieces of wood were washed ashore; they were all that remained of the vessel. The wind still blew violently on the coast.For a few moments the strange lady seemed to rest; but she awokein pain, and uttered cries of anguish and fear. She opened herwonderfully beautiful eyes, and spoke a few words, but nobodyunderstood her.- And lo! as a reward for the sorrow and sufferingshe had undergone, she held in her arms a new-born babe. The childthat was to have rested upon a magnificent couch, draped with silkencurtains, in a luxurious home; it was to have been welcomed with joyto a life rich in all the good things of this world; and now Heavenhad ordained that it should be born in this humble retreat, that itshould not even receive a kiss from its mother, for when thefisherman’s wife laid the child upon the mother’s bosom, it restedon a heart that beat no more- she was dead.The child that was to have been reared amid wealth and luxurywas cast into the world, washed by the sea among the sand-hills toshare the fate and hardships of the poor.Here we are reminded again of the song about “The King ofEngland’s Son,” for in it mention is made of the custom prevalent atthe time, when knights and squires plundered those who had beensaved from shipwreck. The ship had stranded some distance south ofNissum Bay, and the cruel, inhuman days, when, as we have just said,the inhabitants of Jutland treated the shipwrecked people so crudelywere past, long ago. Affectionate sympathy and self-sacrifice forthe unfortunate existed then, just as it does in our own time inmany a bright example. The dying mother and the unfortunate childwould have found kindness and help wherever they had been cast bythe winds, but nowhere would it have been more sincere than in thecottage of the poor fisherman’s wife, who had stood, only the daybefore, beside her child’s grave, who would have been five years oldthat day if God had spared it to her.No one knew who the dead stranger was, they could not even forma conjecture; the fragments of wreckage gave no clue to the matter.No tidings reached Spain of the fate of the daughter andson-in-law. They did not arrive at their destination, and violentstorms had raged during the past weeks. At last the verdict was given:”Foundered at sea- all lost.” But in the fisherman’s cottage among thesand-hills near Hunsby, there lived a little scion of the rich Spanishfamily.Where Heaven sends food for two, a third can manage to find ameal, and in the depth of the sea there is many a dish of fish for thehungry.They called the boy Jurgen.”It must certainly be a Jewish child, its skin is so dark,” thepeople said.”It might be an Italian or a Spaniard,” remarked the clergyman.But to the fisherman’s wife these nations seemed all the same, andshe consoled herself with the thought that the child was baptized as aChristian.The boy throve; the noble blood in his veins was warm, and hebecame strong on his homely fare. He grew apace in the humble cottage, and the Danish dialect spoken by the West Jutes became his language.The pomegranate seed from Spain became a hardy plant on the coast of West Jutland. Thus may circumstances alter the course of a man’s life!To this home he clung with deep-rooted affection; he was to experience cold and hunger, and the misfortunes and hardships that surround the poor; but he also tasted of their joys.Childhood has bright days for every one, and the memory of themshines through the whole after-life. The boy had many sources ofpleasure and enjoyment; the coast for miles and miles was full ofplaythings, for it was a mosaic of pebbles, some red as coral oryellow as amber, and others again white and rounded like birds’ eggsand smoothed and prepared by the sea. Even the bleached fishes’skeletons, the water plants dried by the wind, and seaweed, whiteand shining long linen-like bands waving between the stones- all theseseemed made to give pleasure and occupation for the boy’s thoughts,and he had an intelligent mind; many great talents lay dormant in him.How readily he remembered stories and songs that he heard, and howdexterous he was with his fingers! With stones and mussel-shells hecould put together pictures and ships with which one could decoratethe room; and he could make wonderful things from a stick, hisfoster-mother said, although he was still so young and little. Hehad a sweet voice, and every melody seemed to flow naturally fromhis lips. And in his heart were hidden chords, which might havesounded far out into the world if he had been placed anywhere elsethan in the fisherman’s hut by the North Sea.One day another ship was wrecked on the coast, and among otherthings a chest filled with valuable flower bulbs was washed ashore.Some were put into saucepans and cooked, for they were thought to be fit to eat, and others lay and shrivelled in the sand- they did notaccomplish their purpose, or unfold their magnificent colours. WouldJurgen fare better? The flower bulbs had soon played their part, buthe had years of apprenticeship before him. Neither he nor hisfriends noticed in what a monotonous, uniform way one day followedanother, for there was always plenty to do and see. The ocean itselfwas a great lesson-book, and it unfolded a new leaf each day of calmor storm- the crested wave or the smooth surface.The visits to the church were festive occasions, but among thefisherman’s house one was especially looked forward to; this was, infact, the visit of the brother of Jurgen’s foster-mother, theeel-breeder from Fjaltring, near Bovbjerg. He came twice a year in acart, painted red with blue and white tulips upon it, and full ofeels; it was covered and locked like a box, two dun oxen drew it,and Jurgen was allowed to guide them.The eel-breeder was a witty fellow, a merry guest, and brought ameasure of brandy with him. They all received a small glassful or acupful if there were not enough glasses; even Jurgen had about athimbleful, that he might digest the fat eel, as the eel-breeder said;he always told one story over and over again, and if his hearerslaughed he would immediately repeat it to them. Jurgen while still aboy, and also when he was older, used phrases from the eel-breeder’sstory on various occasions, so it will be as well for us to listento it. It runs thus:”The eels went into the bay, and the young ones begged leave to goa little farther out. ‘Don’t go too far,’ said their mother; ‘the uglyeel-spearer might come and snap you all up.’ But they went too far,and of eight daughters only three came back to the mother, and thesewept and said, ‘We only went a little way out, and the uglyeel-spearer came immediately and stabbed five of our sisters todeath.’ ‘They’ll come back again,’ said the mother eel. ‘Oh, no,’exclaimed the daughters, ‘for he skinned them, cut them in two, andfried them.’ ‘Oh, they’ll come back again,’ the mother eelpersisted. ‘No,’ replied the daughters, ‘for he ate them up.’ ‘They’llcome back again,’ repeated the mother eel. ‘But he drank brandyafter them,’ said the daughters. ‘Ah, then they’ll never come back,’said the mother, and she burst out crying, ‘it’s the brandy thatburies the eels.’”"And therefore,” said the eel-breeder in conclusion, “it is alwaysthe proper thing to drink brandy after eating eels.”This story was the tinsel thread, the most humorous recollectionof Jurgen’s life. He also wanted to go a little way farther out and upthe bay- that is to say, out into the world in a ship- but hismother said, like the eel-breeder, “There are so many bad people-eel spearers!” He wished to go a little way past the sand-hills, outinto the dunes, and at last he did: four happy days, the brightestof his childhood, fell to his lot, and the whole beauty andsplendour of Jutland, all the happiness and sunshine of his home, were concentrated in these. He went to a festival, but it was a burialfeast.A rich relation of the fisherman’s family had died; the farm wassituated far eastward in the country and a little towards the north.Jurgen’s foster parents went there, and he also went with them fromthe dunes, over heath and moor, where the Skjaerumaa takes itscourse through green meadows and contains many eels; mother eelslive there with their daughters, who are caught and eaten up by wickedpeople. But do not men sometimes act quite as cruelly towards theirown fellow-men? Was not the knight Sir Bugge murdered by wickedpeople? And though he was well spoken of, did he not also wish to kill the architect who built the castle for him, with its thick walls andtower, at the point where the Skjaerumaa falls into the bay? Jurgenand his parents now stood there; the wall and the ramparts stillremained, and red crumbling fragments lay scattered around. Here itwas that Sir Bugge, after the architect had left him, said to one ofhis men, “Go after him and say, ‘Master, the tower shakes.’ If heturns round, kill him and take away the money I paid him, but if hedoes not turn round let him go in peace.” The man did as he wastold; the architect did not turn round, but called back “The towerdoes not shake in the least, but one day a man will come from the west in a blue cloak- he will cause it to shake!” And so indeed it happened a hundred years later, for the North Sea broke in and cast down the tower; but Predbjorn Gyldenstjerne, the man who then possessed the castle, built a new castle higher up at the end of the meadow, and that one is standing to this day, and is called Norre-Vosborg.Jurgen and his foster parents went past this castle. They had toldhim its story during the long winter evenings, and now he saw thestately edifice, with its double moat, and trees and bushes; the wall,covered with ferns, rose within the moat, but the lofty lime-treeswere the most beautiful of all; they grew up to the highest windows,and the air was full of their sweet fragrance. In a north-westcorner of the garden stood a great bush full of blossom, like wintersnow amid the summer’s green; it was a juniper bush, the first thatJurgen had ever seen in bloom. He never forgot it, nor the lime-trees;the child’s soul treasured up these memories of beauty and fragranceto gladden the old man.From Norre-Vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the journeybecame more pleasant, for they met some other people who were alsogoing to the funeral and were riding in waggons. Our travellers had tosit all together on a little box at the back of the waggon, but eventhis, they thought, was better than walking. So they continued theirjourney across the rugged heath. The oxen which drew the waggonstopped every now and then, where a patch of fresh grass appeared amid the heather. The sun shone with considerable heat, and it waswonderful to behold how in the far distance something like smokeseemed to be rising; yet this smoke was clearer than the air; it wastransparent, and looked like rays of light rolling and dancing afarover the heath.”That is Lokeman driving his sheep,” said some one.And this was enough to excite Jurgen’s imagination. He felt asif they were now about to enter fairyland, though everything was stillreal. How quiet it was! The heath stretched far and wide around themlike a beautiful carpet. The heather was in blossom, and thejuniper-bushes and fresh oak saplings rose like bouquets from theearth. An inviting place for a frolic, if it had not been for thenumber of poisonous adders of which the travellers spoke; they alsomentioned that the place had formerly been infested with wolves, andthat the district was still called Wolfsborg for this reason. Theold man who was driving the oxen told them that in the lifetime of hisfather the horses had many a hard battle with the wild beasts thatwere now exterminated. One morning, when he himself had gone out to bring in the horses, he found one of them standing with its forefeeton a wolf it had killed, but the savage animal had torn andlacerated the brave horse’s legs.The journey over the heath and the deep sand was only tooquickly at an end. They stopped before the house of mourning, wherethey found plenty of guests within and without. Waggon after waggonstood side by side, while the horses and oxen had been turned out tograze on the scanty pasture. Great sand-hills like those at home bythe North Sea rose behind the house and extended far and wide. How had they come here, so many miles inland? They were as large and high as those on the coast, and the wind had carried them there; there was also a legend attached to them.Psalms were sung, and a few of the old people shed tears; withthis exception, the guests were cheerful enough, it seemed toJurgen, and there was plenty to eat and drink. There were eels ofthe fattest, requiring brandy to bury them, as the eel-breeder said;and certainly they did not forget to carry out his maxim here.Jurgen went in and out the house; and on the third day he feltas much at home as he did in the fisherman’s cottage among thesand-hills, where he had passed his early days. Here on the heath were riches unknown to him until now; for flowers, blackberries, andbilberries were to be found in profusion, so large and sweet that whenthey were crushed beneath the tread of passers-by the heather wasstained with their red juice. Here was a barrow and yonder another.Then columns of smoke rose into the still air; it was a heath fire,they told him- how brightly it blazed in the dark evening!The fourth day came, and the funeral festivities were at an end;they were to go back from the land-dunes to the sand-dunes.”Ours are better,” said the old fisherman, Jurgen’s foster-father;”these have no strength.”And they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come inland,and it seemed very easy to understand. This is how they explained it:A dead body had been found on the coast, and the peasants buriedit in the churchyard. From that time the sand began to fly about andthe sea broke in with violence. A wise man in the district advisedthem to open the grave and see if the buried man was not lying sucking his thumb, for if so he must be a sailor, and the sea would not rest until it had got him back. The grave was opened, and he really was found with his thumb in his mouth. So they laid him upon a cart, and harnessed two oxen to it; and the oxen ran off with the sailor over heath and moor to the ocean, as if they had been stung by an adder.Then the sand ceased to fly inland, but the hills that had beenpiled up still remained.All this Jurgen listened to and treasured up in his memory ofthe happiest days of his childhood- the days of the burial feast.How delightful it was to see fresh places and to mix withstrangers! And he was to go still farther, for he was not yet fourteenyears old when he went out in a ship to see the world. Heencountered bad weather, heavy seas, unkindness, and hard men- such were his experiences, for he became ship-boy. Cold nights, bad living, and blows had to be endured; then he felt his noble Spanish blood boil within him, and bitter, angry, words rose to his lips, but he gulped them down; it was better, although he felt as the eel must feel when it is skinned, cut up, and put into the frying-pan.”I shall get over it,” said a voice within him.He saw the Spanish coast, the native land of his parents. Heeven saw the town where they had lived in joy and prosperity, but heknew nothing of his home or his relations, and his relations knew justas little about him.The poor ship boy was not permitted to land, but on the last dayof their stay he managed to get ashore. There were several purchasesto be made, and he was sent to carry them on board.Jurgen stood there in his shabby clothes which looked as if theyhad been washed in the ditch and dried in the chimney; he, who hadalways dwelt among the sand-hills, now saw a great city for thefirst time. How lofty the houses seemed, and what a number of people there were in the streets! some pushing this way, some that- a perfect maelstrom of citizens and peasants, monks and soldiers- the jingling of bells on the trappings of asses and mules, the chiming of church bells, calling, shouting, hammering and knocking- all going on at once. Every trade was located in the basement of the houses or inthe side thoroughfares; and the sun shone with such heat, and theair was so close, that one seemed to be in an oven full of beetles,cockchafers, bees and flies, all humming and buzzing together.Jurgen scarcely knew where he was or which way he went. Then he saw just in front of him the great doorway of a cathedral; the lights were gleaming in the dark aisles, and the fragrance of incense was wafted towards him. Even the poorest beggar ventured up the steps into the sanctuary. Jurgen followed the sailor he was with into the church, and stood in the sacred edifice. Coloured pictures gleamed from their golden background, and on the altar stood the figure of the Virgin with the child Jesus, surrounded by lights and flowers; priests in festive robes were chanting, and choir boys in dazzling attire swungsilver censers. What splendour and magnificence he saw there! Itstreamed in upon his soul and overpowered him: the church and thefaith of his parents surrounded him, and touched a chord in hisheart that caused his eyes to overflow with tears.They went from the church to the market-place. Here a quantityof provisions were given him to carry. The way to the harbour waslong; and weary and overcome with various emotions, he rested for afew moments before a splendid house, with marble pillars, statues, and broad steps. Here he rested his burden against the wall. Then a porter in livery came out, lifted up a silver-headed cane, and drove him away- him, the grandson of that house. But no one knew that, and he just as little as any one. Then he went on board again, and once more encountered rough words and blows, much work and little sleep-such was his experience of life. They say it is good to suffer inone’s young days, if age brings something to make up for it.His period of service on board the ship came to an end, and thevessel lay once more at Ringkjobing in Jutland. He came ashore, andwent home to the sand-dunes near Hunsby; but his foster-mother haddied during his absence.A hard winter followed this summer. Snow-storms swept over landand sea, and there was difficulty in getting from one place toanother. How unequally things are distributed in this world! Herethere was bitter cold and snow-storms, while in Spain there wasburning sunshine and oppressive heat. Yet, when a clear frosty daycame, and Jurgen saw the swans flying in numbers from the seatowards the land, across to Norre-Vosborg, it seemed to him thatpeople could breathe more freely here; the summer also in this part ofthe world was splendid. In imagination he saw the heath blossom andbecome purple with rich juicy berries, and the elder-bushes andlime-trees at Norre Vosborg in flower. He made up his mind to go there again.Spring came, and the fishing began. Jurgen was now an activehelper in this, for he had grown during the last year, and was quickat work. He was full of life, and knew how to swim, to tread water,and to turn over and tumble in the strong tide. They often warnedhim to beware of the sharks, which seize the best swimmer, draw himdown, and devour him; but such was not to be Jurgen’s fate.At a neighbour’s house in the dunes there was a boy namedMartin, with whom Jurgen was on very friendly terms, and they bothtook service in the same ship to Norway, and also went together toHolland. They never had a quarrel, but a person can be easilyexcited to quarrel when he is naturally hot tempered, for he oftenshows it in many ways; and this is just what Jurgen did one day whenthey fell out about the merest trifle. They were sitting behind thecabin door, eating from a delft plate, which they had placed betweenthem. Jurgen held his pocket-knife in his hand and raised it towardsMartin, and at the same time became ashy pale, and his eyes had anugly look. Martin only said, “Ah! ah! you are one of that sort, areyou? Fond of using the knife!”The words were scarcely spoken, when Jurgen’s hand sank down. Hedid not answer a syllable, but went on eating, and afterwards returnedto his work. When they were resting again he walked up to Martin andsaid:”Hit me in the face! I deserve it. But sometimes I feel as if Ihad a pot in me that boils over.”"There, let the thing rest,” replied Martin.And after that they were almost better friends than ever; whenafterwards they returned to the dunes and began telling theiradventures, this was told among the rest. Martin said that Jurgenwas certainly passionate, but a good fellow after all.They were both young and healthy, well-grown and strong; butJurgen was the cleverer of the two.In Norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattlethere to find pasture. On the west coast of Jutland huts have beenerected among the sand-hills; they are built of pieces of wreck, andthatched with turf and heather; there are sleeping places round thewalls, and here the fishermen live and sleep during the earlyspring. Every fisherman has a female helper, or manager as she iscalled, who baits his hooks, prepares warm beer for him when hecomes ashore, and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the time he comes back to the hut tired and hungry. Besides this the managers bring up the fish from the boats, cut them open, prepare them, and have generally a great deal to do.Jurgen, his father, and several other fishermen and their managersinhabited the same hut; Martin lived in the next one.One of the girls, whose name was Else, had known Jurgen fromchildhood; they were glad to see each other, and were of the sameopinion on many points, but in appearance they were entirely opposite; for he was dark, and she was pale, and fair, and had flaxen hair, and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine.As they were walking together one day, Jurgen held her hand veryfirmly in his, and she said to him:”Jurgen, I have something I want to say to you; let me be yourmanager, for you are like a brother to me; but Martin, whosehousekeeper I am- he is my lover- but you need not tell this to theothers.”It seemed to Jurgen as if the loose sand was giving way underhis feet. He did not speak a word, but nodded his head, and that meant “yes.” It was all that was necessary; but he suddenly felt in hisheart that he hated Martin, and the more he thought the more he feltconvinced that Martin had stolen away from him the only being heever loved, and that this was Else: he had never thought of Else inthis way before, but now it all became plain to him.When the sea is rather rough, and the fishermen are coming home intheir great boats, it is wonderful to see how they cross the reefs.One of them stands upright in the bow of the boat, and the otherswatch him sitting with the oars in their hands. Outside the reef itlooks as if the boat was not approaching land but going back to sea;then the man who is standing up gives them the signal that the greatwave is coming which is to float them across the reef. The boat islifted high into the air, so that the keel is seen from the shore; thenext moment nothing can be seen, mast, keel, and people are allhidden- it seems as though the sea had devoured them; but in a fewmoments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves, and the oars move as if the creature had legs. The second and third reef are passed in the same manner; then the fishermen jump into thewater and push the boat towards the shore- every wave helps them-and at length they have it drawn up, beyond the reach of the breakers.A wrong order given in front of the reef- the slightest hesitation- and the boat would be lost, “Then it would be all over with me and Martin too!” This thought passed through Jurgen’s mind one day while theywere out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken suddenlyill. The fever had seized him. They were only a few oars’ strokes fromthe reef, and Jurgen sprang from his seat and stood up in the bow.”Father-let me come!” he said, and he glanced at Martin and acrossthe waves; every oar bent with the exertions of the rowers as thegreat wave came towards them, and he saw his father’s pale face, anddared not obey the evil impulse that had shot through his brain. Theboat came safely across the reef to land; but the evil thoughtremained in his heart, and roused up every little fibre ofbitterness which he remembered between himself and Martin since they had known each other. But he could not weave the fibres together, nor did he endeavour to do so. He felt that Martin had robbed him, and this was enough to make him hate his former friend. Several of the fishermen saw this, but Martin did not- he remained as obliging and talkative as ever, in fact he talked rather too much.Jurgen’s foster-father took to his bed, and it became his death-bed, for he died a week afterwards; and now Jurgen was heir to the little house behind the sand-hills. It was small, certainly, but still it was something, and Martin had nothing of the kind.”You will not go to sea again, Jurgen, I suppose,” observed one ofthe old fishermen. “You will always stay with us now.”But this was not Jurgen’s intention; he wanted to see something ofthe world. The eel-breeder of Fjaltring had an uncle at Old Skjagen,who was a fisherman, but also a prosperous merchant with ships upon the sea; he was said to be a good old man, and it would not be a bad thing to enter his service. Old Skjagen lies in the extreme north of Jutland, as far away from the Hunsby dunes as one can travel in that country; and this is just what pleased Jurgen, for he did not wantto remain till the wedding of Martin and Else, which would takeplace in a week or two.The old fisherman said it was foolish to go away, for now thatJurgen had a home Else would very likely be inclined to take himinstead of Martin.Jurgen gave such a vague answer that it was not easy to make outwhat he meant- the old man brought Else to him, and she said:”You have a home now; you ought to think of that.”And Jurgen thought of many things.The sea has heavy waves, but there are heavier waves in thehuman heart. Many thoughts, strong and weak, rushed through Jurgen’s brain, and he said to Else:”If Martin had a house like mine, which of us would you ratherhave?”"But Martin has no house and cannot get one.”"Suppose he had one?”"Well, then I would certainly take Martin, for that is what myheart tells me; but one cannot live upon love.”Jurgen turned these things over in his mind all night. Somethingwas working within him, he hardly knew what it was, but it was evenstronger than his love for Else; and so he went to Martin’s, andwhat he said and did there was well considered. He let the house toMartin on most liberal terms, saying that he wished to go to seaagain, because he loved it. And Else kissed him when she heard ofit, for she loved Martin best.Jurgen proposed to start early in the morning, and on theevening before his departure, when it was already getting rather late,he felt a wish to visit Martin once more. He started, and among thedunes met the old fisherman, who was angry at his leaving the place.The old man made jokes about Martin, and declared there must be some magic about that fellow, of whom the girls were so fond.Jurgen did not pay any attention to his remarks, but said good-byeto the old man and went on towards the house where Martin dwelt. He heard loud talking inside; Martin was not alone, and this madeJurgen waver in his determination, for he did not wish to see Elseagain. On second thoughts, he decided that it was better not to hearany more thanks from Martin, and so he turned back.On the following morning, before the sun rose, he fastened hisknapsack on his back, took his wooden provision box in his hand, and went away among the sand-hills towards the coast path. This way was more pleasant than the heavy sand road, and besides it was shorter; and he intended to go first to Fjaltring, near Bovbjerg, where the eel-breeder lived, to whom he had promised a visit.The sea lay before him, clear and blue, and the mussel shellsand pebbles, the playthings of his childhood, crunched over hisfeet. While he thus walked on his nose suddenly began to bleed; it was a trifling occurrence, but trifles sometimes are of greatimportance. A few large drops of blood fell upon one of his sleeves.He wiped them off and stopped the bleeding, and it seemed to him as if this had cleared and lightened his brain. The sea-cale bloomed hereand there in the sand as he passed. He broke off a spray and stuckit in his hat; he determined to be merry and light-hearted, for he wasgoing out into the wide world- “a little way out, beyond the bay,”as the young eels had said. “Beware of bad people who will catchyou, and skin you, and put you in the frying-pan!” he repeated inhis mind, and smiled, for he thought he should find his way throughthe world- good courage is a strong weapon!The sun was high in the heavens when he approached the narrowentrance to Nissum Bay. He looked back and saw a couple of horsemen galloping a long distance behind him, and there were other people with them. But this did not concern him.The ferry-boat was on the opposite side of the bay. Jurgencalled to the ferry-man, and the latter came over with his boat.Jurgen stepped in; but before he had got half-way across, the men whom he had seen riding so hastily, came up, hailed the ferry-man, and commanded him to return in the name of the law. Jurgen did notunderstand the reason of this, but he thought it would be best to turnback, and therefore he himself took an oar and returned. As soon asthe boat touched the shore, the men sprang on board, and before he was aware of it, they had bound his hands with a rope.”This wicked deed will cost you your life,” they said. “It is agood thing we have caught you.”He was accused of nothing less than murder. Martin had beenfound dead, with his throat cut. One of the fishermen, late on theprevious evening, had met Jurgen going towards Martin’s house; thiswas not the first time Jurgen had raised his knife against Martin,so they felt sure that he was the murderer. The prison was in a townat a great distance, and the wind was contrary for going there by sea;but it would not take half an hour to get across the bay, andanother quarter of an hour would bring them to Norre-Vosborg, thegreat castle with ramparts and moat. One of Jurgen’s captors was afisherman, a brother of the keeper of the castle, and he said it mightbe managed that Jurgen should be placed for the present in the dungeon at Vosborg, where Long Martha the gipsy had been shut up till her execution. They paid no attention to Jurgen’s defence; the few drops of blood on his shirt-sleeve bore heavy witness against him. But he was conscious of his innocence, and as there was no chance of clearing himself at present he submitted to his fate.The party landed just at the place where Sir Bugge’s castle hadstood, and where Jurgen had walked with his foster-parents after theburial feast, during. the four happiest days of his childhood. Hewas led by the well-known path, over the meadow to Vosborg; oncemore the elders were in bloom and the lofty lime-trees gave forthsweet fragrance, and it seemed as if it were but yesterday that he hadlast seen the spot. In each of the two wings of the castle there was astaircase which led to a place below the entrance, from whence thereis access to a low, vaulted cellar. In this dungeon Long Martha hadbeen imprisoned, and from here she was led away to the scaffold. She had eaten the hearts of five children, and had imagined that if shecould obtain two more she would be able to fly and make herselfinvisible. In the middle of the roof of the cellar there was alittle narrow air-hole, but no window. The flowering lime treescould not breathe refreshing fragrance into that abode, whereeverything was dark and mouldy. There was only a rough bench in the cell; but a good conscience is a soft pillow, and therefore Jurgencould sleep well.The thick oaken door was locked, and secured on the outside byan iron bar; but the goblin of superstition can creep through akeyhole into a baron’s castle just as easily as it can into afisherman’s cottage, and why should he not creep in here, where Jurgen sat thinking of Long Martha and her wicked deeds? Her last thoughts on the night before her execution had filled this place, and the magic that tradition asserted to have been practised here, in SirSvanwedel’s time, came into Jurgen’s mind, and made him shudder; but a sunbeam, a refreshing thought from without, penetrated his hearteven here- it was the remembrance of the flowering elder and the sweet smelling lime-trees.He was not left there long. They took him away to the town ofRingkjobing, where he was imprisoned with equal severity.Those times were not like ours. The common people were treatedharshly; and it was just after the days when farms were converted intoknights’ estates, when coachmen and servants were often mademagistrates, and had power to sentence a poor man, for a smalloffence, to lose his property and to corporeal punishment. Judges ofthis kind were still to be found; and in Jutland, so far from thecapital, and from the enlightened, well-meaning, head of theGovernment, the law was still very loosely administered sometimes- the smallest grievance Jurgen could expect was that his case should be delayed.His dwelling was cold and comfortless; and how long would he beobliged to bear all this? It seemed his fate to suffer misfortuneand sorrow innocently. He now had plenty of time to reflect on thedifference of fortune on earth, and to wonder why this fate had beenallotted to him; yet he felt sure that all would be made clear inthe next life, the existence that awaits us when this life is over.His faith had grown strong in the poor fisherman’s cottage; thelight which had never shone into his father’s mind, in all therichness and sunshine of Spain, was sent to him to be his comfort inpoverty and distress, a sign of that mercy of God which never fails.The spring storms began to blow. The rolling and moaning of theNorth Sea could be heard for miles inland when the wind was blowing, and then it sounded like the rushing of a thousand waggons over a hard road with a mine underneath. Jurgen heard these sounds in his prison, and it was a relief to him. No music could have touched his heart as did these sounds of the sea- the rolling sea, the boundlesssea, on which a man can be borne across the world before the wind,carrying his own house with him wherever he goes, just as the snailcarries its home even into a strange country.He listened eagerly to its deep murmur and then the thought arose-”Free! free! How happy to be free, even barefooted and in raggedclothes!” Sometimes, when such thoughts crossed his mind, the fierynature rose within him, and he beat the wall with his clenched fists.Weeks, months, a whole year had gone by, when Niels the thief,called also a horse-dealer, was arrested; and now better times came,and it was seen that Jurgen had been wrongly accused.On the afternoon before Jurgen’s departure from home, and beforethe murder, Niels the thief, had met Martin at a beer-house in theneighbourhood of Ringkjobing. A few glasses were drank, not enough to cloud the brain, but enough to loosen Martin’s tongue. He began to boast and to say that he had obtained a house and intended to marry, and when Niels asked him where he was going to get the money, he slapped his pocket proudly and said:”The money is here, where it ought to be.”This boast cost him his life; for when he went home Niels followedhim, and cut his throat, intending to rob the murdered man of thegold, which did not exist.All this was circumstantially explained; but it is enough for usto know that Jurgen was set free. But what compensation did he get for having been imprisoned a whole year, and shut out from allcommunication with his fellow creatures? They told him he wasfortunate in being proved innocent, and that he might go. Theburgomaster gave him two dollars for travelling expenses, and manycitizens offered him provisions and beer- there were still goodpeople; they were not all hard and pitiless. But the best thing of allwas that the merchant Bronne, of Skjagen, into whose service Jurgenhad proposed entering the year before, was just at that time onbusiness in the town of Ringkjobing. Bronne heard the whole story;he was kind-hearted, and understood what Jurgen must have felt andsuffered. Therefore he made up his mind to make it up to the poor lad, and convince him that there were still kind folks in the world.So Jurgen went forth from prison as if to paradise, to findfreedom, affection, and trust. He was to travel this path now, forno goblet of life is all bitterness; no good man would pour out such adraught for his fellow-man, and how should He do it, Who is lovepersonified?”Let everything be buried and forgotten,” said Bronne, themerchant. “Let us draw a thick line through last year: we will evenburn the almanack. In two days we will start for dear, friendly,peaceful Skjagen. People call it an out-of-the-way corner; but it is agood warm chimney-corner, and its windows open toward every part of the world.”What a journey that was: It was like taking fresh breath out ofthe cold dungeon air into the warm sunshine. The heather bloomed inpride and beauty, and the shepherd-boy sat on a barrow and blew hispipe, which he had carved for himself out of a sheep bone. FataMorgana, the beautiful aerial phenomenon of the wilderness, appearedwith hanging gardens and waving forests, and the wonderful cloudcalled “Lokeman driving his sheep” also was seen.Up towards Skjagen they went, through the land of the Wendels,whence the men with long beards (the Longobardi or Lombards) hademigrated in the reign of King Snio, when all the children and oldpeople were to have been killed, till the noble Dame Gambaruk proposed that the young people should emigrate. Jurgen knew all this, he had some little knowledge; and although he did not know the land of the Lombards beyond the lofty Alps, he had an idea that it must bethere, for in his boyhood he had been in the south, in Spain. Hethought of the plenteousness of the southern fruit, of the redpomegranate flowers, of the humming, buzzing, and toiling in the great beehive of a city he had seen; but home is the best place after all, and Jurgen’s home was Denmark.At last they arrived at “Vendilskaga,” as Skjagen is called in oldNorwegian and Icelandic writings. At that time Old Skjagen, with theeastern and western town, extended for miles, with sand hills andarable land as far as the lighthouse near “Grenen.” Then, as now,the houses were strewn among the wind-raised sand-hills- awilderness in which the wind sports with the sand, and where the voice of the sea-gull and wild swan strikes harshly on the ear.In the south-west, a mile from “Grenen,” lies Old Skjagen;merchant Bronne dwelt here, and this was also to be Jurgen’s homefor the future. The dwelling-house was tarred, and all the smallout-buildings had been put together from pieces of wreck. There was no fence, for indeed there was nothing to fence in except the long rows of fishes which were hung upon lines, one above the other, to dry in the wind. The entire coast was strewn with spoiled herrings, for there were so many of these fish that a net was scarcely thrown into the sea before it was filled. They were caught by carloads, and many of them were either thrown back into the sea or left to lie on the beach.The old man’s wife and daughter and his servants also came to meethim with great rejoicing. There was a great squeezing of hands, andtalking and questioning. And the daughter, what a sweet face andbright eyes she had!The inside of the house was comfortable and roomy. Fritters,that a king would have looked upon as a dainty dish, were placed onthe table, and there was wine from the Skjagen vineyard- that is,the sea; for there the grapes come ashore ready pressed and preparedin barrels and in bottles.When the mother and daughter heard who Jurgen was, and howinnocently he had suffered, they looked at him in a still morefriendly way; and pretty Clara’s eyes had a look of especialinterest as she listened to his story. Jurgen found a happy home inOld Skjagen. It did his heart good, for it had been sorely tried. Hehad drunk the bitter goblet of love which softens or hardens theheart, according to circumstances. Jurgen’s heart was still soft- itwas young, and therefore it was a good thing that Miss Clara was going in three weeks’ time to Christiansand in Norway, in her father’s ship, to visit an aunt and to stay there the whole winter.On the Sunday before she went away they all went to church, to theHoly Communion. The church was large and handsome, and had been built centuries before by Scotchmen and Dutchmen; it stood some little way out of the town. It was rather ruinous certainly, and the road to it was heavy, through deep sand, but the people gladly surmounted these difficulties to get to the house of God, to sing psalms and to hear the sermon. The sand had heaped itself up round the walls of the church, but the graves were kept free from it.It was the largest church north of the Limfjorden. The VirginMary, with a golden crown on her head and the child Jesus in her arms, stood lifelike on the altar; the holy Apostles had been carved inthe choir, and on the walls there were portraits of the oldburgomasters and councillors of Skjagen; the pulpit was of carvedwork. The sun shone brightly into the church, and its radiance fell onthe polished brass chandelier and on the little ship that hung fromthe vaulted roof.Jurgen felt overcome by a holy, childlike feeling, like that whichpossessed him, when, as a boy, he stood in the splendid Spanishcathedral. But here the feeling was different, for he felt consciousof being one of the congregation.After the sermon followed Holy Communion. He partook of thebread and wine, and it so happened that he knelt by the side of MissClara; but his thoughts were so fixed upon heaven and the HolySacrament that he did not notice his neighbour until he rose fromhis knees, and then he saw tears rolling down her cheeks.She left Skjagen and went to Norway two days later. He remainedbehind, and made himself useful on the farm and at the fishery. Hewent out fishing, and in those days fish were more plentiful andlarger than they are now. The shoals of the mackerel glittered inthe dark nights, and indicated where they were swimming; thegurnards snarled, and the crabs gave forth pitiful yells when theywere chased, for fish are not so mute as people say.Every Sunday Jurgen went to church; and when his eyes rested onthe picture of the Virgin Mary over the altar as he sat there, theyoften glided away to the spot where they had knelt side by side.Autumn came, and brought rain and snow with it; the water roseup right into the town of Skjagen, the sand could not suck it allin, one had to wade through it or go by boat. The storms threwvessel after vessel on the fatal reefs; there were snow-storm andsand-storms; the sand flew up to the houses, blocking the entrances,so that people had to creep up through the chimneys; that wasnothing at all remarkable here. It was pleasant and cheerfulindoors, where peat fuel and fragments of wood from the wrecksblazed and crackled upon the hearth. Merchant Bronne read aloud,from an old chronicle, about Prince Hamlet of Denmark, who had come over from England, landed near Bovbjerg, and fought a battle; close by Ramme was his grave, only a few miles from the place where the eel-breeder lived; hundreds of barrow rose there from the heath, forming as it were an enormous churchyard. Merchant Bronne had himself been at Hamlet’s grave; they spoke about old times, and about their neighbours, the English and the Scotch, and Jurgen sang the air of “The King of England’s Son,” and of his splendid ship and its outfit.”In the hour of peril when most men fear,He clasped the bride that he held so dear,And proved himself the son of a King;Of his courage and valour let us sing.”This verse Jurgen sang with so much feeling that his eyesbeamed, and they were black and sparkling since his infancy.There was wealth, comfort, and happiness even among the domesticanimals, for they were all well cared for, and well kept. Thekitchen looked bright with its copper and tin utensils, and whiteplates, and from the rafters hung hams, beef, and winter stores inplenty. This can still be seen in many rich farms on the west coast ofJutland: plenty to eat and drink, clean, prettily decorated rooms,active minds, cheerful tempers, and hospitality can be found there, asin an Arab’s tent.Jurgen had never spent such a happy time since the famous burialfeast, and yet Miss Clara was absent, except in the thoughts andmemory of all.In April a ship was to start for Norway, and Jurgen was to sail init. He was full of life and spirits, and looked so sturdy and wellthat Dame Bronne said it did her good to see him.”And it does one good to look at you also, old wife,” said themerchant. “Jurgen has brought fresh life into our winter evenings, andinto you too, mother. You look younger than ever this year, and seemwell and cheerful. But then you were once the prettiest girl inViborg, and that is saying a great deal, for I have always found theViborg girls the prettiest of any.”Jurgen said nothing, but he thought of a certain maiden ofSkjagen, whom he was soon to visit. The ship set sail forChristiansand in Norway, and as the wind was favourable it soonarrived there.One morning merchant Bronne went out to the lighthouse, whichstands a little way out of Old Skjagen, not far from “Grenen.” Thelight was out, and the sun was already high in the heavens, when hemounted the tower. The sand-banks extend a whole mile from theshore, beneath the water, outside these banks; many ships could beseen that day, and with the aid of his telescope the old man thoughthe descried his own ship, the Karen Bronne. Yes! certainly, thereshe was, sailing homewards with Clara and Jurgen on board.Clara sat on deck, and saw the sand-hills gradually appearing inthe distance; the church and lighthouse looked like a heron and a swan rising from the blue waters. If the wind held good they might reach home in about an hour. So near they were to home and all its joys-so near to death and all its terrors! A plank in the ship gave way,and the water rushed in; the crew flew to the pumps, and did theirbest to stop the leak. A signal of distress was hoisted, but they werestill fully a mile from the shore. Some fishing boats were in sight,but they were too far off to be of any use. The wind blew towardsthe land, the tide was in their favour, but it was all useless; theship could not be saved.Jurgen threw his right arm round Clara, and pressed her to him.With what a look she gazed up into his face, as with a prayer to Godfor help he breasted the waves, which rushed over the sinking ship!She uttered a cry, but she felt safe and certain that he would notleave her to sink. And in this hour of terror and danger Jurgen feltas the king’s son did, as told in the old song:”In the hour of peril when most men fear,He clasped the bride that he held so dear.”How glad he felt that he was a good swimmer! He worked his wayonward with his feet and one arm, while he held the young girl upfirmly with the other. He rested on the waves, he trod the water- infact, did everything he could think of, in order not to fatiguehimself, and to reserve strength enough to reach land. He heardClara sigh, and felt her shudder convulsively, and he pressed her more closely to him. Now and then a wave rolled over them, the current lifted them; the water, although deep, was so clear that for amoment he imagined he saw the shoals of mackerel glittering, orLeviathan himself ready to swallow them. Now the clouds cast ashadow over the water, then again came the playing sunbeams; flocks of loudly screaming birds passed over him, and the plump and lazy wild ducks which allow themselves to be drifted by the waves rose upterrified at the sight of the swimmer. He began to feel his strengthdecreasing, but he was only a few cable lengths’ distance from theshore, and help was coming, for a boat was approaching him. At thismoment he distinctly saw a white staring figure under the water- awave lifted him up, and he came nearer to the figure- he felt aviolent shock, and everything became dark around him.On the sand reef lay the wreck of a ship, which was covered withwater at high tide; the white figure head rested against the anchor,the sharp iron edge of which rose just above the surface. Jurgen hadcome in contact with this; the tide had driven him against it withgreat force. He sank down stunned with the blow, but the next wavelifted him and the young girl up again. Some fishermen, coming witha boat, seized them and dragged them into it. The blood streameddown over Jurgen’s face; he seemed dead, but still held the young girlso tightly that they were obliged to take her from him by force. Shewas pale and lifeless; they laid her in the boat, and rowed as quicklyas possible to the shore. They tried every means to restore Clara tolife, but it was all of no avail. Jurgen had been swimming for somedistance with a corpse in his arms, and had exhausted his strength forone who was dead.Jurgen still breathed, so the fishermen carried him to the nearesthouse upon the sand-hills, where a smith and general dealer livedwho knew something of surgery, and bound up Jurgen’s wounds in atemporary way until a surgeon could be obtained from the nearesttown the next day. The injured man’s brain was affected, and in hisdelirium he uttered wild cries; but on the third day he lay quietand weak upon his bed; his life seemed to hang by a thread, and thephysician said it would be better for him if this thread broke. “Letus pray that God may take him,” he said, “for he will never be thesame man again.”But life did not depart from him- the thread would not break,but the thread of memory was severed; the thread of his mind hadbeen cut through, and what was still more grievous, a body remained- a living healthy body that wandered about like a troubled spirit.Jurgen remained in merchant Bronne’s house. “He was hurt whileendeavouring to save our child,” said the old man, “and now he isour son.” People called Jurgen insane, but that was not exactly thecorrect term. He was like an instrument in which the strings are looseand will give no sound; only occasionally they regained their powerfor a few minutes, and then they sounded as they used to do. Hewould sing snatches of songs or old melodies, pictures of the pastwould rise before him, and then disappear in the mist, as it were, butas a general rule he sat staring into vacancy, without a thought. Wemay conjecture that he did not suffer, but his dark eyes lost theirbrightness, and looked like clouded glass.”Poor mad Jurgen,” said the people. And this was the end of a lifewhose infancy was to have been surrounded with wealth and splendour had his parents lived! All his great mental abilities had been lost, nothing but hardship, sorrow, and disappointment had been his fate. He was like a rare plant, torn from its native soil, and tossed uponthe beach to wither there. And was this one of God’s creatures,fashioned in His own likeness, to have no better fate? Was he to beonly the plaything of fortune? No! the all-loving Creator wouldcertainly repay him in the life to come for what he had suffered andlost here. “The Lord is good to all; and His mercy is over all Hisworks.” The pious old wife of the merchant repeated these words from the Psalms of David in patience and hope, and the prayer of herheart was that Jurgen might soon be called away to enter intoeternal life.In the churchyard where the walls were surrounded with sandClara lay buried. Jurgen did not seem to know this; it did not enterhis mind, which could only retain fragments of the past. EverySunday he went to church with the old people, and sat theresilently, staring vacantly before him. One day, when the Psalms werebeing sung, he sighed deeply, and his eyes became bright; they werefixed upon a place near the altar where he had knelt with his friendwho was dead. He murmured her name, and became deadly pale, andtears rolled down his cheeks. They led him out of church; he toldthose standing round him that he was well, and had never been ill; he,who had been so grievously afflicted, the outcast, thrown upon theworld, could not remember his sufferings. The Lord our Creator is wise and full of loving kindness- who can doubt it?In Spain, where balmy breezes blow over the Moorish cupolas andgently stir the orange and myrtle groves, where singing and thesound of the castanets are always heard, the richest merchant in theplace, a childless old man, sat in a luxurious house, while childrenmarched in procession through the streets with waving flags andlighted tapers. If he had been able to press his children to hisheart, his daughter, or her child, that had, perhaps never seen thelight of day, far less the kingdom of heaven, how much of his wealthwould he not have given! “Poor child!” Yes, poor child- a child still,yet more than thirty years old, for Jurgen had arrived at this agein Old Skjagen.The shifting sands had covered the graves in the courtyard,quite up to the church walls, but still, the dead must be buried amongtheir relatives and the dear ones who had gone before them. MerchantBronne and his wife now rested with their children under the whitesand.It was in the spring- the season of storms. The sand from thedunes was whirled up in clouds; the sea was rough, and flocks of birds flew like clouds in the storm, screaming across the sand-hills.Shipwreck followed upon shipwreck on the reefs between Old Skagen and the Hunsby dunes.One evening Jurgen sat in his room alone: all at once his mindseemed to become clearer, and a restless feeling came over him, suchas had often, in his younger days, driven him out to wander over thesand-hills or on the heath. “Home, home!” he cried. No one heardhim. He went out and walked towards the dunes. Sand and stones blew into his face, and whirled round him; he went in the direction ofthe church. The sand was banked up the walls, half covering thewindows, but it had been cleared away in front of the door, and theentrance was free and easy to open, so Jurgen went into the church.The storm raged over the town of Skjagen; there had not beensuch a terrible tempest within the memory of the inhabitants, nor sucha rough sea. But Jurgen was in the temple of God, and while thedarkness of night reigned outside, a light arose in his soul thatwas never to depart from it; the heavy weight that pressed on hisbrain burst asunder. He fancied he heard the organ, but it was onlythe storm and the moaning of the sea. He sat down on one of the seats, and lo! the candies were lighted one by one, and there wasbrightness and grandeur such as he had only seen in the Spanishcathedral. The portraits of the old citizens became alive, steppeddown from the walls against which they had hung for centuries, andtook seats near the church door. The gates flew open, and all the dead people from the churchyard came in, and filled the church, whilebeautiful music sounded. Then the melody of the psalm burst forth,like the sound of the waters, and Jurgen saw that his foster parentsfrom the Hunsby dunes were there, also old merchant Bronne with hiswife and their daughter Clara, who gave him her hand. They both went up to the altar where they had knelt before, and the priest joinedtheir hands and united them for life. Then music was heard again; itwas wonderfully sweet, like a child’s voice, full of joy andexpectation, swelling to the powerful tones of a full organ, sometimessoft and sweet, then like the sounds of a tempest, delightful andelevating to hear, yet strong enough to burst the stone tombs of thedead. Then the little ship that hung from the roof of the choir waslet down and looked wonderfully large and beautiful with its silkensails and rigging:”The ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,And everywhere riches and pomp untold,”as the old song says.The young couple went on board, accompanied by the wholecongregation, for there was room and enjoyment for them all. Thenthe walls and arches of the church were covered with floweringjunipers and lime trees breathing forth fragrance; the branches waved,creating a pleasant coolness; they bent and parted, and the shipsailed between them through the air and over the sea. Every candlein the church became a star, and the wind sang a hymn in which theyall joined. “Through love to glory, no life is lost, the future isfull of blessings and happiness. Hallelujah!” These were the lastwords Jurgen uttered in this world, for the thread that bound hisimmortal soul was severed, and nothing but the dead body lay in thedark church, while the storm raged outside, covering it with loosesand.The next day was Sunday, and the congregation and their pastorwent to the church. The road had always been heavy, but now it wasalmost unfit for use, and when they at last arrived at the church, agreat heap of sand lay piled up in front of them. The whole church was completely buried in sand. The clergyman offered a short prayer, and said that God had closed the door of His house here, and that thecongregation must go and build a new one for Him somewhere else. So they sung a hymn in the open air, and went home again.Jurgen could not be found anywhere in the town of Skjagen, noron the dunes, though they searched for him everywhere. They came to the conclusion that one of the great waves, which had rolled far upon the beach, had carried him away; but his body lay buried in agreat sepulchre- the church itself. The Lord had thrown down acovering for his grave during the storm, and the heavy mound of sandlies upon it to this day. The drifting sand had covered the vaultedroof of the church, the arched cloisters, and the stone aisles. Thewhite thorn and the dog rose now blossom above the place where thechurch lies buried, but the spire, like an enormous monument over agrave, can be seen for miles round. No king has a more splendidmemorial. Nothing disturbs the peaceful sleep of the dead. I was thefirst to hear this story, for the storm sung it to me among thesand-hills.THE ENDLastIndexNextWritten By Anderson

1872FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENIN A THOUSAND YEARSby Hans Christian AndersenYES, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steamthrough the air, over the ocean! The young inhabitants of America willbecome visitors of old Europe. They will come over to see themonuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just aswe in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendors of Southern Asia. In a thousand years they will come!The Thames, the Danube, and the Rhine still roll their course,Mont Blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the Northern Lights gleam over the land of the North; but generation aftergeneration has become dust, whole rows of the mighty of the moment are forgotten, like those who already slumber under the hill on whichthe rich trader, whose ground it is, has built a bench, on which hecan sit and look out across his waving corn fields.”To Europe!” cry the young sons of America; “to the land of ourancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy- to Europe!”The ship of the air comes. It is crowded with passengers, forthe transit is quicker than by sea. The electro-magnetic wire underthe ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aerial caravan.Europe is in sight. It is the coast of Ireland that they see, butthe passengers are still asleep; they will not be called till they areexactly over England. There they will first step on European shore, inthe land of Shakespeare, as the educated call it; in the land ofpolitics, the land of machines, as it is called by others.Here they stay a whole day. That is all the time the busy race candevote to the whole of England and Scotland. Then the journey iscontinued through the tunnel under the English Channel, to France, the land of Charlemagne and Napoleon. Moliere is named, the learned men talk of the classic school of remote antiquity. There is rejoicing and shouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whom our time does not know, but who will be born after our time inParis, the centre of Europe, and elsewhere.The air steamboat flies over the country whence Columbus wentforth, where Cortez was born, and where Calderon sang dramas insounding verse. Beautiful black-eyed women live still in theblooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the Cid and theAlhambra.Then through the air, over the sea, to Italy, where once layold, everlasting Rome. It has vanished! The Campagna lies desert. Asingle ruined wall is shown as the remains of St. Peter’s, but thereis a doubt if this ruin be genuine.Next to Greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the topof Mount Olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey is continued to the Bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see theplace where Byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the haremstood in the time of the Turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets.Over the remains of mighty cities on the broad Danube, citieswhich we in our time know not, the travellers pass; but here andthere, on the rich sites of those that time shall bring forth, thecaravan sometimes descends, and departs thence again.Down below lies Germany, that was once covered with a close net ofrailway and canals, the region where Luther spoke, where Goethesang, and Mozart once held the sceptre of harmony. Great names shine there, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. One day devoted to seeing Germany, and one for the North, the country of Oersted and Linnaeus, and for Norway, the land of the old heroes and the young Normans. Iceland is visited on the journey home. The geysers burn no more, Hecla is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island is still fixed in the midst of the foaming sea, a continual monument of legend and poetry.”There is really a great deal to be seen in Europe,” says theyoung American, “and we have seen it in a week, according to thedirections of the great traveller” (and here he mentions the name ofone of his contemporaries) “in his celebrated work, ‘How to See AllEurope in a Week.’”THE ENDLastIndexNextWritten By Anderson

GERDA was obliged to rest again, and just opposite the place where she sat, she saw a great crow come hopping across the snow toward her. He stood looking at her for some time, and then he wagged his head and said, “Caw, caw; good-day, good-day.” He pronounced the words as plainly as he could, because he meant to be kind to the little girl; and then he asked her where she was going all alone in the wide world. The word alone Gerda understood very well, and knew how much it expressed. So then she told the crow the whole story of her life and adventures, and asked him if he had seen little Kay. The crow nodded his head very gravely, and said, “Perhaps I have— it may be.” “No! Do you think you have?” cried little Gerda, and she kissed the crow, and hugged him almost to death with joy. “Gently, gently,” said the crow. “I believe I know. I think it may be little Kay; but he has certainly forgotten you by this time for the princess.” “Does he live with a princess?” asked Gerda. “Yes, listen,” replied the crow, “but it is so difficult to speak your language. If you understand the crows’ language then I can explain it better. Do you?” “No, I have never learnt it,” said Gerda, “but my grandmother understands it, and used to speak it to me. I wish I had learnt it.” “It does not matter,” answered the crow; “I will explain as well as I can, although it will be very badly done;” and he told her what he had heard. “In this kingdom where we now are,” said he, “there lives a princess, who is so wonderfully clever that she has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them too, although she is so clever. A short time ago, as she was sitting on her throne, which people say is not such an agreeable seat as is often supposed, she began to sing a song which commences in these words: ‘Why should I not be married?’ ‘Why not indeed?’ said she, and so she determined to marry if she could find a husband who knew what to say when he was spoken to, and not one who could only look grand, for that was so tiresome. Then she assembled all her court ladies together at the beat of the drum, and when they heard of her intentions they were very much pleased. ‘We are so glad to hear it,’ said they, ‘we were talking about it ourselves the other day.’ You may believe that every word I tell you is true,” said the crow, “for I have a tame sweetheart who goes freely about the palace, and she told me all this.” Of course his sweetheart was a crow, for “birds of a feather flock together,” and one crow always chooses another crow. “Newspapers were published immediately, with a border of hearts, and the initials of the princess among them. They gave notice that every young man who was handsome was free to visit the castle and speak with the princess; and those who could reply loud enough to be heard when spoken to, were to make themselves quite at home at the palace; but the one who spoke best would be chosen as a husband for the princess. Yes, yes, you may believe me, it is all as true as I sit here,” said the crow. “The people came in crowds. There was a great deal of crushing and running about, but no one succeeded either on the first or second day. They could all speak very well while they were outside in the streets, but when they entered the palace gates, and saw the guards in silver uniforms, and the footmen in their golden livery on the staircase, and the great halls lighted up, they became quite confused. And when they stood before the throne on which the princess sat, they could do nothing but repeat the last words she had said; and she had no particular wish to hear her own words over again. It was just as if they had all taken something to make them sleepy while they were in the palace, for they did not recover themselves nor speak till they got back again into the street. There was quite a long line of them reaching from the town-gate to the palace. I went myself to see them,” said the crow. “They were hungry and thirsty, for at the palace they did not get even a glass of water. Some of the wisest had taken a few slices of bread and butter with them, but they did not share it with their neighbors; they thought if they went in to the princess looking hungry, there would be a better chance for themselves.” “But Kay! tell me about little Kay!” said Gerda, “was he amongst the crowd?” “Stop a bit, we are just coming to him. It was on the third day, there came marching cheerfully along to the palace a little personage, without horses or carriage, his eyes sparkling like yours; he had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very poor.” “That was Kay!” said Gerda joyfully. “Oh, then I have found him;” and she clapped her hands. “He had a little knapsack on his back,” added the crow. “No, it must have been his sledge,” said Gerda; “for he went away with it.” “It may have been so,” said the crow; “I did not look at it very closely. But I know from my tame sweetheart that he passed through the palace gates, saw the guards in their silver uniform, and the servants in their liveries of gold on the stairs, but he was not in the least embarrassed. ‘It must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs,’ he said. ‘I prefer to go in.’ The rooms were blazing with light. Councillors and ambassadors walked about with bare feet, carrying golden vessels; it was enough to make any one feel serious. His boots creaked loudly as he walked, and yet he was not at all uneasy.” “It must be Kay,” said Gerda, “I know he had new boots on, I have heard them creak in grandmother’s room.” “They really did creak,” said the crow, “yet he went boldly up to the princess herself, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning wheel, and all the ladies of the court were present with their maids, and all the cavaliers with their servants; and each of the maids had another maid to wait upon her, and the cavaliers’ servants had their own servants, as well as a page each. They all stood in circles round the princess, and the nearer they stood to the door, the prouder they looked. The servants’ pages, who always wore slippers, could hardly be looked at, they held themselves up so proudly by the door.” “It must be quite awful,” said little Gerda, “but did Kay win the princess?” “If I had not been a crow,” said he, “I would have married her myself, although I am engaged. He spoke just as well as I do, when I speak the crows’ language, so I heard from my tame sweetheart. He was quite free and agreeable and said he had not come to woo the princess, but to hear her wisdom; and he was as pleased with her as she was with him.” “Oh, certainly that was Kay,” said Gerda, “he was so clever; he could work mental arithmetic and fractions. Oh, will you take me to the palace?” “It is very easy to ask that,” replied the crow, “but how are we to manage it? However, I will speak about it to my tame sweetheart, and ask her advice; for I must tell you it will be very difficult to gain permission for a little girl like you to enter the palace.” “Oh, yes; but I shall gain permission easily,” said Gerda, “for when Kay hears that I am here, he will come out and fetch me in immediately.” “Wait for me here by the palings,” said the crow, wagging his head as he flew away. It was late in the evening before the crow returned. “Caw, caw,” he said, “she sends you greeting, and here is a little roll which she took from the kitchen for you; there is plenty of bread there, and she thinks you must be hungry. It is not possible for you to enter the palace by the front entrance. The guards in silver uniform and the servants in gold livery would not allow it. But do not cry, we will manage to get you in; my sweetheart knows a little back-staircase that leads to the sleeping apartments, and she knows where to find the key.” Then they went into the garden through the great avenue, where the leaves were falling one after another, and they could see the light in the palace being put out in the same manner. And the crow led little Gerda to the back door, which stood ajar. Oh! how little Gerda’s heart beat with anxiety and longing; it was just as if she were going to do something wrong, and yet she only wanted to know where little Kay was. “It must be he,” she thought, “with those clear eyes, and that long hair.” She could fancy she saw him smiling at her, as he used to at home, when they sat among the roses. He would certainly be glad to see her, and to hear what a long distance she had come for his sake, and to know how sorry they had been at home because he did not come back. Oh what joy and yet fear she felt! They were now on the stairs, and in a small closet at the top a lamp was burning. In the middle of the floor stood the tame crow, turning her head from side to side, and gazing at Gerda, who curtseyed as her grandmother had taught her to do. “My betrothed has spoken so very highly of you, my little lady,” said the tame crow, “your life-history, Vita, as it may be called, is very touching. If you will take the lamp I will walk before you. We will go straight along this way, then we shall meet no one.” “It seems to me as if somebody were behind us,” said Gerda, as something rushed by her like a shadow on the wall, and then horses with flying manes and thin legs, hunters, ladies and gentlemen on horseback, glided by her, like shadows on the wall. “They are only dreams,” said the crow, “they are coming to fetch the thoughts of the great people out hunting.” “All the better, for we shall be able to look at them in their beds more safely. I hope that when you rise to honor and favor, you will show a grateful heart.” “You may be quite sure of that,” said the crow from the forest. They now came into the first hall, the walls of which were hung with rose-colored satin, embroidered with artificial flowers. Here the dreams again flitted by them but so quickly that Gerda could not distinguish the royal persons. Each hall appeared more splendid than the last, it was enought to bewilder any one. At length they reached a bedroom. The ceiling was like a great palm-tree, with glass leaves of the most costly crystal, and over the centre of the floor two beds, each resembling a lily, hung from a stem of gold. One, in which the princess lay, was white, the other was red; and in this Gerda had to seek for little Kay. She pushed one of the red leaves aside, and saw a little brown neck. Oh, that must be Kay! She called his name out quite loud, and held the lamp over him. The dreams rushed back into the room on horseback. He woke, and turned his head round, it was not little Kay! The prince was only like him in the neck, still he was young and pretty. Then the princess peeped out of her white-lily bed, and asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda wept and told her story, and all that the crows had done to help her. “You poor child,” said the prince and princess; then they praised the crows, and said they were not angry for what they had done, but that it must not happen again, and this time they should be rewarded. “Would you like to have your freedom?” asked the princess, “or would you prefer to be raised to the position of court crows, with all that is left in the kitchen for yourselves?” Then both the crows bowed, and begged to have a fixed appointment, for they thought of their old age, and said it would be so comfortable to feel that they had provision for their old days, as they called it. And then the prince got out of his bed, and gave it up to Gerda,— he could do no more; and she lay down. She folded her little hands, and thought, “How good everyone is to me, men and animals too;” then she closed her eyes and fell into a sweet sleep. All the dreams came flying back again to her, and they looked like angels, and one of them drew a little sledge, on which sat Kay, and nodded to her. But all this was only a dream, and vanished as soon as she awoke. The following day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet, and they invited her to stay at the palace for a few days, and enjoy herself, but she only begged for a pair of boots, and a little carriage, and a horse to draw it, so that she might go into the wide world to seek for Kay. And she obtained, not only boots, but also a muff, and she was neatly dressed; and when she was ready to go, there, at the door, she found a coach made of pure gold, with the coat-of-arms of the prince and princess shining upon it like a star, and the coachman, footman, and outriders all wearing golden crowns on their heads. The prince and princess themselves helped her into the coach, and wished her success. The forest crow, who was now married, accompanied her for the first three miles; he sat by Gerda’s side, as he could not bear riding backwards. The tame crow stood in the door-way flapping her wings. She could not go with them, because she had been suffering from headache ever since the new appointment, no doubt from eating too much. The coach was well stored with sweet cakes, and under the seat were fruit and gingerbread nuts. “Farewell, farewell,” cried the prince and princess, and little Gerda wept, and the crow wept; and then, after a few miles, the crow also said “Farewell,” and this was the saddest parting. However, he flew to a tree, and stood flapping his black wings as long as he could see the coach, which glittered in the bright sunshine.

1872FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENIN THE NURSERYby Hans Christian AndersenFATHER, and mother, and brothers, and sisters, were gone to theplay; only little Anna and her grandpapa were left at home.”We’ll have a play too,” he said, “and it may begin immediately.”"But we have no theatre,” cried little Anna, “and we have no oneto act for us; my old doll cannot, for she is a fright, and my new onecannot, for she must not rumple her new clothes.”"One can always get actors if one makes use of what one has,”observed grandpapa.”Now we’ll go into the theatre. Here we will put up a book,there another, and there a third, in a sloping row. Now three on theother side; so, now we have the side scenes. The old box that liesyonder may be the back stairs; and we’ll lay the flooring on top ofit. The stage represents a room, as every one may see. Now we want the actors. Let us see what we can find in the plaything-box. First thepersonages, and then we will get the play ready. One after theother; that will be capital! Here’s a pipe-head, and yonder an oddglove; they will do very well for father and daughter.”"But those are only two characters,” said little Anna. “Here’smy brother’s old waistcoat- could not that play in our piece, too?”"It’s big enough, certainly,” replied grandpapa. “It shall bethe lover. There’s nothing in the pockets, and that’s veryinteresting, for that’s half of an unfortunate attachment. And here wehave the nut-cracker’s boots, with spurs to them. Row, dow, dow! how they can stamp and strut! They shall represent the unwelcome wooer, whom the lady does not like. What kind of a play will you have now?Shall it be a tragedy, or a domestic drama?”"A domestic drama, please,” said little Anna, “for the othersare so fond of that. Do you know one?”"I know a hundred,” said grandpapa. “Those that are most infavor are from the French, but they are not good for little girls.In the meantime, we may take one of the prettiest, for insidethey’re all very much alike. Now I shake the pen! Cock-a-lorum! Sonow, here’s the play, brin-bran-span new! Now listen to theplay-bill.”And grandpapa took a newspaper, and read as if he were readingfrom it:THE PIPE-HEAD AND THE GOOD HEADA Family Drama in One ActCHARACTERSMR. PIPE-HEAD, a father. MR. WAISTCOAT, a lover.MISS GLOVE, a daughter. MR. DE BOOTS, a suitor.”And now we’re going to begin. The curtain rises. We have nocurtain, so it has risen already. All the characters are there, and sowe have them at hand. Now I speak as Papa Pipe-head! He’s angryto-day. One can see that he’s a colored meerschaum.”‘Snik, snak, snurre, bassellurre! I’m master of this house! I’mthe father of my daughter! Will you hear what I have to say? Mr. deBoots is a person in whom one may see one’s face; his upper part is of morocco, and he has spurs into the bargain. Snikke, snakke, snak! He shall have my daughter!”"Now listen to what the Waistcoat says, little Anna,” saidgrandpapa. “Now the Waistcoat’s speaking. The Waistcoat has alaydown collar, and is very modest; but he knows his own value, andhas quite a right to say what he says:”‘I haven’t a spot on me! Goodness of material ought to beappreciated. I am of real silk, and have strings to me.’”‘- On the wedding day, but no longer; you don’t keep your colorin the wash.’ This is Mr. Pipe-head who is speaking. ‘Mr. de Bootsis water-tight, of strong leather, and yet very delicate; he cancreak, and clank with his spurs, and has an Italian physiognomy-’”"But they ought to speak in verses,” said Anna, “for I’ve heardthat’s the most charming way of all.”"They can do that too,” replied grandpapa; “and if the publicdemands it, they will talk in that way. Just look at little MissGlove, how she’s pointing her fingers!”‘Could I but have my love,Who then so happy as Glove!Ah!If I from him must part,I’m sure ’twill break my heart!”Bah!’The last word was spoken by Mr. Pipe-head; and now it’s Mr.Waistcoat’s turn:”‘O Glove, my own dear,Though it cost thee a tear,Thou must be mine,For Holger Danske has sworn it!’”Mr. de Boots, hearing this, kicks up, jingles his spurs, andknocks down three of the side-scenes.”"That’s exceedingly charming!” cried little Anna.”Silence! silence!” said grandpapa. “Silent approbation willshow that you are the educated public in the stalls. Now Miss Glovesings her great song with startling effects:”‘I can’t see, heigho!And therefore I’ll crow!Kikkeriki, in the lofty hall!’”Now comes the exciting part, little Anna. This is the mostimportant in all the play. Mr. Waistcoat undoes himself, and addresses his speech to you, that you may applaud; but leave it alone,- that’s considered more genteel.”‘I am driven to extremities! Take care of yourself! Now comes theplot! You are the Pipe-head, and I am the good head- snap! there yougo!”"Do you notice this, little Anna?” asked grandpapa. “That’s a mostcharming comedy. Mr. Waistcoat seized the old Pipe-head and put him in his pocket; there he lies, and the Waistcoat says:”‘You are in my pocket; you can’t come out till you promise tounite me to your daughter Glove on the left. I hold out my righthand.’”"That’s awfully pretty,” said little Anna.”And now the old Pipe-head replies:”‘Though I’m all ear,Very stupid I appear:Where’s my humor? Gone, I fear,And I feel my hollow stick’s not here,Ah! never, my dear,Did I feel so queer.Oh! pray let me out,And like a lamb led to slaughterI’ll betroth you, no doubt,To my daughter.’”"Is the play over already?” asked little Anna.”By no means,” replied grandpapa. “It’s only all over with Mr.de Boots. Now the lovers kneel down, and one of them sings:”‘Father!’and the other,’Come, do as you ought to do,-Bless your son and daughter.’And they receive his blessing, and celebrate their wedding, and allthe pieces of furniture sing in chorus,”‘Klink! clanks!A thousand thanks;And now the play is over!’”And now we’ll applaud,” said grandpapa. “We’ll call them all out,and the pieces of furniture too, for they are of mahogany.”"And is not our play just as good as those which the others havein the real theatre?”"Our play is much better,” said grandpapa. “It is shorter, theperformers are natural, and it has passed away the interval beforetea-time.”THE ENDLastIndexNextWritten By Anderson