No More Learning

He is called Peter, and you shall all
be called Peter in future. "

So they all did what their mother had arranged, and from that day,
even till now, all the storks have been called Peter.




THE STORM SHAKES THE SHIELD

In the old days, when grandpapa was quite a little boy, and ran
about in little red breeches and a red coat, and a feather in his
cap--for that's the costume the little boys wore in his time when they were
dressed in their best--many things were very different from what
they are now. There was often a good deal of show in the streets--show
that we don't see nowadays, because it has been abolished as too
old-fashioned. Still, it is very interesting to hear grandfather
tell about it.

It must really have been a gorgeous sight to behold, in those
days, when the shoemaker brought over the shield, when the court-house
was changed. The silken flag waved to and fro, on the shield itself
a double eagle was displayed, and a big boot; the youngest lads
carried the "welcome," and the chest of the workmen's guild, and their
shirt-sleeves were adorned with red and white ribbons; the elder
ones carried drawn swords, each with a lemon stuck on its point. There
was a full band of music, and the most splendid of all the instruments
was the "bird," as grandfather called the big stick with the
crescent on the top, and all manner of dingle-dangles hanging to it--a
perfect Turkish clatter of music. The stick was lifted high in the
air, and swung up and down till it jingled again, and quite dazzled
one's eyes when the sun shone on all its glory of gold, and silver,
and brass.

In front of the procession ran the Harlequin, dressed in clothes
made of all kinds of colored patches artfully sewn together, with a
black face, and bells on his head like a sledge horse. He beat the
people with his bat, which made a great clattering without hurting
them, and the people would crowd together and fall back, only to
advance again the next moment. Little boys and girls fell over their
own toes into the gutter, old women dispensed digs with their
elbows, and looked sour, and took snuff. One laughed, another chatted;
the people thronged the windows and door-steps, and even all the
roofs. The sun shone; and although they had a little rain too, that
was good for the farmer; and when they got wetted thoroughly, they
only thought what a blessing it was for the country.

And what stories grandpapa could tell! As a little boy he had seen
all these fine doings in their greatest pomp. The oldest of the
policemen used to make a speech from the platform on which the
shield was hung up, and the speech was in verse, as if it had been
made by a poet, as, indeed it had; for three people had concocted it
together, and they had first drunk a good bowl of punch, so that the
speech might turn out well.

And the people gave a cheer for the speech, but they shouted
much louder for the Harlequin, when he appeared in front of the
platform, and made a grimace at them.

The fools played the fool most admirably, and drank mead out of
spirit-glasses, which they then flung among the crowd, by whom they
were caught up. Grandfather was the possessor of one of these glasses,
which had been given him by a working mason, who had managed to
catch it. Such a scene was really very pleasant; and the shield on the
new court-house was hung with flowers and green wreaths.

"One never forgets a feast like that, however old one may grow,"
said grandfather. Nor did he forget it, though he saw many other grand
spectacles in his time, and could tell about them too; but it was most
pleasant of all to hear him tell about the shield that was brought
in the town from the old to the new court-house.

Once, when he was a little boy, grandpapa had gone with his
parents to see this festivity. He had never yet been in the metropolis
of the country. There were so many people in the streets, that he
thought that the shield was being carried. There were many shields
to be seen; a hundred rooms might have been filled with pictures, if
they had been hung up inside and outside. At the tailor's were
pictures of all kinds of clothing, to show that he could stitch up
people from the coarsest to the finest; at the tobacco manufacturer's
were pictures of the most charming little boys, smoking cigars,
just as they do in reality; there were signs with painted butter,
and herring, clerical collars, and coffins, and inscriptions
and announcements into the bargain. A person could walk up and down
for a whole day through the streets, and tire himself out with looking
at the pictures; and then he would know all about what people lived in
the houses, for they had hung out their shields or signs; and, as
grandfather said, it was a very instructive thing, in a great town, to
know at once who the inhabitants were.

And this is what happened with these shields, when grandpapa
came to the town. He told it me himself, and he hadn't "a rogue on his
back," as mother used to tell me he had when he wanted to make me
believe something outrageous, for now he looked quite trustworthy.

The first night after he came to the town had been signalized by
the most terrible gale ever recorded in the newspapers--a gale such as
none of the inhabitants had ever before experienced. The air was
dark with flying tiles; old wood-work crashed and fell; and a
wheelbarrow ran up the streets all alone, only to get out of the
way. There was a groaning in the air, and a howling and a shrieking,
and altogether it was a terrible storm. The water in the canal rose
over the banks, for it did not know where to run. The storm swept over
the town, carrying plenty of chimneys with it, and more than one proud
weathercock on a church tower had to bow, and has never got over it
from that time.

There was a kind of sentry-house, where dwelt the venerable old
superintendent of the fire brigade, who always arrived with the last
engine. The storm would not leave this little sentry-house alone,
but must needs tear it from its fastenings, and roll it down the
street; and, wonderfully enough, it stopped opposite to the door of
the dirty journeyman plasterer, who had saved three lives at the
last fire, but the sentry-house thought nothing of that.

The barber's shield, the great brazen dish, was carried away,
and hurled straight into the embrasure of the councillor of justice;
and the whole neighborhood said this looked almost like malice,
inasmuch as they, and nearly all the friends of the councillor's wife,
used to call that lady "the Razor" for she was so sharp that she
knew more about other people's business than they knew about it
themselves.

A shield with a dried salt fish painted on it flew exactly in
front of the door of a house where dwelt a man who wrote a
newspaper. That was a very poor joke perpetrated by the gale, which
seemed to have forgotten that a man who writes in a paper is not the
kind of person to understand any liberty taken with him; for he is a
king in his own newspaper, and likewise in his own opinion.

The weathercock flew to the opposite house, where he perched,
looking the picture of malice--so the neighbors said.

The cooper's tub stuck itself up under the head of "ladies'
costumes. "

The eating-house keeper's bill of fare, which had hung at his door
in a heavy frame, was posted by the storm over the entrance to the
theatre, where nobody went. "It was a ridiculous list--horse-radish,
soup, and stuffed cabbage. " And now people came in plenty.

The fox's skin, the honorable sign of the furrier, was found
fastened to the bell-pull of a young man who always went to early
lecture, and looked like a furled umbrella. He said he was striving
after truth, and was considered by his aunt "a model and an example. "

The inscription "Institution for Superior Education" was found
near the billiard club, which place of resort was further adorned with
the words, "Children brought up by hand. " Now, this was not at all
witty; but, you see, the storm had done it, and no one has any control
over that.

It was a terrible night, and in the morning--only think! --nearly
all the shields had changed places. In some places the inscriptions
were so malicious, that grandfather would not speak of them at all;
but I saw that he was chuckling secretly, and there may have been some
inaccuracy in his description, after all.

The poor people in the town, and still more the strangers, were
continually making mistakes in the people they wanted to see; nor
was this to be avoided, when they went according to the shields that
were hung up. Thus, for instance, some who wanted to go to a very
grave assembly of elderly men, where important affairs were to be
discussed, found themselves in a noisy boys' school, where all the
company were leaping over the chairs and tables.

There were also people who made a mistake between the church and
the theatre, and that was terrible indeed!

Such a storm we have never witnessed in our day; for that only
happened in grandpapa's time, when he was quite a little boy.
Perhaps we shall never experience a storm of the kind, but our
grandchildren may; and we can only hope and pray that all may stay
at home while the storm is moving the shields.




THE STORY OF A MOTHER

A mother sat by her little child; she was very sad, for she feared
it would die. It was quite pale, and its little eyes were closed,
and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath, almost like a sigh; and
then the mother gazed more sadly than ever on the poor little
creature. Some one knocked at the door, and a poor old man walked
in. He was wrapped in something that looked like a great
horse-cloth; and he required it truly to keep him warm, for it was
cold winter; the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, and
the wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face. The little child
had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing that the
old man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a small mug of beer on
the stove to warm for him. The old man sat and rocked the cradle;
and the mother seated herself on a chair near him, and looked at her
sick child who still breathed heavily, and took hold of its little
hand.

"You think I shall keep him, do you not? " she said. "Our all-merciful
God will surely not take him away from me. "

The old man, who was indeed Death himself, nodded his head in a
peculiar manner, which might have signified either Yes, or No; and the
mother cast down her eyes, while the tears rolled down her cheeks.
Then her head became heavy, for she had not closed her eyes for
three days and nights, and she slept, but only for a moment. Shivering
with cold, she started up and looked round the room. The old man was
gone, and her child--it was gone too! --the old man had taken it with
him. In the corner of the room the old clock began to strike;
"whirr" went the chains, the heavy weight sank to the ground, and
the clock stopped; and the poor mother rushed out of the house calling
for her child. Out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, and
she said to the mother, "Death has been with you in your room. I saw
him hastening away with your little child; he strides faster than
the wind, and never brings back what he has taken away. "

"Only tell me which way he has gone," said the mother; "tell me the
way, I will find him. "

"I know the way," said the woman in the black garments; "but
before I tell you, you must sing to me all the songs that you have
sung to your child; I love these songs, I have heard them before. I am
Night, and I saw your tears flow as you sang. "

"I will sing them all to you," said the mother; "but do not detain
me now. I must overtake him, and find my child. "

But Night sat silent and still. Then the mother wept and sang, and
wrung her hands. And there were many songs, and yet even more tears;
till at length Night said, "Go to the right, into the dark forest of
fir-trees; for I saw Death take that road with your little child. "

Within the wood the mother came to cross roads, and she knew not
which to take. Just by stood a thorn-bush; it had neither leaf nor
flower, for it was the cold winter time, and icicles hung on the
branches. "Have you not seen Death go by, with my little child? " she
asked.

"Yes," replied the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell you which
way he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom. I am freezing
to death here, and turning to ice. "

Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so that
it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and great
drops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh green
leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's night, so warm is
the heart of a sorrowing mother. Then the bramble-bush told her the
path she must take. She came at length to a great lake, on which there
was neither ship nor boat to be seen. The lake was not frozen
sufficiently for her to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enough
for her to wade through; and yet she must cross it, if she wished to
find her child. Then she laid herself down to drink up the water of
the lake, which was of course impossible for any human being to do;
but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle might take
place to help her. "You will never succeed in this," said the lake;
"let us make an agreement together which will be better. I love to
collect pearls, and your eyes are the purest I have ever seen. If
you will weep those eyes away in tears into my waters, then I will
take you to the large hothouse where Death dwells and rears flowers
and trees, every one of which is a human life. "

"Oh, what would I not give to reach my child! " said the weeping
mother; and as she still continued to weep, her eyes fell into the
depths of the lake, and became two costly pearls.

Then the lake lifted her up, and wafted her across to the opposite
shore as if she were on a swing, where stood a wonderful building many
miles in length. No one could tell whether it was a mountain covered
with forests and full of caves, or whether it had been built. But
the poor mother could not see, for she had wept her eyes into the
lake. "Where shall I find Death, who went away with my little
child? " she asked.

"He has not arrived here yet," said an old gray-haired woman,
who was walking about, and watering Death's hothouse. "How have you
found your way here? and who helped you? "

"God has helped me," she replied. "He is merciful; will you not be
merciful too? Where shall I find my little child? "

"I did not know the child," said the old woman; "and you are
blind. Many flowers and trees have faded to-night, and Death will soon
come to transplant them. You know already that every human being has a
life-tree or a life-flower, just as may be ordained for him. They look
like other plants; but they have hearts that beat. Children's hearts
also beat: from that you may perhaps be able to recognize your
child. But what will you give me, if I tell you what more you will
have to do?

"I have nothing to give," said the afflicted mother; "but I
would go to the ends of the earth for you. "

"I can give you nothing to do for me there," said the old woman;
"but you can give me your long black hair. You know yourself that it
is beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take my white hair in
exchange, which will be something in return. "

"Do you ask nothing more than that? " said she. "I will give it
to you with pleasure. "

And she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return the
white locks of the old woman. Then they went into Death's vast
hothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in wonderful
profusion. Blooming hyacinths, under glass bells, and peonies, like
strong trees. There grew water-plants, some quite fresh, and others
looking sickly, which had water-snakes twining round them, and black
crabs clinging to their stems. There stood noble palm-trees, oaks, and
plantains, and beneath them bloomed thyme and parsley. Each tree and
flower had a name; each represented a human life, and belonged to
men still living, some in China, others in Greenland, and in all parts
of the world. Some large trees had been planted in little pots, so
that they were cramped for room, and seemed about to burst the pot
to pieces; while many weak little flowers were growing in rich soil,
with moss all around them, carefully tended and cared for. The
sorrowing mother bent over the little plants, and heard the human
heart beating in each, and recognized the beatings of her child's
heart among millions of others.

"That is it," she cried, stretching out her hand towards a
little crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head.

"Do not touch the flower," exclaimed the old woman; "but place
yourself here; and when Death comes--I expect him every minute--do not
let him pull up that plant, but threaten him that if he does you
will serve the other flowers in the same manner. This will make him
afraid; for he must account to God for each of them. None can be
uprooted, unless he receives permission to do so. "

There rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness, and the
blind mother felt that Death had arrived.

"How did you find your way hither? " asked he; "how could you
come here faster than I have? "

"I am a mother," she answered.

And Death stretched out his hand towards the delicate little
flower; but she held her hands tightly round it, and held it fast at
same time, with the most anxious care, lest she should touch one of
the leaves. Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she felt his
breath colder than the icy wind, and her hands sank down powerless.

"You cannot prevail against me," said Death.

"But a God of mercy can," said she.

"I only do His will," replied Death. "I am his gardener. I take
all His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens of
Paradise in an unknown land. How they flourish there, and what that
garden resembles, I may not tell you. "

"Give me back my child," said the mother, weeping and imploring;
and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands, and cried to Death,
"I will tear up all your flowers, for I am in despair. "

"Do not touch them," said Death. "You say you are unhappy; and
would you make another mother as unhappy as yourself? "

"Another mother! " cried the poor woman, setting the flowers free
from her hands.

"There are your eyes," said Death. "I fished them up out of the
lake for you. They were shining brightly; but I knew not they were
yours. Take them back--they are clearer now than before--and then look
into the deep well which is close by here. I will tell you the names
of the two flowers which you wished to pull up; and you will see the
whole future of the human beings they represent, and what you were
about to frustrate and destroy. "

Then she looked into the well; and it was a glorious sight to
behold how one of them became a blessing to the world, and how much
happiness and joy it spread around. But she saw that the life of the
other was full of care and poverty, misery and woe.

"Both are the will of God," said Death.

"Which is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed one? " she
said.

"That I may not tell you," said Death; "but thus far you may
learn, that one of the two flowers represents your own child. It was
the fate of your child that you saw,--the future of your own child. "

Then the mother screamed aloud with terror, "Which of them belongs
to my child? Tell me that. Deliver the unhappy child. Release it
from so much misery. Rather take it away. Take it to the kingdom of
God. Forget my tears and my entreaties; forget all that I have said or
done. "

"I do not understand you," said Death. "Will you have your child
back? or shall I carry him away to a place that you do not know? "

Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed
to God, "Grant not my prayers, when they are contrary to Thy will,
which at all times must be the best. Oh, hear them not;" and her
head sank on her bosom.

Then Death carried away her child to the unknown land.




THE SUNBEAM AND THE CAPTIVE

It is autumn. We stand on the ramparts, and look out over the sea.
We look at the numerous ships, and at the Swedish coast on the
opposite side of the sound, rising far above the surface of the waters
which mirror the glow of the evening sky. Behind us the wood is
sharply defined; mighty trees surround us, and the yellow leaves
flutter down from the branches. Below, at the foot of the wall, stands
a gloomy looking building enclosed in palisades. The space between
is dark and narrow, but still more dismal must it be behind the iron
gratings in the wall which cover the narrow loopholes or windows,
for in these dungeons the most depraved of the criminals are confined.
A ray of the setting sun shoots into the bare cells of one of the
captives, for God's sun shines upon the evil and the good. The
hardened criminal casts an impatient look at the bright ray. Then a
little bird flies towards the grating, for birds twitter to the just
as well as to the unjust. He only cries, "Tweet, tweet," and then
perches himself near the grating, flutters his wings, pecks a
feather from one of them, puffs himself out, and sets his feathers
on end round his breast and throat. The bad, chained man looks at him,
and a more gentle expression comes into his hard face. In his breast
there rises a thought which he himself cannot rightly analyze, but the
thought has some connection with the sunbeam, with the bird, and
with the scent of violets, which grow luxuriantly in spring at the
foot of the wall. Then there comes the sound of the hunter's horn,
merry and full. The little bird starts, and flies away, the sunbeam
gradually vanishes, and again there is darkness in the room and in the
heart of that bad man. Still the sun has shone into that heart, and
the twittering of the bird has touched it.

Sound on, ye glorious strains of the hunter's horn; continue
your stirring tones, for the evening is mild, and the surface of the
sea, heaving slowly and calmly, is smooth as a mirror.




THE SWAN'S NEST

Between the Baltic and the North Sea there lies an old swan's
nest, wherein swans are born and have been born that shall never die.

In olden times a flock of swans flew over the Alps to the green
plains around Milan, where it was delightful to dwell. This flight
of swans men called the Lombards.

Another flock, with shining plumage and honest eyes, soared
southward to Byzantium; the swans established themselves there close
by the Emperor's throne, and spread their wings over him as shields to
protect him. They received the name of Varangians.

On the coast of France there sounded a cry of fear, for the
blood-stained swans that came from the North with fire under their
wings; and the people prayed, "Heaven deliver us from the wild
Northmen. "

On the fresh sward of England stood the Danish swan by the open
seashore, with the crown of three kingdoms on his head; and he
stretched out his golden sceptre over the land.
The heathens on the
Pomerian coast bent the knee, and the Danish swans came with the
banner of the Cross and with the drawn sword.

"That was in the very old times," you say.

In later days two mighty swans have been seen to fly from the
nest. A light shone far through the air, far over the lands of the
earth; the swan, with the strong beating of his wings, scattered the
twilight mists, and the starry sky was seen, and it was as if it
came nearer to the earth. That was the swan Tycho Brahe.

"Yes, then," you say; "but in our own days? "

We have seen swan after swan soar by in glorious flight. One let
his pinions glide over the strings of the golden harp, and it
resounded through the North. Norway's mountains seemed to rise
higher in the sunlight of former days; there was a rustling among
the pine trees and the birches; the gods of the North, the heroes, and
the noble women, showed themselves in the dark forest depths.

We have seen a swan beat with his wings upon the marble crag, so
that it burst, and the forms of beauty imprisoned in the stone stepped
out to the sunny day, and men in the lands round about lifted up their
heads to behold these mighty forms.

We have seen a third swan spinning the thread of thought that is
fastened from country to country round the world, so that the word may
fly with lightning speed from land to land.

And our Lord loves the old swan's nest between the Baltic and
the North Sea. And when the mighty birds come soaring through the
air to destroy it, even the callow young stand round in a circle on
the margin of the nest, and though their breasts may be struck so that
their blood flows, they bear it, and strike with their wings and their
claws.

Centuries will pass by, swans will fly forth from the nest, men
will see them and hear them in the world, before it shall be said in
spirit and in truth, "This is the last swan--the last song from the
swan's nest. "




THE SWINEHERD

Once upon a time lived a poor prince; his kingdom was very
small, but it was large enough to enable him to marry, and marry he
would. It was rather bold of him that he went and asked the
emperor's daughter: "Will you marry me? " but he ventured to do so, for
his name was known far and wide, and there were hundreds of princesses
who would have gladly accepted him, but would she do so? Now we
shall see.

On the grave of the prince's father grew a rose-tree, the most
beautiful of its kind. It bloomed only once in five years, and then it
had only one single rose upon it, but what a rose! It had such a sweet
scent that one instantly forgot all sorrow and grief when one smelt
it. He had also a nightingale, which could sing as if every sweet
melody was in its throat. This rose and the nightingale he wished to
give to the princess; and therefore both were put into big silver
cases and sent to her.

The emperor ordered them to be carried into the great hall where
the princess was just playing "Visitors are coming" with her
ladies-in-waiting; when she saw the large cases with the presents
therein, she clapped her hands for joy.

"I wish it were a little pussy cat," she said. But then the
rose-tree with the beautiful rose was unpacked.

"Oh, how nicely it is made," exclaimed the ladies.

"It is more than nice," said the emperor, "it is charming. "

The princess touched it and nearly began to cry.

"For shame, pa," she said, "it is not artificial, it is natural! "

"For shame, it is natural," repeated all her ladies.

"Let us first see what the other case contains before we are
angry," said the emperor; then the nightingale was taken out, and it
sang so beautifully that no one could possibly say anything unkind
about it.

"Superbe, charmant," said the ladies of the court, for they all
prattled French, one worse than the other.

"How much the bird reminds me of the musical box of the late
lamented empress," said an old courtier, "it has exactly the same
tone, the same execution. "

"You are right," said the emperor, and began to cry like a
little child.

"I hope it is not natural," said the princess.

"Yes, certainly it is natural," replied those who had brought
the presents.

"Then let it fly," said the princess, and refused to see the
prince.

But the prince was not discouraged. He painted his face, put on
common clothes, pulled his cap over his forehead, and came back.

"Good day, emperor," he said, "could you not give me some
employment at the court? "

"There are so many," replied the emperor, "who apply for places,
that for the present I have no vacancy, but I will remember you. But
wait a moment; it just comes into my mind, I require somebody to
look after my pigs, for I have a great many. "

Thus the prince was appointed imperial swineherd, and as such he
lived in a wretchedly small room near the pigsty; there he worked
all day long, and when it was night he had made a pretty little pot.
There were little bells round the rim, and when the water began to
boil in it, the bells began to play the old tune:

"A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,
Three little piggies had she," &c.

But what was more wonderful was that, when one put a finger into the
steam rising from the pot, one could at once smell what meals they
were preparing on every fire in the whole town. That was indeed much
more remarkable than the rose. When the princess with her ladies
passed by and heard the tune, she stopped and looked quite pleased,
for she also could play it--in fact, it was the only tune she could
play, and she played it with one finger.

"That is the tune I know," she exclaimed. "He must be a
well-educated swineherd. Go and ask him how much the instrument is. "

One of the ladies had to go and ask; but she put on pattens.

"What will you take for your pot? " asked the lady.

"I will have ten kisses from the princess," said the swineherd.

"God forbid," said the lady.

"Well, I cannot sell it for less," replied the swineherd.

"What did he say? " said the princess.

"I really cannot tell you," replied the lady.

"You can whisper it into my ear. "

"It is very naughty," said the princess, and walked off.

But when she had gone a little distance, the bells rang again so
sweetly:

"A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,
Three little piggies had she," &c.


"Ask him," said the princess, "if he will be satisfied with ten
kisses from one of my ladies. "

"No, thank you," said the swineherd: "ten kisses from the
princess, or I keep my pot. "

"That is tiresome," said the princess. "But you must stand
before me, so that nobody can see it. "

The ladies placed themselves in front of her and spread out
their dresses, and she gave the swineherd ten kisses and received
the pot.

That was a pleasure! Day and night the water in the pot was
boiling; there was not a single fire in the whole town of which they
did not know what was preparing on it, the chamberlain's as well as
the shoemaker's. The ladies danced and clapped their hands for joy.

"We know who will eat soup and pancakes; we know who will eat
porridge and cutlets; oh, how interesting! "

"Very interesting, indeed," said the mistress of the household.
"But you must not betray me, for I am the emperor's daughter. "

"Of course not," they all said.

The swineherd--that is to say, the prince--but they did not know
otherwise than that he was a real swineherd--did not waste a single
day without doing something; he made a rattle, which, when turned
quickly round, played all the waltzes, galops, and polkas known
since the creation of the world.

"But that is superbe," said the princess passing by. "I have never
heard a more beautiful composition. Go down and ask him what the
instrument costs; but I shall not kiss him again. "

"He will have a hundred kisses from the princess," said the
lady, who had gone down to ask him.

"I believe he is mad," said the princess, and walked off, but soon
she stopped. "One must encourage art," she said. "I am the emperor's
daughter! Tell him I will give him ten kisses, as I did the other day;
the remainder one of my ladies can give him.

"But we do not like to kiss him," said the ladies.

"That is nonsense," said the princess; "if I can kiss him, you can
also do it. Remember that I give you food and employment. " And the
lady had to go down once more.

"A hundred kisses from the princess," said the swineherd, "or
everybody keeps his own. "

"Place yourselves before me," said the princess then. They did
as they were bidden, and the princess kissed him.

"I wonder what that crowd near the pigsty means! " said the
emperor, who had just come out on his balcony. He rubbed his eyes
and put his spectacles on.

"The ladies of the court are up to some mischief, I think. I shall
have to go down and see. " He pulled up his shoes, for they were down
at the heels, and he was very quick about it. When he had come down
into the courtyard he walked quite softly, and the ladies were so
busily engaged in counting the kisses, that all should be fair, that
they did not notice the emperor. He raised himself on tiptoe.

"What does this mean? " he said, when he saw that his daughter
was kissing the swineherd, and then hit their heads with his shoe just
as the swineherd received the sixty-eighth kiss.

"Go out of my sight," said the emperor, for he was very angry; and
both the princess and the swineherd were banished from the empire.
There she stood and cried, the swineherd scolded her, and the rain
came down in torrents.

"Alas, unfortunate creature that I am! " said the princess, "I wish
I had accepted the prince. Oh, how wretched I am! "

The swineherd went behind a tree, wiped his face, threw off his
poor attire and stepped forth in his princely garments; he looked so
beautiful that the princess could not help bowing to him.

"I have now learnt to despise you," he said. "You refused an
honest prince; you did not appreciate the rose and the nightingale;
but you did not mind kissing a swineherd for his toys; you have no one
but yourself to blame! "

And then he returned into his kingdom and left her behind. She
could now sing at her leisure:

"A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,
Three little piggies has she," &c.




THE THISTLE'S EXPERIENCES

Belonging to the lordly manor-house was beautiful, well-kept
garden, with rare trees and flowers; the guests of the proprietor
declared their admiration of it; the people of the neighborhood,
from town and country, came on Sundays and holidays, and asked
permission to see the garden; indeed, whole schools used to pay visits
to it.

Outside the garden, by the palings at the road-side, stood a great
mighty Thistle, which spread out in many directions from the root,
so that it might have been called a thistle bush. Nobody looked at it,
except the old Ass which drew the milk-maid's cart. This Ass used to
stretch out his neck towards the Thistle, and say, "You are beautiful;
I should like to eat you! " But his halter was not long enough to let
him reach it and eat it.

There was great company at the manor-house--some very noble people
from the capital; young pretty girls, and among them a young lady
who came from a long distance. She had come from Scotland, and was
of high birth, and was rich in land and in gold--a bride worth
winning, said more than one of the young gentlemen; and their lady
mothers said the same thing.

The young people amused themselves on the lawn, and played at
ball; they wandered among the flowers, and each of the young girls
broke off a flower, and fastened it in a young gentleman's buttonhole.
But the young Scotch lady looked round, for a long time, in an
undecided way. None of the flowers seemed to suit her taste. Then
her eye glanced across the paling--outside stood the great thistle
bush, with the reddish-blue, sturdy flowers; she saw them, she smiled,
and asked the son of the house to pluck one for her.

"It is the flower of Scotland," she said. "It blooms in the
scutcheon of my country. Give me yonder flower. "

And he brought the fairest blossom, and pricked his fingers as
completely as if it had grown on the sharpest rose bush.

She placed the thistle-flower in the buttonhole of the young
man, and he felt himself highly honored. Each of the other young
gentlemen would willingly have given his own beautiful flower to
have worn this one, presented by the fair hand of the Scottish maiden.
And if the son of the house felt himself honored, what were the
feelings of the Thistle bush? It seemed to him as if dew and
sunshine were streaming through him.

"I am something more than I knew of," said the Thistle to
itself. "I suppose my right place is really inside the palings, and
not outside. One is often strangely placed in this world; but now I
have at least managed to get one of my people within the pale, and
indeed into a buttonhole! "

The Thistle told this event to every blossom that unfolded itself,
and not many days had gone by before the Thistle heard, not from
men, not from the twittering of the birds, but from the air itself,
which stores up the sounds, and carries them far around--out of the
most retired walks of the garden, and out of the rooms of the house,
in which doors and windows stood open, that the young gentleman who
had received the thistle-flower from the hand of the fair Scottish
maiden had also now received the heart and hand of the lady in
question. They were a handsome pair--it was a good match.

"That match I made up! " said the Thistle; and he thought of the
flower he had given for the buttonhole. Every flower that opened heard
of this occurrence.

"I shall certainly be transplanted into the garden," thought the
Thistle, "and perhaps put into a pot, which crowds one in. That is said
to be the greatest of all honors. "

And the Thistle pictured this to himself in such a lively
manner, that at last he said, with full conviction, "I am to be
transplanted into a pot. "

Then he promised every little thistle flower which unfolded itself
that it also should be put into a pot, and perhaps into a
buttonhole, the highest honor that could be attained. But not one of
them was put into a pot, much less into a buttonhole. They drank in
the sunlight and the air; lived on the sunlight by day, and on the dew
by night; bloomed--were visited by bees and hornets, who looked
after the honey, the dowry of the flower, and they took the honey, and
left the flower where it was.

"The thievish rabble! " said the Thistle. "If I could only stab
every one of them! But I cannot. "

The flowers hung their heads and faded; but after a time new
ones came.

"You come in good time," said the Thistle. "I am expecting every
moment to get across the fence. "

A few innocent daisies, and a long thin dandelion, stood and
listened in deep admiration, and believed everything they heard.

The old Ass of the milk-cart stood at the edge of the
field-road, and glanced across at the blooming thistle bush; but his
halter was too short, and he could not reach it.

And the Thistle thought so long of the thistle of Scotland, to
whose family he said he belonged, that he fancied at last that he
had come from Scotland, and that his parents had been put into the
national escutcheon. That was a great thought; but, you see, a great
thistle has a right to a great thought.

"One is often of so grand a family, that one may not know it,"
said the Nettle, who grew close by. He had a kind of idea that he
might be made into cambric if he were rightly treated.

And the summer went by, and the autumn went by. The leaves fell
from the trees, and the few flowers left had deeper colors and less
scent. The gardener's boy sang in the garden, across the palings:

"Up the hill, down the dale we wend,
That is life, from beginning to end. "


The young fir trees in the forest began to long for Christmas, but
it was a long time to Christmas yet.

"Here I am standing yet! " said the Thistle. "It is as if nobody
thought of me, and yet I managed the match. They were betrothed, and
they have had their wedding; it is now a week ago. I won't take a
single step-because I can't. "

A few more weeks went by. The Thistle stood there with his last
single flower large and full. This flower had shot up from near the
roots; the wind blew cold over it, and the colors vanished, and the
flower grew in size, and looked like a silvered sunflower.

One day the young pair, now man and wife, came into the garden.
They went along by the paling, and the young wife looked across it.

"There's the great thistle still growing," she said. "It has no
flowers now. "

"Oh, yes, the ghost of the last one is there still," said he.
And he pointed to the silvery remains of the flower, which looked like
a flower themselves.

"It is pretty, certainly," she said. "Such an one must be carved
on the frame of our picture. "

And the young man had to climb across the palings again, and to
break off the calyx of the thistle. It pricked his fingers, but then
he had called it a ghost. And this thistle-calyx came into the garden,
and into the house, and into the drawing-room. There stood a
picture--"Young Couple. " A thistle-flower was painted in the
buttonhole of the bridegroom. They spoke about this, and also about
the thistle-flower they brought, the last thistle-flower, now gleaming
like silver, whose picture was carved on the frame.

And the breeze carried what was spoken away, far away.

"What one can experience! " said the Thistle Bush. "My first born
was put into a buttonhole, and my youngest has been put in a frame.
Where shall I go? "

And the Ass stood by the road-side, and looked across at the
Thistle.

"Come to me, my nibble darling! " said he. "I can't get across to
you. "

But the Thistle did not answer. He became more and more
thoughtful--kept on thinking and thinking till near Christmas, and
then a flower of thought came forth.

"If the children are only good, the parents do not mind standing
outside the garden pale. "

"That's an honorable thought," said the Sunbeam. "You shall also
have a good place. "

"In a pot or in a frame? " asked the Thistle.

"In a story," replied the Sunbeam.




THE THORNY ROAD OF HONOR

An old story yet lives of the "Thorny Road of Honor," of a
marksman, who indeed attained to rank and office, but only after a
lifelong and weary strife against difficulties.