No More Learning

'

"'What an interesting way you have of relating a story,' said
the carpet-broom; 'it is easy to perceive that you have been a great
deal in women's society, there is something so pure runs through
what you say. '

"'That is quite true,' said the water-bucket; and he made a spring
with joy, and splashed some water on the floor.

"Then the saucepan went on with his story, and the end was as good
as the beginning.

"The plates rattled with pleasure, and the carpet-broom brought
some green parsley out of the dust-hole and crowned the saucepan,
for he knew it would vex the others; and he thought, 'If I crown him
to-day he will crown me to-morrow. '

"'Now, let us have a dance,' said the fire-tongs; and then how
they danced and stuck up one leg in the air. The chair-cushion in
the corner burst with laughter when she saw it.

"'Shall I be crowned now? ' asked the fire-tongs; so the broom
found another wreath for the tongs.

"'They were only common people after all,' thought the matches.
The tea-urn was now asked to sing, but she said she had a cold, and
could not sing without boiling heat. They all thought this was
affectation, and because she did not wish to sing excepting in the
parlor, when on the table with the grand people.

"In the window sat an old quill-pen, with which the maid generally
wrote. There was nothing remarkable about the pen, excepting that it
had been dipped too deeply in the ink, but it was proud of that.

"'If the tea-urn won't sing,' said the pen, 'she can leave it
alone; there is a nightingale in a cage who can sing; she has not been
taught much, certainly, but we need not say anything this evening
about that. '

"'I think it highly improper,' said the tea-kettle, who was
kitchen singer, and half-brother to the tea-urn, 'that a rich
foreign bird should be listened to here. Is it patriotic? Let the
market-basket decide what is right. '

"'I certainly am vexed,' said the basket; 'inwardly vexed, more
than any one can imagine. Are we spending the evening properly?
Would it not be more sensible to put the house in order? If each
were in his own place I would lead a game; this would be quite another
thing. '

"'Let us act a play,' said they all. At the same moment the door
opened, and the maid came in. Then not one stirred; they all
remained quite still; yet, at the same time, there was not a single
pot amongst them who had not a high opinion of himself, and of what he
could do if he chose.

"'Yes, if we had chosen,' they each thought, 'we might have
spent a very pleasant evening. '

"The maid took the matches and lighted them; dear me, how they
sputtered and blazed up!

"'Now then,' they thought, 'every one will see that we are the
first. How we shine; what a light we give! ' Even while they spoke
their light went out.

"What a capital story," said the queen, "I feel as if I were
really in the kitchen, and could see the matches; yes, you shall marry
our daughter. "

"Certainly," said the king, "thou shalt have our daughter. " The
king said thou to him because he was going to be one of the family.
The wedding-day was fixed, and, on the evening before, the whole
city was illuminated. Cakes and sweetmeats were thrown among the
people. The street boys stood on tiptoe and shouted "hurrah," and
whistled between their fingers; altogether it was a very splendid
affair.

"I will give them another treat," said the merchant's son. So he
went and bought rockets and crackers, and all sorts of fire-works that
could be thought of, packed them in his trunk, and flew up with it
into the air. What a whizzing and popping they made as they went
off! The Turks, when they saw such a sight in the air, jumped so
high that their slippers flew about their ears. It was easy to believe
after this that the princess was really going to marry a Turkish
angel.

As soon as the merchant's son had come down in his flying trunk to
the wood after the fireworks, he thought, "I will go back into the
town now, and hear what they think of the entertainment. " It was
very natural that he should wish to know. And what strange things
people did say, to be sure! every one whom he questioned had a
different tale to tell, though they all thought it very beautiful.

"'I saw the Turkish angel myself," said one; "he had eyes like
glittering stars, and a head like foaming water. "

"He flew in a mantle of fire," cried another, "and lovely little
cherubs peeped out from the folds. "

He heard many more fine things about himself, and that the next
day he was to be married. After this he went back to the forest to
rest himself in his trunk. It had disappeared! A spark from the
fireworks which remained had set it on fire; it was burnt to ashes! So
the merchant's son could not fly any more, nor go to meet his bride.
She stood all day on the roof waiting for him, and most likely she
is waiting there still; while he wanders through the world telling
fairy tales, but none of them so amusing as the one he related about
the matches.




THE SHEPHERD'S STORY OF THE BOND OF FRIENDSHIP

The little dwelling in which we lived was of clay, but the
door-posts were columns of fluted marble, found near the spot on which
it stood. The roof sloped nearly to the ground. It was at this time
dark, brown, and ugly, but had originally been formed of blooming
olive and laurel branches, brought from beyond the mountains. The
house was situated in a narrow gorge, whose rocky walls rose to a
perpendicular height, naked and black, while round their summits
clouds often hung, looking like white living figures. Not a singing
bird was ever heard there, neither did men dance to the sound of the
pipe. The spot was one sacred to olden times; even its name recalled a
memory of the days when it was called "Delphi. " Then the summits of
the dark, sacred mountains were covered with snow, and the highest,
mount Parnassus, glowed longest in the red evening light. The brook
which rolled from it near our house, was also sacred. How well I can
remember every spot in that deep, sacred solitude! A fire had been
kindled in the midst of the hut, and while the hot ashes lay there red
and glowing, the bread was baked in them. At times the snow would be
piled so high around our hut as almost to hide it, and then my
mother appeared most cheerful. She would hold my head between her
hands, and sing the songs she never sang at other times, for the
Turks, our masters, would not allow it. She sang,--

"On the summit of mount Olympus, in a forest of dwarf firs, lay an
old stag. His eyes were heavy with tears, and glittering with colors
like dewdrops; and there came by a roebuck, and said, 'What ailest
thee, that thou weepest blue and red tears? ' And the stag answered,
'The Turk has come to our city; he has wild dogs for the chase, a
goodly pack. ' 'I will drive them away across the islands! ' cried the
young roebuck; 'I will drive them away across the islands into the
deep sea. ' But before evening the roebuck was slain, and before
night the hunted stag was dead. "

And when my mother sang thus, her eyes would become moist; and
on the long eyelashes were tears, but she concealed them and watched
the black bread baking in the ashes. Then I would clench my fist,
and cry, "We will kill these Turks! " But she repeated the words of the
song, "I will drive them across the islands to the deep sea; but
before evening came the roebuck was slain, and before the night the
hunted stag was dead. "

We had been lonely in our hut for several days and nights when
my father came home. I knew he would bring me some shells from the
gulf of Lepanto, or perhaps a knife with a shining blade. This time he
brought, under his sheep-skin cloak, a little child, a little
half-naked girl. She was wrapped in a fur; but when this was taken
off, and she lay in my mother's lap, three silver coins were found
fastened in her dark hair; they were all her possessions. My father
told us that the child's parents had been killed by the Turks, and
he talked so much about them that I dreamed of Turks all night. He
himself had been wounded, and my mother bound up his arm. It was a
deep wound, and the thick sheep-skin cloak was stiff with congealed
blood. The little maiden was to be my sister. How pretty and bright
she looked: even my mother's eyes were not more gentle than hers.
Anastasia, as she was called, was to be my sister, because her
father had been united to mine by an old custom, which we still
follow. They had sworn brotherhood in their youth, and the most
beautiful and virtuous maiden in the neighborhood was chosen to
perform the act of consecration upon this bond of friendship. So now
this little girl was my sister. She sat in my lap, and I brought her
flowers, and feathers from the birds of the mountain. We drank
together of the waters of Parnassus, and dwelt for many years
beneath the laurel roof of the hut, while, winter after winter, my
mother sang her song of the stag who shed red tears. But as yet I
did not understand that the sorrows of my own countrymen were mirrored
in those tears.

One day there came to our hut Franks, men from a far country,
whose dress was different to ours. They had tents and beds with
them, carried by horses; and they were accompanied by more than twenty
Turks, all armed with swords and muskets. These Franks were friends of
the Pacha, and had letters from him, commanding an escort for them.
They only came to see our mountain, to ascend Parnassus amid the
snow and clouds, and to look at the strange black rocks which raised
their steep sides near our hut. They could not find room in the hut,
nor endure the smoke that rolled along the ceiling till it found its
way out at the low door; so they pitched their tents on a small
space outside our dwelling. Roasted lambs and birds were brought
forth, and strong, sweet wine, of which the Turks are forbidden to
partake.

When they departed, I accompanied them for some distance, carrying
my little sister Anastasia, wrapped in a goat-skin, on my back. One of
the Frankish gentlemen made me stand in front of a rock, and drew us
both as we stood there, so that we looked like one creature. I did not
think of it then, but Anastasia and I were really one. She was
always sitting on my lap, or riding in the goat-skin on my back; and
in my dreams she always appeared to me.

Two nights after this, other men, armed with knives and muskets,
came into our tent. They were Albanians, brave men, my mother told me.
They only stayed a short time. My sister Anastasia sat on the knee
of one of them; and when they were gone, she had not three, but two
silver coins in her hair--one had disappeared. They wrapped tobacco in
strips of paper, and smoked it; and I remember they were uncertain
as to the road they ought to take. But they were obliged to go at
last, and my father went with them. Soon after, we heard the sound
of firing. The noise continued, and presently soldiers rushed into our
hut, and took my mother and myself and Anastasia prisoners. They
declared that we had entertained robbers, and that my father had acted
as their guide, and therefore we must now go with them. The corpses of
the robbers, and my father's corpse, were brought into the hut. I
saw my poor dead father, and cried till I fell asleep. When I awoke, I
found myself in a prison; but the room was not worse than our own in
the hut. They gave me onions and musty wine from a tarred cask; but we
were not accustomed to much better fare at home. How long we were kept
in prison, I do not know; but many days and nights passed by. We
were set free about Easter-time. I carried Anastasia on my back, and
we walked very slowly; for my mother was very weak, and it is a long
way to the sea, to the Gulf of Lepanto.

On our arrival, we entered a church, in which there were beautiful
pictures in golden frames. They were pictures of angels, fair and
bright; and yet our little Anastasia looked equally beautiful, as it
seemed to me. In the centre of the floor stood a coffin filled with
roses. My mother told me it was the Lord Jesus Christ who was
represented by these roses. Then the priest announced, "Christ is
risen," and all the people greeted each other. Each one carried a
burning taper in his hand, and one was given to me, as well as to
little Anastasia. The music sounded, and the people left the church
hand-in-hand, with joy and gladness. Outside, the women were
roasting the paschal lamb. We were invited to partake; and as I sat by
the fire, a boy, older than myself, put his arms round my neck, and
kissed me, and said, "Christ is risen. " And thus it was that for the
first time I met Aphtanides.

My mother could make fishermen's nets, for which there was a great
demand here in the bay; and we lived a long time by the side of the
sea, the beautiful sea, that had a taste like tears, and in its colors
reminded me of the stag that wept red tears; for sometimes its
waters were red, and sometimes green or blue. Aphtanides knew how to
manage our boat, and I often sat in it, with my little Anastasia,
while it glided on through the water, swift as a bird flying through
the air. Then, when the sun set, how beautifully, deeply blue, would
be the tint on the mountains, one rising above the other in the far
distance, and the summit of mount Parnassus rising above them all like
a glorious crown. Its top glittered in the evening rays like molten
gold, and it seemed as if the light came from within it; for long
after the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, the mountain-top would
glow in the clear, blue sky. The white aquatic birds skimmed the
surface of the water in their flight, and all was calm and still as
amid the black rocks at Delphi. I lay on my back in the boat,
Anastasia leaned against me, while the stars above us glittered more
brightly than the lamps in our church. They were the same stars, and
in the same position over me as when I used to sit in front of our hut
at Delphi, and I had almost begun to fancy I was still there, when
suddenly there was a splash in the water--Anastasia had fallen in; but
in a moment Aphtanides has sprung in after her, and was now holding
her up to me. We dried her clothes as well as we were able, and
remained on the water till they were dry; for we did not wish it to be
known what a fright we had had, nor the danger which our little
adopted sister had incurred, in whose life Aphtanides had now a part.

The summer came, and the burning heat of the sun tinted the leaves
of the trees with lines of gold. I thought of our cool mountain-home,
and the fresh water that flowed near it; my mother, too, longed
for if, and one evening we wandered towards home. How peaceful
and silent it was as we walked on through the thick, wild thyme,
still fragrant, though the sun had scorched the leaves. Not a
single herdsman did we meet, not a solitary hut did we pass;
everything appeared lonely and deserted--only a shooting star showed
that in the heavens there was yet life. I know not whether the
clear, blue atmosphere gleamed with its own light, or if the
radiance came from the stars; but we could distinguish quite plainly
the outline of the mountains. My mother lighted a fire, and roasted
some roots she had brought with her, and I and my little sister
slept among the bushes, without fear of the ugly smidraki, from
whose throat issues fire, or of the wolf and the jackal; for my mother
sat by us, and I considered her presence sufficient protection.

We reached our old home; but the cottage was in ruins, and we
had to build a new one. With the aid of some neighbors, chiefly women,
the walls were in a few days erected, and very soon covered with a
roof of olive-branches. My mother obtained a living by making
bottle-cases of bark and skins, and I kept the sheep belonging to
the priests, who were sometimes peasants, while I had for my
playfellows Anastasia and the turtles.

Once our beloved Aphtanides paid us a visit. He said he had been
longing to see us so much; and he remained with us two whole happy
days. A month afterwards he came again to wish us good-bye, and
brought with him a large fish for my mother. He told us he was going
in a ship to Corfu and Patras, and could relate a great many
stories, not only about the fishermen who lived near the gulf of
Lepanto, but also of kings and heroes who had once possessed Greece,
just as the Turks possess it now.

I have seen a bud on a rose-bush gradually, in the course of a few
weeks, unfold its leaves till it became a rose in all its beauty; and,
before I was aware of it, I beheld it blooming in rosy loveliness. The
same thing had happened to Anastasia. Unnoticed by me, she had
gradually become a beautiful maiden, and I was now also a stout,
strong youth. The wolf-skins that covered the bed in which my mother
and Anastasia slept, had been taken from wolves which I had myself
shot.

Years had gone by when, one evening, Aphtanides came in. He had
grown tall and slender as a reed, with strong limbs, and a dark, brown
skin. He kissed us all, and had so much to tell of what he had seen of
the great ocean, of the fortifications at Malta, and of the marvellous
sepulchres of Egypt, that I looked up to him with a kind of
veneration. His stories were as strange as the legends of the
priests of olden times.

"How much you know! " I exclaimed, "and what wonders you can
relate? "

"I think what you once told me, the finest of all," he replied;
"you told me of a thing that has never been out of my thoughts--of the
good old custom of 'the bond of friendship,'--a custom I should like
to follow. Brother, let you and I go to church, as your father and
Anastasia's father once did. Your sister Anastasia is the most
beautiful and most innocent of maidens, and she shall consecrate the
deed. No people have such grand old customs as we Greeks. "

Anastasia blushed like a young rose, and my mother kissed
Aphtanides.

At about two miles from our cottage, where the earth on the hill
is sheltered by a few scattered trees, stood the little church, with a
silver lamp hanging before the altar. I put on my best clothes, and
the white tunic fell in graceful folds over my hips. The red jacket
fitted tight and close, the tassel on my Fez cap was of silver, and in
my girdle glittered a knife and my pistols. Aphtanides was clad in the
blue dress worn by the Greek sailors; on his breast hung a silver
medal with the figure of the Virgin Mary, and his scarf was as
costly as those worn by rich lords. Every one could see that we were
about to perform a solemn ceremony. When we entered the little,
unpretending church, the evening sunlight streamed through the open
door on the burning lamp, and glittered on the golden picture
frames. We knelt down together on the altar steps, and Anastasia
drew near and stood beside us. A long, white garment fell in
graceful folds over her delicate form, and on her white neck and bosom
hung a chain entwined with old and new coins, forming a kind of
collar. Her black hair was fastened into a knot, and confined by a
headdress formed of gold and silver coins which had been found in an
ancient temple. No Greek girl had more beautiful ornaments than these.
Her countenance glowed, and her eyes were like two stars. We all three
offered a silent prayer, and then she said to us, "Will you be friends
in life and in death? "

"Yes," we replied.

"Will you each remember to say, whatever may happen, 'My brother
is a part of myself; his secret is my secret, my happiness is his;
self-sacrifice, patience, everything belongs to me as they do to
him? '"

And we again answered, "Yes. " Then she joined out hands and kissed
us on the forehead, and we again prayed silently. After this a
priest came through a door near the altar, and blessed us all three.
Then a song was sung by other holy men behind the altar-screen, and
the bond of eternal friendship was confirmed. When we arose, I saw
my mother standing by the church door, weeping.

How cheerful everything seemed now in our little cottage by the
Delphian springs! On the evening before his departure, Aphtanides
sat thoughtfully beside me on the slopes of the mountain. His arm
was flung around me, and mine was round his neck. We spoke of the
sorrows of Greece, and of the men of the country who could be trusted.
Every thought of our souls lay clear before us. Presently I seized his
hand: "Aphtanides," I exclaimed, "there is one thing still that you
must know,--one thing that till now has been a secret between myself
and Heaven. My whole soul is filled with love,--with a love stronger
than the love I bear to my mother and to thee.

"And whom do you love? " asked Aphtanides. And his face and neck
grew red as fire.

"I love Anastasia," I replied.

Then his hand trembled in mine, and he became pale as a corpse.
I saw it, I understood the cause, and I believe my hand trembled
too. I bent towards him, I kissed his forehead, and whispered, "I have
never spoken of this to her, and perhaps she does not love me.
Brother, think of this; I have seen her daily, she has grown up beside
me, and has become a part of my soul. "

"And she shall be thine," he exclaimed; "thine! I may not wrong
thee, nor will I do so. I also love her, but tomorrow I depart. In a
year we will see each other again, but then you will be married; shall
it not be so? I have a little gold of my own, it shall be yours. You
must and shall take it.
"

We wandered silently homeward across the mountains. It was late in
the evening when we reached my mother's door. Anastasia held the
lamp as we entered; my mother was not there. She looked at
Aphtanides with a sweet but mournful expression on her face.
"To-morrow you are going to leave us," she said. "I am very sorry. "

"Sorry! " he exclaimed, and his voice was troubled with a grief
as deep as my own. I could not speak; but he seized her hand and said,
"Our brother yonder loves you, and is he not dear to you? His very
silence now proves his affection. "

Anastasia trembled, and burst into tears. Then I saw no one,
thought of none, but her. I threw my arms round her, and pressed my
lips to hers. As she flung her arms round my neck, the lamp fell to
the ground, and we were in darkness, dark as the heart of poor
Aphtanides.

Before daybreak he rose, kissed us all, and said "Farewell," and
went away. He had given all his money to my mother for us. Anastasia
was betrothed to me, and in a few days afterwards she became my wife.




THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF

There was once a girl who trod on a loaf to avoid soiling her
shoes, and the misfortunes that happened to her in consequence are
well known. Her name was Inge; she was a poor child, but proud and
presuming, and with a bad and cruel disposition. When quite a little
child she would delight in catching flies, and tearing off their
wings, so as to make creeping things of them. When older, she would
take cockchafers and beetles, and stick pins through them. Then she
pushed a green leaf, or a little scrap of paper towards their feet,
and when the poor creatures would seize it and hold it fast, and
turn over and over in their struggles to get free from the pin, she
would say, "The cockchafer is reading; see how he turns over the
leaf. " She grew worse instead of better with years, and,
unfortunately, she was pretty, which caused her to be excused, when
she should have been sharply reproved.

"Your headstrong will requires severity to conquer it," her mother
often said to her. "As a little child you used to trample on my apron,
but one day I fear you will trample on my heart. " And, alas! this fear
was realized.

Inge was taken to the house of some rich people, who lived at a
distance, and who treated her as their own child, and dressed her so
fine that her pride and arrogance increased.

When she had been there about a year, her patroness said to her,
"You ought to go, for once, and see your parents, Inge. "

So Inge started to go and visit her parents; but she only wanted
to show herself in her native place, that the people might see how
fine she was. She reached the entrance of the village, and saw the
young laboring men and maidens standing together chatting, and her own
mother amongst them. Inge's mother was sitting on a stone to rest,
with a fagot of sticks lying before her, which she had picked up in
the wood. Then Inge turned back; she who was so finely dressed she
felt ashamed of her mother, a poorly clad woman, who picked up wood in
the forest. She did not turn back out of pity for her mother's
poverty, but from pride.

Another half-year went by, and her mistress said, "you ought to go
home again, and visit your parents, Inge, and I will give you a
large wheaten loaf to take to them, they will be glad to see you, I am
sure. "

So Inge put on her best clothes, and her new shoes, drew her dress
up around her, and set out, stepping very carefully, that she might be
clean and neat about the feet, and there was nothing wrong in doing
so. But when she came to the place where the footpath led across the
moor, she found small pools of water, and a great deal of mud, so
she threw the loaf into the mud, and trod upon it, that she might pass
without wetting her feet. But as she stood with one foot on the loaf
and the other lifted up to step forward, the loaf began to sink
under her, lower and lower, till she disappeared altogether, and
only a few bubbles on the surface of the muddy pool remained to show
where she had sunk. And this is the story.

But where did Inge go? She sank into the ground, and went down
to the Marsh Woman, who is always brewing there.

The Marsh Woman is related to the elf maidens, who are well-known,
for songs are sung and pictures painted about them. But of the Marsh
Woman nothing is known, excepting that when a mist arises from the
meadows, in summer time, it is because she is brewing beneath them. To
the Marsh Woman's brewery Inge sunk down to a place which no one can
endure for long. A heap of mud is a palace compared with the Marsh
Woman's brewery; and as Inge fell she shuddered in every limb, and
soon became cold and stiff as marble. Her foot was still fastened to
the loaf, which bowed her down as a golden ear of corn bends the stem.

An evil spirit soon took possession of Inge, and carried her to
a still worse place, in which she saw crowds of unhappy people,
waiting in a state of agony for the gates of mercy to be opened to
them, and in every heart was a miserable and eternal feeling of
unrest. It would take too much time to describe the various tortures
these people suffered, but Inge's punishment consisted in standing
there as a statue, with her foot fastened to the loaf. She could
move her eyes about, and see all the misery around her, but she
could not turn her head; and when she saw the people looking at her
she thought they were admiring her pretty face and fine clothes, for
she was still vain and proud. But she had forgotten how soiled her
clothes had become while in the Marsh Woman's brewery, and that they
were covered with mud; a snake had also fastened itself in her hair,
and hung down her back, while from each fold in her dress a great toad
peeped out and croaked like an asthmatic poodle. Worse than all was
the terrible hunger that tormented her, and she could not stoop to
break off a piece of the loaf on which she stood. No; her back was too
stiff, and her whole body like a pillar of stone. And then came
creeping over her face and eyes flies without wings; she winked and
blinked, but they could not fly away, for their wings had been
pulled off; this, added to the hunger she felt, was horrible torture.

"If this lasts much longer," she said, "I shall not be able to
bear it. " But it did last, and she had to bear it, without being
able to help herself.

A tear, followed by many scalding tears, fell upon her head, and
rolled over her face and neck, down to the loaf on which she stood.
Who could be weeping for Inge? She had a mother in the world still,
and the tears of sorrow which a mother sheds for her child will always
find their way to the child's heart, but they often increase the
torment instead of being a relief. And Inge could hear all that was
said about her in the world she had left, and every one seemed cruel
to her. The sin she had committed in treading on the loaf was known on
earth, for she had been seen by the cowherd from the hill, when she
was crossing the marsh and had disappeared.

When her mother wept and exclaimed, "Ah, Inge! what grief thou
hast caused thy mother" she would say, "Oh that I had never been born!
My mother's tears are useless now. "

And then the words of the kind people who had adopted her came
to her ears, when they said, "Inge was a sinful girl, who did not
value the gifts of God, but trampled them under her feet. "

"Ah," thought Inge, "they should have punished me, and driven
all my naughty tempers out of me. "

A song was made about "The girl who trod on a loaf to keep her
shoes from being soiled," and this song was sung everywhere. The story
of her sin was also told to the little children, and they called her
"wicked Inge," and said she was so naughty that she ought to be
punished. Inge heard all this, and her heart became hardened and
full of bitterness.

But one day, while hunger and grief were gnawing in her hollow
frame, she heard a little, innocent child, while listening to the tale
of the vain, haughty Inge, burst into tears and exclaim, "But will she
never come up again? "

And she heard the reply, "No, she will never come up again. "

"But if she were to say she was sorry, and ask pardon, and promise
never to do so again? " asked the little one.

"Yes, then she might come; but she will not beg pardon," was the
answer.

"Oh, I wish she would! " said the child, who was quite unhappy
about it. "I should be so glad. I would give up my doll and all my
playthings, if she could only come here again. Poor Inge! it is so
dreadful for her. "

These pitying words penetrated to Inge's inmost heart, and
seemed to do her good. It was the first time any one had said, "Poor
Inge! " without saying something about her faults. A little innocent
child was weeping, and praying for mercy for her. It made her feel
quite strange, and she would gladly have wept herself, and it added to
her torment to find she could not do so. And while she thus suffered
in a place where nothing changed, years passed away on earth, and
she heard her name less frequently mentioned. But one day a sigh
reached her ear, and the words, "Inge! Inge! what a grief thou hast
been to me! I said it would be so. " It was the last sigh of her
dying mother.

After this, Inge heard her kind mistress say, "Ah, poor Inge!
shall I ever see thee again? Perhaps I may, for we know not what may
happen in the future. " But Inge knew right well that her mistress
would never come to that dreadful place.

Time-passed--a long bitter time--then Inge heard her name
pronounced once more, and saw what seemed two bright stars shining
above her. They were two gentle eyes closing on earth. Many years
had passed since the little girl had lamented and wept about "poor
Inge. " That child was now an old woman, whom God was taking to
Himself. In the last hour of existence the events of a whole life
often appear before us; and this hour the old woman remembered how,
when a child, she had shed tears over the story of Inge, and she
prayed for her now. As the eyes of the old woman closed to earth,
the eyes of the soul opened upon the hidden things of eternity, and
then she, in whose last thoughts Inge had been so vividly present, saw
how deeply the poor girl had sunk. She burst into tears at the
sight, and in heaven, as she had done when a little child on earth,
she wept and prayed for poor Inge. Her tears and her prayers echoed
through the dark void that surrounded the tormented captive soul,
and the unexpected mercy was obtained for it through an angel's tears.
As in thought Inge seemed to act over again every sin she had
committed on earth, she trembled, and tears she had never yet been
able to weep rushed to her eyes. It seemed impossible that the gates
of mercy could ever be opened to her; but while she acknowledged
this in deep penitence, a beam of radiant light shot suddenly into the
depths upon her. More powerful than the sunbeam that dissolves the man
of snow which the children have raised, more quickly than the
snowflake melts and becomes a drop of water on the warm lips of a
child, was the stony form of Inge changed, and as a little bird she
soared, with the speed of lightning, upward to the world of mortals. A
bird that felt timid and shy to all things around it, that seemed to
shrink with shame from meeting any living creature, and hurriedly
sought to conceal itself in a dark corner of an old ruined wall; there
it sat cowering and unable to utter a sound, for it was voiceless. Yet
how quickly the little bird discovered the beauty of everything around
it. The sweet, fresh air; the soft radiance of the moon, as its
light spread over the earth; the fragrance which exhaled from bush and
tree, made it feel happy as it sat there clothed in its fresh,
bright plumage. All creation seemed to speak of beneficence and
love. The bird wanted to give utterance to thoughts that stirred in
his breast, as the cuckoo and the nightingale in the spring, but it
could not. Yet in heaven can be heard the song of praise, even from
a worm; and the notes trembling in the breast of the bird were as
audible to Heaven even as the psalms of David before they had
fashioned themselves into words and song.

Christmas-time drew near, and a peasant who dwelt close by the old
wall stuck up a pole with some ears of corn fastened to the top,
that the birds of heaven might have feast, and rejoice in the happy,
blessed time. And on Christmas morning the sun arose and shone upon
the ears of corn, which were quickly surrounded by a number of
twittering birds. Then, from a hole in the wall, gushed forth in
song the swelling thoughts of the bird as he issued from his hiding
place to perform his first good deed on earth,--and in heaven it was
well known who that bird was.

The winter was very hard; the ponds were covered with ice, and
there was very little food for either the beasts of the field or the
birds of the air. Our little bird flew away into the public roads, and
found here and there, in the ruts of the sledges, a grain of corn, and
at the halting places some crumbs. Of these he ate only a few, but
he called around him the other birds and the hungry sparrows, that
they too might have food. He flew into the towns, and looked about,
and wherever a kind hand had strewed bread on the window-sill for
the birds, he only ate a single crumb himself, and gave all the rest
to the rest of the other birds. In the course of the winter the bird
had in this way collected many crumbs and given them to other birds,
till they equalled the weight of the loaf on which Inge had trod to
keep her shoes clean; and when the last bread-crumb had been found and
given, the gray wings of the bird became white, and spread
themselves out for flight.

"See, yonder is a sea-gull! " cried the children, when they saw the
white bird, as it dived into the sea, and rose again into the clear
sunlight, white and glittering. But no one could tell whither it
went then although some declared it flew straight to the sun.




THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER

There was once a regular student, who lived in a garret, and had
no possessions. And there was also a regular huckster, to whom the
house belonged, and who occupied the ground floor. A goblin lived with
the huckster, because at Christmas he always had a large dish full
of jam, with a great piece of butter in the middle. The huckster could
afford this; and therefore the goblin remained with the huckster,
which was very cunning of him.

One evening the student came into the shop through the back door
to buy candles and cheese for himself, he had no one to send, and
therefore he came himself; he obtained what he wished, and then the
huckster and his wife nodded good evening to him, and she was a
woman who could do more than merely nod, for she had usually plenty to
say for herself. The student nodded in return as he turned to leave,
then suddenly stopped, and began reading the piece of paper in which
the cheese was wrapped. It was a leaf torn out of an old book, a
book that ought not to have been torn up, for it was full of poetry.

"Yonder lies some more of the same sort," said the huckster: "I
gave an old woman a few coffee berries for it; you shall have the rest
for sixpence, if you will. "

"Indeed I will," said the student; "give me the book instead of
the cheese; I can eat my bread and butter without cheese. It would
be a sin to tear up a book like this. You are a clever man; and a
practical man; but you understand no more about poetry than that
cask yonder. "

This was a very rude speech, especially against the cask; but
the huckster and the student both laughed, for it was only said in
fun. But the goblin felt very angry that any man should venture to say
such things to a huckster who was a householder and sold the best
butter. As soon as it was night, and the shop closed, and every one in
bed except the student, the goblin stepped softly into the bedroom
where the huckster's wife slept, and took away her tongue, which of
course, she did not then want. Whatever object in the room he placed
his tongue upon immediately received voice and speech, and was able to
express its thoughts and feelings as readily as the lady herself could
do. It could only be used by one object at a time, which was a good
thing, as a number speaking at once would have caused great confusion.
The goblin laid the tongue upon the cask, in which lay a quantity of
old newspapers.

"Is it really true," he asked, "that you do not know what poetry
is? "

"Of course I know," replied the cask: "poetry is something that
always stand in the corner of a newspaper, and is sometimes cut out;
and I may venture to affirm that I have more of it in me than the
student has, and I am only a poor tub of the huckster's. "

Then the goblin placed the tongue on the coffee mill; and how it
did go to be sure! Then he put it on the butter tub and the cash
box, and they all expressed the same opinion as the waste-paper tub;
and a majority must always be respected.

"Now I shall go and tell the student," said the goblin; and with
these words he went quietly up the back stairs to the garret where the
student lived. He had a candle burning still, and the goblin peeped
through the keyhole and saw that he was reading in the torn book,
which he had brought out of the shop. But how light the room was! From
the book shot forth a ray of light which grew broad and full, like the
stem of a tree, from which bright rays spread upward and over the
student's head. Each leaf was fresh, and each flower was like a
beautiful female head; some with dark and sparkling eyes, and others
with eyes that were wonderfully blue and clear. The fruit gleamed like
stars, and the room was filled with sounds of beautiful music. The
little goblin had never imagined, much less seen or heard of, any
sight so glorious as this. He stood still on tiptoe, peeping in,
till the light went out in the garret. The student no doubt had
blown out his candle and gone to bed; but the little goblin remained
standing there nevertheless, and listening to the music which still
sounded on, soft and beautiful, a sweet cradle-song for the student,
who had lain down to rest.

"This is a wonderful place," said the goblin; "I never expected
such a thing. I should like to stay here with the student;" and the
little man thought it over, for he was a sensible little spirit. At
last he sighed, "but the student has no jam! " So he went down stairs
again into the huckster's shop, and it was a good thing he got back
when he did, for the cask had almost worn out the lady's tongue; he
had given a description of all that he contained on one side, and
was just about to turn himself over to the other side to describe what
was there, when the goblin entered and restored the tongue to the
lady. But from that time forward, the whole shop, from the cash box
down to the pinewood logs, formed their opinions from that of the
cask; and they all had such confidence in him, and treated him with so
much respect, that when the huckster read the criticisms on
theatricals and art of an evening, they fancied it must all come
from the cask.

But after what he had seen, the goblin could no longer sit and
listen quietly to the wisdom and understanding down stairs; so, as
soon as the evening light glimmered in the garret, he took courage,
for it seemed to him as if the rays of light were strong cables,
drawing him up, and obliging him to go and peep through the keyhole;
and, while there, a feeling of vastness came over him such as we
experience by the ever-moving sea, when the storm breaks forth; and it
brought tears into his eyes. He did not himself know why he wept,
yet a kind of pleasant feeling mingled with his tears. "How
wonderfully glorious it would be to sit with the student under such
a tree;" but that was out of the question, he must be content to
look through the keyhole, and be thankful for even that.

There he stood on the old landing, with the autumn wind blowing
down upon him through the trap-door. It was very cold; but the
little creature did not really feel it, till the light in the garret
went out, and the tones of music died away. Then how he shivered,
and crept down stairs again to his warm corner, where it felt
home-like and comfortable. And when Christmas came again, and
brought the dish of jam and the great lump of butter, he liked the
huckster best of all.

Soon after, in the middle of the night, the goblin was awoke by
a terrible noise and knocking against the window shutters and the
house doors, and by the sound of the watchman's horn; for a great fire
had broken out, and the whole street appeared full of flames. Was it
in their house, or a neighbor's? No one could tell, for terror had
seized upon all. The huckster's wife was so bewildered that she took
her gold ear-rings out of her ears and put them in her pocket, that
she might save something at least. The huckster ran to get his
business papers, and the servant resolved to save her blue silk
mantle, which she had managed to buy. Each wished to keep the best
things they had. The goblin had the same wish; for, with one spring,
he was up stairs and in the student's room, whom he found standing
by the open window, and looking quite calmly at the fire, which was
raging at the house of a neighbor opposite. The goblin caught up the
wonderful book which lay on the table, and popped it into his red cap,
which he held tightly with both hands. The greatest treasure in the
house was saved; and he ran away with it to the roof, and seated
himself on the chimney. The flames of the burning house opposite
illuminated him as he sat, both hands pressed tightly over his cap, in
which the treasure lay; and then he found out what feelings really
reigned in his heart, and knew exactly which way they tended. And yet,
when the fire was extinguished, and the goblin again began to reflect,
he hesitated, and said at last, "I must divide myself between the two;
I cannot quite give up the huckster, because of the jam. "

And this is a representation of human nature. We are like the
goblin; we all go to visit the huckster "because of the jam. "




THE GOLDEN TREASURE

The drummer's wife went into the church. She saw the new altar
with the painted pictures and the carved angels. Those upon the canvas
and in the glory over the altar were just as beautiful as the carved
ones; and they were painted and gilt into the bargain. Their hair
gleamed golden in the sunshine, lovely to behold; but the real
sunshine was more beautiful still. It shone redder, clearer through
the dark trees, when the sun went down. It was lovely thus to look
at the sunshine of heaven. And she looked at the red sun, and she
thought about it so deeply, and thought of the little one whom the
stork was to bring, and the wife of the drummer was very cheerful, and
looked and looked, and wished that the child might have a gleam of
sunshine given to it, so that it might at least become like one of the
shining angels over the altar.

And when she really had the little child in her arms, and held
it up to its father, then it was like one of the angels in the
church to behold, with hair like gold--the gleam of the setting sun
was upon it.

"My golden treasure, my riches, my sunshine! " said the mother; and
she kissed the shining locks, and it sounded like music and song in
the room of the drummer; and there was joy, and life, and movement.
The drummer beat a roll--a roll of joy. And the Drum said--the
Fire-drum, that was beaten when there was a fire in the town:

"Red hair! the little fellow has red hair! Believe the drum, and
not what your mother says! Rub-a dub, rub-a dub! "

And the town repeated what the Fire-drum had said.

The boy was taken to church, the boy was christened. There was
nothing much to be said about his name; he was called Peter. The whole
town, and the Drum too, called him Peter the drummer's boy with the
red hair; but his mother kissed his red hair, and called him her
golden treasure.

In the hollow way in the clayey bank, many had scratched their
names as a remembrance.

"Celebrity is always something! " said the drummer; and so he
scratched his own name there, and his little son's name likewise.

And the swallows came. They had, on their long journey, seen
more durable characters engraven on rocks, and on the walls of the
temples in Hindostan, mighty deeds of great kings, immortal names,
so old that no one now could read or speak them.