No More Learning

'Soup from a sausage skewer,'
said she, 'is only a proverb amongst mankind, and may be understood in
many ways. Each believes his own way the best, and after all, the
proverb signifies nothing. ' 'Nothing! ' I exclaimed. I was quite
struck. Truth is not always agreeable, but truth is above everything
else, as the old owl said. I thought over all this, and saw quite
plainly that if truth was really so far above everything else, it must
be much more valuable than soup from a sausage skewer. So I hastened
to get away, that I might be home in time, and bring what was
highest and best, and above everything--namely, the truth. The mice
are an enlightened people, and the mouse-king is above them all. He is
therefore capable of making me queen for the sake of truth. "

"Your truth is a falsehood," said the mouse who had not yet
spoken; "I can prepare the soup, and I mean to do so. "


HOW IT WAS PREPARED

"I did not travel," said the third mouse; "I stayed in this country:
that was the right way. One gains nothing by travelling--everything
can be acquired here quite as easily; so I stayed at home. I
have not obtained what I know from supernatural beings. I have
neither swallowed it, nor learnt it from conversing with owls. I
have got it all from my reflections and thoughts. Will you now set the
kettle on the fire--so? Now pour the water in--quite full--up to the
brim; place it on the fire; make up a good blaze; keep it burning,
that the water may boil; it must boil over and over. There, now I
throw in the skewer. Will the mouse-king be pleased now to dip his
tail into the boiling water, and stir it round with the tail. The
longer the king stirs it, the stronger the soup will become. Nothing
more is necessary, only to stir it. "

"Can no one else do this? " asked the king.

"No," said the mouse; "only in the tail of the mouse-king is
this power contained. "

And the water boiled and bubbled, as the mouse-king stood close
beside the kettle. It seemed rather a dangerous performance; but he
turned round, and put out his tail, as mice do in a dairy, when they
wish to skim the cream from a pan of milk with their tails and
afterwards lick it off. But the mouse-king's tail had only just
touched the hot steam, when he sprang away from the chimney in a great
hurry, exclaiming, "Oh, certainly, by all means, you must be my queen;
and we will let the soup question rest till our golden wedding,
fifty years hence; so that the poor in my kingdom, who are then to
have plenty of food, will have something to look forward to for a long
time, with great joy. "

And very soon the wedding took place. But many of the mice, as
they were returning home, said that the soup could not be properly
called "soup from a sausage skewer," but "soup from a mouse's tail. "
They acknowledged also that some of the stories were very well told;
but that the whole could have been managed differently. "I should have
told it so--and so--and so. " These were the critics who are always
so clever afterwards.

When this story was circulated all over the world, the opinions
upon it were divided; but the story remained the same. And, after all,
the best way in everything you undertake, great as well as small, is
to expect no thanks for anything you may do, even when it refers to
"soup from a sausage skewer. "




THE STORKS

On the last house in a little village the storks had built a nest,
and the mother stork sat in it with her four young ones, who stretched
out their necks and pointed their black beaks, which had not yet
turned red like those of the parent birds. A little way off, on the
edge of the roof, stood the father stork, quite upright and stiff; not
liking to be quite idle, he drew up one leg, and stood on the other,
so still that it seemed almost as if he were carved in wood. "It
must look very grand," thought he, "for my wife to have a sentry
guarding her nest. They do not know that I am her husband; they will
think I have been commanded to stand here, which is quite
aristocratic;" and so he continued standing on one leg.

In the street below were a number of children at play, and when
they caught sight of the storks, one of the boldest amongst the boys
began to sing a song about them, and very soon he was joined by the
rest. These are the words of the song, but each only sang what he
could remember of them in his own way.

"Stork, stork, fly away,
Stand not on one leg, I pray,
See your wife is in her nest,
With her little ones at rest.
They will hang one,
And fry another;
They will shoot a third,
And roast his brother. "


"Just hear what those boys are singing," said the young storks;
"they say we shall be hanged and roasted. "

"Never mind what they say; you need not listen," said the
mother. "They can do no harm. "

But the boys went on singing and pointing at the storks, and
mocking at them, excepting one of the boys whose name was Peter; he
said it was a shame to make fun of animals, and would not join with
them at all. The mother stork comforted her young ones, and told
them not to mind. "See," she said, "How quiet your father stands,
although he is only on one leg. "

"But we are very much frightened," said the young storks, and they
drew back their heads into the nests.

The next day when the children were playing together, and saw
the storks, they sang the song again--

"They will hang one,
And roast another. "


"Shall we be hanged and roasted? " asked the young storks.

"No, certainly not," said the mother. "I will teach you to fly,
and when you have learnt, we will fly into the meadows, and pay a
visit to the frogs, who will bow themselves to us in the water, and
cry 'Croak, croak,' and then we shall eat them up; that will be fun. "

"And what next? " asked the young storks.

"Then," replied the mother, "all the storks in the country will
assemble together, and go through their autumn manoeuvres, so that
it is very important for every one to know how to fly properly. If
they do not, the general will thrust them through with his beak, and
kill them. Therefore you must take pains and learn, so as to be
ready when the drilling begins. "

"Then we may be killed after all, as the boys say; and hark!
they are singing again. "

"Listen to me, and not to them," said the mother stork. "After the
great review is over, we shall fly away to warm countries far from
hence, where there are mountains and forests. To Egypt, where we shall
see three-cornered houses built of stone, with pointed tops that reach
nearly to the clouds. They are called Pyramids, and are older than a
stork could imagine; and in that country, there is a river that
overflows its banks, and then goes back, leaving nothing but mire;
there we can walk about, and eat frogs in abundance. "

"Oh, o--h! " cried the young storks.

"Yes, it is a delightful place; there is nothing to do all day
long but eat, and while we are so well off out there, in this
country there will not be a single green leaf on the trees, and the
weather will be so cold that the clouds will freeze, and fall on the
earth in little white rags. " The stork meant snow, but she could not
explain it in any other way.

"Will the naughty boys freeze and fall in pieces? " asked the young
storks.

"No, they will not freeze and fall into pieces," said the
mother, "but they will be very cold, and be obliged to sit all day
in a dark, gloomy room, while we shall be flying about in foreign
lands, where there are blooming flowers and warm sunshine. "

Time passed on, and the young storks grew so large that they could
stand upright in the nest and look about them. The father brought
them, every day, beautiful frogs, little snakes, and all kinds of
stork-dainties that he could find. And then, how funny it was to see
the tricks he would perform to amuse them. He would lay his head quite
round over his tail, and clatter with his beak, as if it had been a
rattle; and then he would tell them stories all about the marshes
and fens.

"Come," said the mother one day, "Now you must learn to fly. "
And all the four young ones were obliged to come out on the top of the
roof. Oh, how they tottered at first, and were obliged to balance
themselves with their wings, or they would have fallen to the ground
below.

"Look at me," said the mother, "you must hold your heads in this
way, and place your feet so. Once, twice, once, twice--that is it. Now
you will be able to take care of yourselves in the world. "

Then she flew a little distance from them, and the young ones made
a spring to follow her; but down they fell plump, for their bodies
were still too heavy.

"I don't want to fly," said one of the young storks, creeping back
into the nest. "I don't care about going to warm countries. "

"Would you like to stay here and freeze when the winter comes? "
said the mother, "or till the boys comes to hang you, or to roast
you? --Well then, I'll call them. "

"Oh no, no," said the young stork, jumping out on the roof with
the others; and now they were all attentive, and by the third day
could fly a little. Then they began to fancy they could soar, so
they tried to do so, resting on their wings, but they soon found
themselves falling, and had to flap their wings as quickly as
possible. The boys came again in the street singing their song:--

"Stork, stork, fly away. "


"Shall we fly down, and pick their eyes out? " asked the young
storks.

"No; leave them alone," said the mother. "Listen to me; that is
much more important. Now then. One-two-three. Now to the right.
One-two-three. Now to the left, round the chimney. There now, that was
very good. That last flap of the wings was so easy and graceful,
that I shall give you permission to fly with me to-morrow to the
marshes. There will be a number of very superior storks there with
their families, and I expect you to show them that my children are the
best brought up of any who may be present. You must strut about
proudly--it will look well and make you respected. "

"But may we not punish those naughty boys? " asked the young
storks.

"No; let them scream away as much as they like. You can fly from
them now up high amid the clouds, and will be in the land of the
pyramids when they are freezing, and have not a green leaf on the
trees or an apple to eat. "

"We will revenge ourselves," whispered the young storks to each
other, as they again joined the exercising.

Of all the boys in the street who sang the mocking song about
the storks, not one was so determined to go on with it as he who first
began it. Yet he was a little fellow not more than six years old. To
the young storks he appeared at least a hundred, for he was so much
bigger than their father and mother. To be sure, storks cannot be
expected to know how old children and grown-up people are. So they
determined to have their revenge on this boy, because he began the
song first and would keep on with it. The young storks were very
angry, and grew worse as they grew older; so at last their mother
was obliged to promise that they should be revenged, but not until the
day of their departure.

"We must see first, how you acquit yourselves at the grand
review," said she. "If you get on badly there, the general will thrust
his beak through you, and you will be killed, as the boys said, though
not exactly in the same manner. So we must wait and see. "

"You shall see," said the young birds, and then they took such
pains and practised so well every day, that at last it was quite a
pleasure to see them fly so lightly and prettily. As soon as the
autumn arrived, all the storks began to assemble together before
taking their departure for warm countries during the winter. Then
the review commenced. They flew over forests and villages to show what
they could do, for they had a long journey before them. The young
storks performed their part so well that they received a mark of
honor, with frogs and snakes as a present. These presents were the
best part of the affair, for they could eat the frogs and snakes,
which they very quickly did.

"Now let us have our revenge," they cried.

"Yes, certainly," cried the mother stork. "I have thought upon the
best way to be revenged. I know the pond in which all the little
children lie, waiting till the storks come to take them to their
parents. The prettiest little babies lie there dreaming more sweetly
than they will ever dream in the time to come. All parents are glad to
have a little child, and children are so pleased with a little brother
or sister. Now we will fly to the pond and fetch a little baby for
each of the children who did not sing that naughty song to make game
of the storks. "

"But the naughty boy, who began the song first, what shall we do
to him? " cried the young storks.

"There lies in the pond a little dead baby who has dreamed
itself to death," said the mother. "We will take it to the naughty
boy, and he will cry because we have brought him a little dead
brother. But you have not forgotten the good boy who said it was a
shame to laugh at animals: we will take him a little brother and
sister too, because he was good. 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.