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 University of Illinois Library 
 
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POET’S DAY DREAMS. 
 

 
 
 / 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
A 
 
 POET’S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN, 
 
 AUTHOR OP ‘ PICTURES OP SWEDEN,’ 
 ‘ IMPROVISATORE,’ ETC. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 RT CHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1853. 
 
PRINTED BY 
 
 JOHN EDWARD TAYLOR, LITTLE QUEEN STREET, 
 
 Lincoln’s inn fields. 
 
lAn I 'S \om. 
 
 $ 3+13 
 
 A*ip 
 
 TO 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS, ESQUIRE, 
 
 ®|is §Mit 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF KIND REMEMBRANCE, 
 
 
 BY HIS 
 
 DANISH FRIEND AND ADMIRER, 
 
 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 
 
 Copenhagen, 
 
 January , 1853 . 
 
 s 
 
 X 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE HISTORY OE THE YEAR 
 
 THE WORLD’S MOST REAUTIEUL ROSE 
 
 SKETCH EROM THE RAMPARTS OE A CASTLE 
 
 THE LAST DAY 
 
 IT IS YERY TRUE . 
 
 THE SWAN’S NEST 
 
 GOOD HUMOUR ..... 
 
 THERE IS A DIEFERENCE 
 
 A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING .... 
 
 A LEAE EROM HEAVEN 
 
 GRIEE OE HEART ..... 
 EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE 
 THE NIS AT THE CHEESEMONGER’S . 
 
 THE ELAX ...... 
 
 Page 
 
 1 
 
 21 
 
 20 
 
 33 
 
 43 
 
 51 
 
 57 
 
 67 
 
 77 
 
 95 
 
 103 
 
 111 
 
 120 
 
 130 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 THE OLD TOMBSTONE .... 149 
 
 THE EIYE PEAS ..... 159 
 
 THE OLD MAID ...... 169 
 
 A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE . . .175 
 
 THE LAST PEARL . . . . .181 
 
 UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE . . .189 
 
Cj jt pistorj of \\t gear. 
 
THE HISTORY OE THE YEAR. 
 
 $ 
 
 It was late in January; a frightful storm was 
 raging ; the drifting snow went flying in multi- 
 tudes of circles through the streets and lanes ; 
 the panes of glass in the windows were, on 
 the outside, thickly incrusted with frost ; while 
 masses of ice, falling every now and then from 
 the roofs of the houses, made the passengers 
 below run forward, or start back, frequently 
 seizing each other by the arm, and holding fast 
 for a moment to steady themselves on the slip- 
 pery path. Carriages and horses might be seen, 
 as it were, powdered all over, while the footmen 
 who stood behind them had turned round to 
 escape the cutting wind; and foot-passengers 
 followed in the lee of the carriages, which with 
 
 b 2 
 
4 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 difficulty forced their way through the deep 
 snow. 
 
 Here and there the drifted snow would ca- 
 priciously leave a short narrow path in front of 
 the houses, and when people met there, they 
 would stand still, neither party willing to step 
 into the row of white hillocks ranged on either 
 side, that the other might pass by. Silently 
 they would stand, until at last, by a sort of tacit 
 agreement, each of them would sacrifice one leg, 
 and let it sink into the too closely adjacent 
 snow-dyke. 
 
 Towards evening a dead calm came on, and 
 the skies looked as if they had been well swept, 
 as if they had been raised higher, and had be- 
 come more transparent. The stars looked un- 
 usually bright — many of them like newly-cut 
 diamonds — and it froze so that the ground 
 crackled under the foot ; the uppermost layer 
 of snow had become so much like glass, that 
 at dawn of day the poor little sparrows could 
 scarcely find footing upon it ; they hopped hither 
 and thither, wherever the snow had been sho- 
 velled into a little heap, but no food could they 
 find, and they were almost frozen to death. 
 
THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR. 
 
 5 
 
 “ So/' said one of them to another, “ this is 
 what is called the new year ! It is worse than 
 the old one ; and we might as well have kept it, 
 I am sadly disappointed, and with good reason 
 too!" 
 
 “ Yes ! Yet these human beings were all in 
 a state of excitement, welcoming in the new 
 year," said a little half-frozen sparrow. “ They 
 seemed wild with joy that the old year had 
 departed. And I too was very glad, for I ex- 
 pected that we should have had warmer wea- 
 ther ; but there is nothing of the kind, it freezes 
 harder than before. Mankind must have made 
 some great mistake in their reckoning of time." 
 
 “ Ay, so they have ! " said a third, who was 
 old, and had a whitish head: “they have got 
 something now which they call ‘ an almanac ;' 
 it is of their own invention, and everything 
 must go according to it ! But all does not 
 though. When Spring comes, then the year 
 will begin: that is Nature's rule, and I adhere 
 to it." 
 
 “But when will Spring come?" asked all the 
 others. 
 
 “ It will come when the stork comes, but he 
 
6 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 is very uncertain in his movements, and here, in 
 town, nobody knows anything about them, they 
 are better known in the country. Shall we fly 
 out there and wait ? Perhaps Spring is nearer 
 there.” 
 
 “ Ah ! that is all very well,” said one of them 
 who had been hopping about at a little distance, 
 without joining in their discourse ; “ I have 
 however some little advantages here in town, 
 which I fear I might miss out yonder. There 
 is a family near this who have very discreetly 
 placed three or four flower-pots on a ledge in 
 the wall ; there is a space large enough for me and 
 my mate to have made our nest : we can fly out 
 and in when we please, and our young ones are 
 safely sheltered there. Of course the family 
 have arranged all this that they might have the 
 pleasure of seeing us ; they strew crumbs of 
 bread out there also for their own amusement, 
 and thus we have food. We are, in a manner, 
 provided for, so I think we shall both stay ; I 
 cannot say that we are altogether comfortable, 
 but we shall stay.” 
 
 “ And we shall all fly away into the country, 
 to see if Spring is not coming.” 
 
THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR. 7 
 
 And off they flew. It was a severe winter 
 indeed in the country ; it froze there still harder 
 than in town, and a sharp chill wind blew over 
 the snow-covered fields. The peasant, with his 
 thick leather gloves on, sat in his sledge, and 
 struck his arms together to warm himself. His 
 pipe lay upon his lap ; the lean smoking horses 
 galloped over the ice till it cracked, and the 
 sparrows hopped into the wheel-ruts, and were 
 nearly frozen in them. “ Ah ! when will Spring 
 arrive? — how long it is of coming ! ” 
 
 “ Long of coming ! ” rang in strange tones 
 over the fields from yon high bank that was quite 
 laden with snow. It might have been the echo 
 that they heard, but it might also have been the 
 voice of that strange-looking old man, who was 
 sitting exposed to the wind and weather, on the 
 highest snow-drift ; he appeared to be clad in a 
 white woollen garment, had white hair, a white 
 beard, was very pale, and had large clear eyes. 
 
 “Who is that old man yonder?” asked the 
 sparrows. 
 
 “ I know who he is,” said an old raven, who 
 was perched upon a gate near, and who, being 
 sufficiently enlightened to know that we are all 
 
8 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 no greater than the smallest bird in the eyes of 
 our Creator, condescended to speak to the hum- 
 ble sparrows and answer their question. “ I know’ 
 who yon ancient person is — it is Winter, the 
 old man from the bygone year : he is not dead, 
 as the almanac says ; on the contrary, he is the 
 guardian of the little prince Spring, who is com- 
 ing. Yes, Winter still rules. Ah ! he makes 
 you shiver — you little ones ! ” 
 
 “ Is not this just what I said ?” replied one of 
 the sparrows: “the almanac is only a human 
 invention; it does not at all apply to Nature. 
 Ah ! with our fine perceptions, we should ma- 
 nage it better.” 
 
 One week had passed away, another had 
 almost gone. The woods looked black, the 
 frozen lake like a vast sheet of lead ; the clouds 
 — but they were not clouds, it was a damp, icy- 
 chill mist — hung heavily over the earth ; the 
 great dark crows flew silently along in flocks. 
 It seemed as if everything around slept. 
 
 At length a sunbeam streamed over the sea, 
 and it glittered like liquid tin. The unbroken 
 sheet of snow, that lay over the field, and upon 
 the bank, did not dazzle the eye quite so much 
 
THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR. 
 
 9 
 
 as before, but the giant white form — Winter 
 himself — still sat in the same place; his looks 
 were now however turned to the South, and he 
 did not seem to observe that the snowy surface 
 around was sinking by degrees into the earth, 
 and that here and there a little green spot made 
 its appearance, every one of which swarmed 
 with sparrows. 
 
 “ Chirp ! chirp ! now comes Spring ! ” 
 
 “ Spring l” rang joyously over the fields and 
 the meadows, and through the still dark and 
 leafless forests, where the green fresh moss be- 
 gan to peep forth upon the stems of the trees. 
 Cleaving the air, came flying from the South 
 the two earliest storks ; each bore on his back a 
 beautiful child — a boy and a girl. They saluted 
 the earth by kissing it, and wherever their little 
 feet rested, white flowers sprang from under the 
 snow. Hand in hand they went up to the old 
 man of ice — Winter — and laid themselves with 
 a greeting on his cold breast, and at that mo- 
 ment a thick, heavy fog enveloped the whole 
 three, hid them from view, and soon spread an 
 impenetrable veil over all the country round. 
 A strong breeze arose ; it dispelled the mist, and 
 
10 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 when the wind had died away the snn shone 
 forth so warmly ! Winter himself was gone, 
 and the lovely children occupied the throne of 
 the year. 
 
 “This is what we call the new year \” said 
 the sparrows; “now we shall enjoy our rights 
 again, and obtain some compensation for the 
 miseries of winter.” 
 
 Wherever the children turned, the trees and 
 bushes put forth green buds, the grass grew 
 higher, and the meadows became more verdant. 
 The little girl occupied herself by casting flowers 
 in profusion around ; her apron was filled to 
 overflowing with them; in her eagerness she 
 threw a large handful of snowdrops over the 
 apple and the peach trees, so that they stood in 
 full flowery dress before they had even had their 
 green leaves. And she clapped her hands, and 
 the boy clapped his, and birds came fluttering 
 towards them, none knew from whence, and 
 they all chirped and sang — 
 
 “ Spring is come ! ” 
 
 It was all beautiful to behold. And many a 
 decrepit old woman tottered to the outside of 
 her door in the bright sunshine, gazed upon the 
 
THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR. 
 
 11 
 
 golden flowerets that studded the lawn, exactly 
 as they had done in her juvenile days, thought 
 the world had grown young again, and blessed 
 the cheering Spring. 
 
 The woods now wore a brownish-green tint : 
 bud after bud was bursting into life ; the fresh 
 primroses, with their delightful perfume, were 
 out ; the violets peeped from beneath the hedges, 
 and clustered on the mossy banks ; and anemo- 
 nies, buttercups, and cowslips formed a soft and 
 brilliant carpet beneath the feet of the Springes 
 young pair, as they sat, hand in hand, smiling 
 and singing, and growing taller and. taller. 
 
 A gentle rain fell from heaven over them, but 
 they heeded it not, and the rain-drops mingled 
 with their tears of joy. As a bride and a bride- 
 groom they embraced each other, and at that 
 moment the sun shone forth brightly, and the 
 gay woods around clad themselves in green. 
 
 Hand in hand the young bridal pair wandered 
 towards the embowering trees, beneath whose 
 soft shade the glowing sunbeams, struggling 
 through the leafy roof, cast a mild and subdued 
 light. The air breathed of freshness and purity, 
 while the clear and sparkling waters of the 
 
12 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 rivers and the streamlets flowed murmuring 
 through the tall rushes, smooth as velvet, and 
 over the rugged stones. 
 
 “How bountiful is the eternal Giver of good!” 
 exclaimed all Nature around; and the cuckoo 
 sang, and the lark rose high in the air — it was 
 Spring — charming Spring. 
 
 And so passed days — and so passed weeks. 
 The heat increased gradually ; the warm vivify- 
 ing breezes played round the corn-fields, which 
 became yellower and yellower. And the white 
 lotus of the north spread its broad green leaves 
 over the waters, that almost washed the trunks 
 of the forest-trees, which grew even near the 
 margin of the sea. On the land side of the 
 woods, where the sun streamed over the wall 
 of the peasant’s cot — where roses bloomed, and 
 cherry-trees displayed their rich dark ripe fruit, 
 sat the lovely Lady of the Summer , she whom 
 we before beheld as a child and as a bride. She 
 gazed upon the gathering gloomy clouds, which, 
 first resembling waves, and then assuming the 
 form of hills, of a dull, dark blue in colour, 
 were becoming higher and higher. From three 
 sides they met, and, like a petrified sea, they 
 
THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR. 
 
 13 
 
 settled over the woods, where all, as if touched 
 by an enchanter’s wand, was hushed. Every 
 breath of air had become still ; the song of every 
 bird had ceased; a dread pause, an expectation 
 of something fearful about to happen, seemed 
 to pervade nature ; but on the highways and the 
 paths, people in carriages, on horseback, and on 
 foot hurried along to gain some place of shelter. 
 For a moment the sun shone out with delusive 
 splendour, casting a bright glare over everything, 
 then suddenly all became gloomy again, while 
 loud thunder rolled above. The rain fell in 
 torrents — it became very dark — then followed 
 flashes of lightning — and the tumult of the ele- 
 ments evinced itself in alternate silence and 
 uproar. The grass and corn lay flat, as if struck 
 down, never more to rise. At length the sun 
 shone, the rain dwindled away into single drops, 
 and these glistened on the leaves like pearls. 
 The birds carolled, the fishes arose from the 
 depths of the sea, the gaudy butterflies chased 
 each other about, and on a rock far out on the 
 beach, round which dashed the foaming waves, 
 sat Summer himself, an athletic man, robust in 
 form, and with hair dripping wet, fresh from the 
 
14 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 invigorating bath which he had jnst taken in the 
 warm sunshine. All nature smiled around him, 
 in its full strength, luxuriance, and beauty ; it 
 was summer, — warm, delightful summer ! 
 
 And sweet and pleasant was the fragrance 
 that came wafted on the gentle breeze from the 
 clover-fields. Bees buzzed about the old assize- 
 court, wild vines crept up the pillars of its por- 
 tico, which looked white after being washed by 
 the rain, and thither flew the queen-bee with 
 her swarm to make their wax and honey. The 
 rays of the setting sun were like streams of 
 gold, and the moonbeams shone brightly be- 
 tween the time that the last tints of evening had 
 faded, and the rosy morn had broke. It was the 
 lovely summer-time. 
 
 Days and weeks passed on. The polished 
 sickles of the harvest-reapers glittered in the 
 corn-fields. The branches of the apple-trees were 
 weighed down with their red and yellow fruit ; 
 the hops scented the air, and hung in graceful 
 festoons beneath the hazel-bushes, amidst whose 
 nuts and heavy leaves reclined a man and his 
 wife — Summer, and his now pensive companion. 
 
 “ What riches ! ” she exclaimed ; “ all around 
 
THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR. 
 
 15 
 
 speaks of happiness, abundance, and domestic 
 peace ; and yet, I hardly know why, I long 
 after rest — repose ! I can scarcely find a word 
 to express my meaning. They are all hard at 
 work again in yonder fields : more, and always 
 more, mankind seeks to gain ! See the storks 
 come in flocks, and follow the plough at a 
 distance, — the bird of Egypt, which bore us 
 through the air ! Do you remember when, as 
 children, we both came to this northern land ? 
 We brought flowers with us, charming sun- 
 shine, and green woods ; but the wind has done 
 sad damage to the poor groves ; they have be- 
 come indeed brown and dark, like the trees of 
 the South — but they do not, like them, bear 
 golden fruit. 
 
 “ Would you wish to see such?” said Sum- 
 mer: “you shall be gratified.” He raised his 
 arm, and the foliage of the trees became tinted 
 with red and with yellow ; a golden hue spread 
 itself over all the forest ; the wild-briar hedges 
 were bright with their flame-coloured hips ; the 
 elder-trees were covered with berries ; the wild 
 chestnuts fell ripe from their dark green shells ; 
 and the violets blossomed a second time. 
 
16 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 But the Queen of the Year became paler, and 
 still more thoughtful : “ The air is cold/’ said 
 she, “the night is setting in foggy. How I long 
 for — my childhood’s home !” 
 
 And she saw the storks flying away, one after 
 the other, and she stretched out her hands 
 towards them. She looked up at their nests — 
 they were empty ; but some stalks of the blue 
 corn-flower and of the golden charlock showed 
 that the nests had been but recently vacated; 
 the sparrows soon flew up to them. 
 
 “Chirp, chirp ! what has become of all the 
 family? They cannot bear the cold winds to 
 blow on them, so they have taken their depar- 
 ture from this country. A pleasant journey to 
 them !” 
 
 And deeper and deeper became the yellow 
 hue of the forest, and leaf fell after leaf. The 
 Autumnal storms whistled through the trees — it 
 was already late in the season. Upon a heap of 
 the fallen and withering leaves lay the Queen of 
 the Year, gazing with languid eyes upon the glit- 
 tering stars, and her husband stood by her side. 
 A gust of wind rustled through the fading fo- 
 liage, and, whirling round in eddies, fell a thick 
 
THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR. 
 
 17 
 
 shower of leaves. It was over ; and a summer 
 bird, the latest of the year, flew past, through 
 the cold, cold air. 
 
 And the damp fogs came, the freezing blasts, 
 and the long dark nights. The Lord of the 
 Year stood with snow-white hair, but he knew 
 it not himself : he thought it was the sleet that 
 had fallen from the clouds. A thick layer of 
 snow was now spread over the green fields. 
 
 And the church-bells were ringing in the 
 happy Christmas time. 
 
 “ The Yule bells are ringing ! ” exclaimed the 
 Lord of the Year ; “ our successors, the new 
 young regal pair, will soon be born, and I shall 
 be at rest, like her ! — at rest amidst yon shining 
 stars !” 
 
 And in the plantation, amidst the thriving 
 green pines and fir-trees, where the snow lay on 
 the ground, stood the Spirit that presided over 
 Christmas, and selected the young trees that 
 were destined to adorn the Christmas feast. 
 
 “ There is joy in the abodes of men, and 
 under the green boughs,” said the aged Lord of 
 the Year. A week had wrinkled his brow and 
 turned him into a grey-haired old man. “ It is 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 time for me to go to rest ; the new year’s young 
 pair will now demand the sceptre and the crown.” 
 “ The power is still thine/’ said the Yule 
 Spirit,— “ power, and not repose. Let the snow 
 lie in masses on the ground to warm the tender 
 seed. Learn to be content to rule, while homage 
 is paid to another ; learn to be forgotten, and 
 yet to live ! The period of thy freedom will 
 come, when Spring arrives ! ” 
 
 “ When Spring arrives?” questioned Winter. 
 “ It will come when the storks return.” 
 
 And with whitened locks and snowy beard sat 
 Winter, cold as ice, — old, and bent in form, but 
 strong as icebergs and winter storms : high on 
 the lofty snow-drift he sat, and looked towards 
 the South, as the Winter before him had sat and 
 looked. The ice crashed; the snow creaked; 
 skaters balanced themselves on the slippery 
 congealed waters; and the ravens and crows 
 picked their way along the white ground, over 
 which not a breath of wind was sweeping. 
 Winter clasped his hands in the still air, and 
 the ice hugged the land in a close embrace. 
 
 Then came the sparrows again from the town, 
 and asked, “Who is that old man yonder?” And 
 
THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR. 
 
 19 
 
 the same raven sat there again — or it might 
 have been a son of his — it is of little conse- 
 quence which it was — and he answered : “ Yon 
 figure is Winter — the old man from the bygone 
 year ; he is not dead, as the almanac says, but 
 is the guardian of the Spring which is coming.” 
 
 “When Spring comes,” cried the sparrows, 
 “ we shall get on better ; that old man is good 
 for nothing.” 
 
 In thoughtful silence Winter nodded to the 
 dark leafless forest, and every tree and every 
 branch cast off its stiff grim aspect, and the 
 cold mist gradually cleared away. The old 
 ruler of the year dreamed of the days of his 
 youth and his manhood, and at mornings dawn 
 the woods around stood sparkling with hoar- 
 frost — this was Winter’s summer dream; but 
 the hoar-frost was soon banished by the genial 
 rays of the sun. 
 
 “Now comes Spring !” cried the sparrows. 
 
 “ Spring !” resounded like an echo from the 
 bank where the deep snow lay. The sun shone 
 more and more warmly ; the snow melted ; the 
 birds began to sing, “ Spring is coming ! ” 
 
 And soaring high in the air came the first 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 stork; another speedily followed; a beautiful 
 child sat on each, and they alighted on the open 
 field; they kissed the ground, and they kissed 
 the silent old man, who then, like Moses on the 
 Mount, disappeared, borne away in a misty cloud. 
 
 The History of the Year was finished. 
 
 “It is very beautiful, and also it is very 
 true,” said the sparrows; “but it is not accord- 
 ing to the almanac, therefore it is all folly.” 
 
Clje SBorfo’a most tafifel 
 

THE WORLD’S MOST BEAUTIFUL ROSE. 
 
 * 
 
 There was a great Queen, in whose garden were 
 to be found the most beautiful flowers of all 
 seasons of the year, and from every country in 
 the world, but especially roses, to which she 
 was very partial. She had these of every kind 
 and variety, from the blossom of the wild-briar, 
 with its fragrant green leaves, to the loveliest 
 Provence rose ; and they were trained along the 
 walls of the palace, they twined themselves 
 around the columns, clustered over the windows, 
 crept into the corridors, and climbed to the very 
 roof of many of the saloons, — in short, roses 
 were everywhere, and the air was laden with 
 their sweet perfume. 
 
 But anxiety and sorrow reigned in that royal 
 
24 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 dwelling. The Queen lay on a sick-bed, and the 
 physicians had announced that she was dying. 
 
 “ There is yet however one hope for her/’ 
 said the most skilful among them. “ Procure 
 for her the world’s most beautiful rose, that one 
 which has sprung from the highest and purest 
 love ; if that can be placed before her eyes ere 
 they have closed for ever, she will not die.” 
 
 And young and old flocked thither with roses, 
 the finest that bloomed in every garden, but 
 none of these roses was the right one; from 
 Love’s own parterre must the charmed flower 
 come ; but where was the rose that had sprung 
 from the highest, the purest love ? 
 
 And the Skalds sang about this most beau- 
 tiful rose in the world. And Report carried the 
 tale to every heart that was filled with love, to 
 every country and to every race. 
 
 “But no one has yet named the flower,” 
 said the ballad; “no one has pointed out the 
 spot where it springs in all its glory. It is not 
 a rose from the vault where Romeo and J uliet 
 are entombed, or from Yalborg’s grave*, — al- 
 
 * Axel and Yalborg, the hero and heroine of a romance in 
 Scandinavian history, which has been made the subiect of 
 
THE WORLD’S MOST BEAUTIFUL ROSE. 25 
 
 though these roses will always breathe sweetly 
 through the medium of traditions and poetic le- 
 gends ; — nor is it one of the roses that budded 
 from Winkelried’s”* gory lances, from the blood 
 that, in a holy stream, welled forth from the 
 hero’s breast when he died for his native land, 
 though no death is sweeter than such, no rose 
 redder than the blood which is so shed ; neither 
 is it that wonderful plant, in tending which, 
 men, for days and years, during long sleep- 
 less nights in solitary chambers, dedicate the 
 flower of their lives — the magic rose of know- 
 ledge.” 
 
 “ I know r where the rose so sought for blooms,” 
 said a happy mother, who, with her lovely infant, 
 approached the Queen’s couch. “ I know where 
 
 poems and tragedies by some of the leading authors of the 
 North. — Tra^sl. 
 
 * Arnold of Winkelried, a Knight of Unterwalden, the 
 celebrated Swiss patriot, whose self-devotion won for his 
 countrymen a battle against the Austrians in 1386. The 
 following lines by the poet Wordsworth relate to him : — 
 
 “He too, of battle martyrs chief! 
 
 Who, to recall his daunted peers, 
 
 For victory shaped an open space 
 By gathering, with a wide embrace, 
 
 Into his single heart, a sheaf 
 Of fatal Austrian spears.” — Transl. 
 
26 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 the most beautiful roses in the world are to be 
 found, — roses springing from the purest and 
 truest love:— they bloom upon the glowing 
 cheeks of my sweet child, when he wakes from 
 sleep, looks up at me, and smiles to me with his 
 undivided love.” 
 
 “Lovely indeed are those roses, but more 
 beautiful are still to be found,” said an ancient 
 bard. 
 
 “Yes, far more beautiful,” added one of the 
 court dames. “ I have seen one myself : a more 
 pure and lovely rose never bloomed, but it was 
 white, not pink : I saw it on the Queen’s pale 
 cheek ; she had laid aside her crown, and through 
 the long, dreary night, she watched by her sick 
 child, kissed it, wept over it, and prayed to God 
 for it, as a mother prays during a time of deep 
 anxiety.” 
 
 “ Sacred and wondrous in its power is the 
 white rose of sorrow; but it is not the one 
 sought.” 
 
 “No, the most beautiful rose in the world 
 I saw near the holy altar,” said the good old 
 Bishop. “ I have seen it as if it bloomed upon 
 an angel’s face : young girls come to the Com- 
 
THE WORLDS MOST BEAUTIFUL ROSE. 27 
 
 munion-table, to renew the vows made for them 
 at their baptism; and white or red roses tint 
 their rounded cheeks. A youthful maiden stood 
 there; she looked up with her whole soul full 
 of purity and love towards her Creator, — that 
 was the rose you seek for." 
 
 “ Blessed indeed be that rose : but still it is 
 not the most beautiful in the world." 
 
 A child then entered the apartment, — the 
 Queen's little son ; tears stood in his eyes, and 
 flowed over his soft cheeks; he carried in his 
 hands a large book ; it was bound in velvet, and 
 clasped with silver. 
 
 “ Mother," said the child, “ oh listen to what 
 I have just been reading!" The boy placed 
 himself by the side of the couch, and read from 
 the great book about Him , who gave himself up 
 to death upon the cross, to redeem mankind, 
 even generations yet unborn. 
 
 “ Greater love hath no man than this." 
 
 And a rosy hue spread over the Queen's pallid 
 cheeks ; her dimming eyes became clearer and 
 brighter, for she saw, arising from the leaves of 
 the Sacred Volume, the world's most beautiful 
 rose, — the likeness of that which had sprung 
 
28 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 from the precious blood of the Saviour, shed 
 upon the cross. 
 
 “ I see it ! ” she exclaimed : “ those never die, 
 who behold that Rose, the most beautiful upon 
 the earth.” 
 
% jSkeitjj from t|e lamprts of a Castle. 
 
 § 
 
% 
 
31 
 
 A SKETCH FROM THE RAMPARTS 
 OF A CASTLE. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 It is Autumn; we are standing upon the ram- 
 parts of a castle, and gazing down upon the sea, 
 upon the many ships which are gliding over it, 
 and upon the Swedish coast, that looks higher 
 and more defined in the evening sun. Behind 
 us, the rampart forms a steep descent, at the 
 bottom of which stand clumps of magnificent 
 trees, whose yellow leaves are fast falling from 
 their spreading branches. Down there may be 
 seen gloomy houses, with wooden palings, and 
 within these, where the sentry is walking, it is 
 narrow and dismal ; but still darker and more 
 dismal it is behind the small grated windows, 
 for there sit prisoners in chains — the worst of 
 criminals. 
 
32 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 A ray from the setting sun falls into one of 
 these naked cells. The sun shines upon the 
 wicked as upon the good ! The stern, gloomy 
 captive casts a hideous glance upon the cold 
 sunbeam. A little bird flies towards the grated 
 window. Birds sing for the wicked as well as 
 for the good ! It gives a short chirp, sits down, 
 stretches forth its wings, picks a feather from 
 one of them, and ruffles all the short feathers 
 round its throat — and the felon in chains gazes 
 on it ; a milder expression passes over his harsh 
 features ; thoughts which he himself hardly un- 
 derstands clearly, awake in his breast, softened 
 thoughts akin to the sunbeam through the 
 grating — akin to the fragrance of the violets 
 that in the Spring grow so richly without. Now 
 is heard the wild stirring music of the hunts- 
 man’s horn ! The bird flies away from the 
 prisoner’s grated casement, the sunbeam fades, 
 and all is dark in the lonely cell, and dark in the 
 guilty man’s heart. But no ! the sun had shone 
 on it — the song of the bird still echoes there. 
 
 Blow on, ye cheering blasts from the hunts- 
 man’s horn ! The evening is lovely. The sea 
 is still and smooth as glass ! 
 
dje fast JajT. 
 
 d 
 
35 
 
 THE LAST DAY. 
 
 The most important day amongst all the days 
 of our lives, is that on which we die : it is the 
 last day — the day of the great and mysterious 
 transformation. Hast thou ever seriously, ear- 
 nestly, reflected upon that mightiest, truest, 
 latest hour upon this earth ? 
 
 There was a man, a true believer, as he called 
 himself, a stickler for words, which were to him 
 a law, — a jealous servant of a jealous God. 
 Death stood at length by his couch, — Death, 
 with the awful, shadowy countenance. 
 
 “ Thy time has come — thou must follow 
 me,” said Death, and he laid his icy Anger on 
 the man’s feet, and they grew cold ; Death then 
 touched his brow, and lastly his heart; it 
 
 d 2 
 
36 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 broke beneath his touch, and the soul followed 
 its ghostly guide. 
 
 But, in the few seconds which intervened be- 
 tween Death’s consecration of his feet, to that 
 of his head and heart, swept — like the vast roll- 
 ing billows of the ocean — all that he had done, 
 and all that had passed during his life, over the 
 mind of the dying man. Thus, in looking over 
 a high precipice, one sees at a glance the giddy 
 depth below, and in one quick thought appre- 
 hends the measureless distance, the fearful 
 danger of the pathless descent ; thus, one casts 
 a single look at the glittering vault of heaven 
 above, and the eye takes in the host of stars, 
 knowing that worlds and spheres are compre- 
 hended in that space. On such a rapid survey 
 shudders the affrighted sinner, who has nothing 
 to depend on ; to him it seems as if he were 
 about to sink into an endless vacuity ! But the 
 righteous look up towards their Heavenly Father, 
 and say, like children, in the words of the Lord’s 
 Prayer, “ Thy will be done !” 
 
 But this dying man had not the mind of a 
 child, he felt he was a grown man ; he did not 
 look upon himself as a sinner, he thought he 
 
THE LAST DAY. 
 
 37 
 
 was a true believer, for he had adhered to all 
 the forms of religion, and these were to him as 
 a tower of strength. Millions, he deemed, were 
 going on the broad road to destruction ; with 
 fire and sword he would have made their bodies 
 perish here, as their souls assuredly would in 
 eternity. But his path was straight to Paradise, 
 the gates of which grace would open to him — 
 the promised grace. 
 
 And the spirit went with the Angel of Death ; 
 but it looked once at the bed where was lying 
 the figure of clay in its white shroud — a strange 
 image of the spirit itself. And they flew on — 
 on; they seemed to be in some immense hall, 
 and yet in a wood; Nature seemed curtailed 
 here, dragged out there, distorted, stiff, and 
 artificial, like the old French gardens. 
 
 “That is mankind's life!" said the Angel 
 of Death. All the phantoms seemed to have 
 more or less of intelligence ; those were not 
 the noblest or the mightiest that were in velvet 
 and gold, nor were all those the lowest and 
 meanest who were in rags. It was a strange 
 masquerade ; and exceedingly curious to behold 
 how they all endeavoured to conceal something 
 
38 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 from each other; but they came so much in 
 each other’s way, that one might have thought 
 they had become invisible. They all seemed 
 to have got heads of the different species of 
 lower animals. One bore the head of a grin- 
 ning ape, another of an ugly he-goat, a third 
 that of a slimy serpent, a fourth of a dull- 
 eyed fish, and so on. These were the crea- 
 tures we all resemble, and whose dispositions 
 are in us. 
 
 “ What animal was my counterpart?” asked 
 the newly arrived spirit ; and the Angel of 
 Death pointed to a proud-looking phantom jus 
 before him, and round its head appeared a 
 particoloured halo of shining tints, but its feet 
 were those of a peacock, and the halo was 
 formed by the feathers of its tail. 
 
 And, as it wandered on, frightful-looking 
 birds from the branches of trees screeched, in 
 the voices of men — “Thou death-wanderer! 
 dost thou remember me ? ” These were all 
 the bad thoughts and vicious desires from its 
 earthly life, that shrieked to it, “ Dost thou 
 remember me ?” 
 
 And the spirit looked around dismayed ; for 
 
THE LAST DAY. 
 
 39 
 
 it knew the voices well of the wicked thoughts 
 and desires which had gathered together and 
 risen up as witnesses against it. 
 
 “ In our evil earthly natures there dwells no 
 good/' said the spirit, “ but with me, thoughts 
 did not ripen into actions, the world beheld not 
 their baneful fruits." And it hurried faster, 
 to escape the horrid cries ; but the large, dark- 
 looking birds flew in circles round it, and 
 screeched more loudly than before, as if they 
 wished the whole world to hear them. Then it 
 rushed on like a hunted deer, and every step 
 it took, it seemed to tread on sharp-edged 
 stones, and they wounded and hurt its feet. 
 “ How came these sharp stones here ? They 
 lie like fallen leaves on the ground." 
 
 “ These are every ill-natured word thou didst 
 utter, and which wounded thy neighbour's heart 
 far more deeply than these stones now cut thy 
 feet." 
 
 “ I never thought of that ! " said the spirit. 
 
 “ Judge not , that ye be not judged ," rang 
 throughout the air. 
 
 “ We have all sinned," said the spirit, raising 
 its head haughtily ; “ I acted according to the 
 
40 
 
 A POET*S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 Law and the Gospel, I did all that I conld do — 
 I am not like those others.” 
 
 And now they stood at the gate of Heaven, 
 and the Angel who watched it asked, “Who 
 art thou ? Tell me thy Faith, and show me thy 
 actions !** 
 
 “ I have fulfilled all my duties ; I have made 
 myself lowly in the eyes of the world ; I have 
 hated evil, and persecuted evil-doers, those who 
 go on the broad road to everlasting destruction: 
 I punished them with fire and with sword as 
 far as I was able.” 
 
 “Thou art then a follower of Mahomet?” 
 said the Angel. 
 
 “ I ! Never !” 
 
 “ r All they that take the sword shall perish 
 with the sword/ says the Son. His faith is 
 not thine. Perhaps thou art of the race of 
 Israelis children — who say with Moses, ‘ An 
 eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth*? Such 
 doctrine would seem to suit thee.** 
 
 “ I am a Christian.** 
 
 “ I see that not in thy creed or thine ac- 
 tions. Christ taught — Love, atonement, and 
 grace.** 
 
THE LAST DAY. 
 
 41 
 
 “Grace!” rang through the endless space ; 
 the gate of Heaven opened, and the spirit passed 
 over its glorious threshold. 
 
 But the light that streamed there was so 
 overpowering, so blinding, that the spirit 
 shrank back, as if from a drawn sword; me- 
 lodious and enchanting* sounds were heard, — 
 sounds such as no human tongue could de- 
 scribe, — and the spirit bent itself lower and 
 lower; but celestial radiance entered into it, 
 and then it felt and understood what it had 
 never before felt, — its own arrogance, its hard- 
 ness, and its sinfulness ; its inward vision be- 
 came cleared, and it exclaimed, “What little 
 good I did in the world was not my doing, but 
 the evil was all my own ! ” 
 
 And the spirit felt itself sinking down — 
 down, left as it were to itself, irresistibly sink- 
 ing deeper and deeper, — falling, as it seemed, 
 from the kingdom of heaven. Then it thought 
 of the justness and the might, and yet of the 
 mercy of God, and taking courage it prayed for 
 “ Grace \” 
 
 That cry was heard at the Throne of Grace. 
 
 The everlasting heaven was an infinite ex 
 
42 
 
 a poet's day dreams. 
 
 panse, and “ the glory of God did lighten it •” 
 and voices rang around, “ Blessings and ho- 
 nour, and glory, and power, be unto Him that 
 sitteth on the throne, and unto the Lamb, for 
 ever and ever ! ” And, oh ! may we all, on the 
 last day of our mortal life, when we stand like 
 this spirit, shrinking back before the splendour 
 and the glory of heaven, bowed down in deep 
 humility, be supported by His love and His 
 grace; be borne on soaring wings to new 
 spheres, redeemed and purified, nearer and 
 nearer to the throne of light, strengthened by 
 Him who is mighty to save, and received 
 through Him into the realms of eternal day l 
 

 1 1 is forji fat 
 
45 
 
 IT IS VERY TRUE. 
 
 “ It is a frightful history ! ” said a hen, in a 
 remote corner of the town, where no histo- 
 rian had ever been seen. “ It is a frightful 
 poultry-yard story ! I really would not dare to 
 sleep alone at night. It is fortunate that there 
 are many of us together when we go to roost \” 
 and she spoke in such a mysterious way as to 
 make the feathers of all the other hens stand 
 out, and the comb of the cock fall down. It is 
 very true. 
 
 But we will begin at the beginning, and 
 that was at another corner of the town, in a 
 poultry-yard. The sun had set, and the fowls 
 flew up to their perches ; one of them — she had 
 white feathers and short legs, laid her eggs with 
 
46 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 all due regularity, and was, as a hen, in every 
 way respectable — as she was about to go to 
 roost, pecked herself with her bill, and down fell 
 one of her little feathers. 
 
 “ There it goes ! ” said she, “ and the more I 
 pluck out the handsomer I shall become!” But 
 this was only said in jest — for she was the gayest 
 among all the fowls, although, as before said, 
 extremely respectable. So she fell asleep. There 
 was darkness all around hen; was perched by 
 hen, but the one who was placed nearest to her 
 was not asleep. She heard and she did not 
 hear, as people are so often obliged to do in this 
 world in order to live in peace ; but she could 
 not resist saying to her next neighbour, “ Have 
 you heard what has just been said ? I blame no 
 one, — but there is a hen who has determined to 
 pluck her own feathers out, by way of making 
 herself beautiful ! Were I the cock, I would 
 despise and discard her ! ” 
 
 A little way above the hen-roost lived an owl, 
 with its mate and owlets ; they had quick ears in 
 that family, they overheard every word that the 
 talkative fowl had said, and they stared with 
 their large eyes, and the matron owl fanned 
 
IT IS VERY TRUE. 
 
 47 
 
 herself with her wings. “ Oh do — only listen ! 
 But you surely heard what was said ? I heard 
 it with my own ears. Actually one of these 
 hens has so far forgotten all propriety, that she 
 is sitting there and plucking off all her feathers, 
 and allowing the cock to look at her thus 
 denuded \ 33 
 
 “ Prenez garde aux enfants ! ” exclaimed the 
 father of the young owls ; “ Children should not 
 hear of such doings ! ” 
 
 “ I shall go and tell the owl who is our oppo- 
 site neighbour about it though: she is a good 
 sort of friendly creature ; 3) and away flew the 
 mother-owl. 
 
 “ Hu, hu ! whuh ! 33 hooted they both toge- 
 ther, while they made the best of their way to a 
 pigeon-house near ; “ have you heard the news ? 
 have you heard the news ? uh ! uh ! A hen has 
 plucked out all her feathers for the cock’s sake ; 
 and she is freezing to death — if not already dead, 
 uh! uh l 33 
 
 “ Where? where?” cooed the pigeons. 
 
 “ In the neighbouring poultry-yard. I have 
 almost as good as seen it myself; it seems an 
 incredible story to tell — but it is very true 33 
 
48 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 “We believe every word of it/’ said the 
 pigeons, and down they flew to their poultry - 
 yard. “ There is a hen — nay some say there are 
 two hens, who have plucked off all their own 
 feathers, to look different from the rest, and 
 attract the attention of the cock. It was a 
 dangerous proceeding — enough to give them 
 cold and make them die of fever — and they are 
 both dead.” 
 
 “ Wake up ! wake up ! ” crowed the cock, as 
 he flew up on the wooden paling ; his eyes were 
 still heavy with sleep, but he crowed away not- 
 withstanding. “Three hens have died of un- 
 happy love for a cock ! They have plucked out 
 all their feathers. It is a shocking story, but it 
 cannot be concealed.” 
 
 “It cannot be concealed!” repeated the bats; 
 and the hens clucked and the cocks crowed — and 
 so the report travelled from poultry-yard to 
 poultry-yard, till at length it came back to the 
 place where it had originated. It was there told 
 that five hens had plucked out their feathers, in 
 order to see which of them had become the 
 thinnest from their unfortunate love for the 
 cock, — that they had attacked each other in a 
 
IT IS VERY TRUE. 
 
 49 
 
 desperate manner, and fought till each, bathed 
 in its blood, had fallen down dead, to the ever- 
 lasting disgrace of their families, and to the 
 great loss of their owner. 
 
 The hen, who had dropped the light little 
 feather, naturally did not recognize herself to be 
 the heroine of the tale, and, as she was a very 
 respectable fowl, she said, “ For my part I can 
 feel nothing but contempt for these hens ; but 
 there are too many of the same calibre ! Such 
 scandalous occurrences cannot be concealed, and 
 I do not doubt the story will find its way into 
 the newspapers. It is only what these wretched 
 hens have deserved, and their families to boot.” 
 
 The story did get into the newspapers ; it 
 was actually printed ; and it is very true that 
 one little feather can be magnified into five 
 fowls ! 
 
 E 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
/ 
 
 
53 
 
 THE SWAN’S NEST. 
 
 Between the Baltic and the North Sea lies an 
 an old Swanks nest, called Denmark; in it were 
 born, and still are born, Swans, whose names 
 shall never die. 
 
 In the olden times flew a flock of Swans from 
 this place, away over the Alps, down to the ver- 
 dant plains of the summer-lands, where it is 
 delightful to dwell : that flock was called the 
 Longobardi. 
 
 Another host, with shining plumes, and cou- 
 rage and loyalty in their looks, took their way 
 to Byzantium, placed themselves around the 
 Emperor’s throne, and spread forth their large 
 white wings as shields to protect him : these were 
 named the Varangians * . 
 
 * The Varangian body-guard (Vseringjar of the Icelandic 
 
54 
 
 a poet's day dreams. 
 
 From the shores of France there arose a cry 
 of anguish, because of the blood-seeking Swans, 
 who with fire beneath their wings came from the 
 North ; and the people prayed — “ God save us 
 from the wild Normans ." 
 
 Upon the open coast of England, with its 
 fertile meadows and emerald sward, stood the 
 Danish Swan, his triple crown upon his head, 
 his golden sceptre stretching forth over the 
 land. 
 
 Pagans worshiped in Pomerania's plains, and 
 the Danish Swans came with the banners of the 
 Cross, and with swords drawn. 
 
 “ All this was in the olden times," thou wilt 
 say. 
 
 But nearer to our own days mighty Swans 
 have been known to fly from the parent nest. 
 
 Light shone through the air — light beamed 
 over distant lands. The Swan had dispelled 
 
 Sagas, and the Yarangi of the Byzantine writers) was com- 
 posed of Danes, Norwegians, and Icelanders. These guards, 
 “ with their broad and double-edged battle-axes on their 
 shoulders,” says Gibbon, “ attended the Greek Emperor to 
 the temple, the senate, and the hippodrome; he slept and 
 feasted under their trusty guard ; and the keys of the palace, 
 the treasury, and the capital, were held by the firm and 
 faithful hands of the Varangians.” — Transl. 
 
THE SWANKS NEST. 
 
 55 
 
 with his strong wings the twilight mist, and the 
 starry heavens became more visible- — it seemed 
 as if they had approached nearer to earth ; that 
 Swan was Tycho Brahe . 
 
 “ Yes, then,” thou sayest; “ but in the present 
 time ?” 
 
 We have seen Swan after Swan wing its 
 glorious way. One waved its pinions over the 
 golden harp, and its melodious strings vibrated 
 through the North. The mountains of Nor- 
 way seemed to become more lofty in the sun- 
 light of former ages. The sweet sounds mur- 
 mured amidst the rustling pine-trees ; the Gods 
 of Scandinavia, its heroes, and its noble dames 
 showed themselves afar, amidst the deep re- 
 cesses of the gloomy woods*. 
 
 We have seen a Swan strike with his wings 
 upon the block, and figures of surpassing beauty 
 have sprung into being beneath the light of 
 day, and multitudes flocked to behold these 
 mighty imagesf. 
 
 We have seen a third Swan spin out in 
 thought those wires which now run from 
 
 * The poet, (Ehlenschlaeger. — Transl. 
 t The celebrated sculptor, Thorwaldsen. — Transl. 
 
56 
 
 a poet's day dreams. 
 
 country to country — so that words can fly with 
 the rapidity of light through every land*. 
 
 Our beneficent Creator watches o'er the old 
 Swan's nest between the Baltic and the North 
 Sea. Let powerful birds of prey come through 
 the air to destroy it — they never shall succeed. 
 Even the unfledged young ones would range 
 themselves in a circle round the margin of the 
 nest, and, opposing their breasts to the beaks 
 and the talons of the foe, would — as we have 
 seen — shed their best blood for it. 
 
 Centuries have yet to pass — the Swans will 
 fly from their nest, and shall be seen and heard 
 throughout the world, before the time shall 
 arrive, when in the spirit of Truth it may be 
 said, “It is the last Swan — and the last song 
 from the Swan’s nest ” 
 
 * The natural philosopher, CErsted — Tkansl. 
 

 raw. 
 
GOOD HUMOUR. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 From my father I have received the best of in- 
 heritances, for I have received — good humour. 
 And who was my father ? But that has nothing 
 to do with his humour. He was plump and 
 round, sociable and jovial; his outer and his 
 inner man were neither of them in keeping with 
 his employment. And what was his employ- 
 ment, what his station in society? Well, if 
 these were to be disclosed at the beginning of 
 the story, it is very probable that many, when 
 they read it, would lay the book aside, exclaim- 
 ing, “No, I won't go on : it is so very uncom- 
 fortable to be reminded of such matters." 
 
 Yet my father was neither a hangman nor an 
 executioner of any sort ; on the contrary, his oc- 
 
60 
 
 a poet's day dreams. 
 
 cupation often brought him in contact with the 
 greatest men of the town ; and he was always in 
 his own place, which, by right, was to be first, 
 — ay, first; his place was before that of the 
 Bishop, before even princes of the blood: — he 
 was — a hearse-driver ! 
 
 It is told now ! and thus much I may say, 
 that when people saw my father upon his lofty 
 seat, attached to Death's omnibus, attired in a 
 long, dark, flowing cloak, and with the black, 
 crape-covered cocked hat upon his head, and be- 
 neath its gloomy brim beheld his countenance, 
 so round and jocund, glowing like the evening 
 sun, they could not think exactly of sorrow and 
 the grave ; that countenance plainly said, “ No- 
 body can help it, and it is all for -the best." 
 
 So from him I have inherited my good hu- 
 mour, and the habit of frequently going to the 
 churchyard, which really is a very pleasant place 
 when one goes to it in good humour; and I 
 always take in the Directory, as he used to do. 
 
 I cannot call myself any longer young; I 
 have neither wife, child, nor library ; but, as I 
 have said, I am in possession of the Directory, 
 and that is quite sufficient reading for me, as 
 
GOOD HUMOUR. 
 
 • 61 
 
 it was for my father before me. It was very 
 serviceable to him, and it contains all that is 
 really necessary to be known : — who performs 
 the services in each of the churches, and who 
 in the new district-chapels ; where one can find 
 lodgings, servants, clothes, and food; who has 
 changed his place of residence, and who has 
 departed this life altogether; with much infor- 
 mation concerning law and matrimony. Truly 
 the Directory is very useful in affairs both of 
 life and death. 
 
 The churchyard and the Directory are, and 
 always have been, my two greatest comforts : 
 they are sure to put me in a good humour. 
 
 Will you go with me to the churchyard ? Let 
 us visit it now that the sun is shining, and the 
 trees are green ! Let us wander among the 
 graves ! Each of these is like a locked book, 
 with only its title shown : the name can be read, 
 and from it can be gathered an idea of the con- 
 tents of the book, but nothing else. I however 
 know somewhat more. I have the advantage of 
 my father’s knowledge, as well as my own. I 
 have it all down in my records of the grave , and 
 that is a book I have written myself, for my own 
 
62 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 use and pleasure; they are all entered there, 
 and many more since. 
 
 Here we are now at the churchyard. 
 
 There, beyond yon white wooden railing, 
 where a rose-bush used to stand — it is gone 
 now, but a twig of evergreen from the next 
 grave has found its way in, as if kindly to make 
 the place look less deserted — reposes a very un- 
 fortunate man ; and yet, while he lived, he was 
 well off, as people call it ; he had a competency, 
 and something to spare, but he thought too 
 much about the opinion of the world, from 
 which you may infer that he was an artist. One 
 evening, at the theatre, something went absurdly 
 wrong in the machinery — no matter what — but 
 it set the audience laughing, and they could not 
 check their mirth. They laughed on even when 
 they should have been serious, and this disturbed 
 and angered the irritable genius so much, that 
 it sent him to his grave. 
 
 Here sleeps a very fortunate man ; that is to 
 say, he was a man of distinguished station and 
 high birth, and that was his good fortune, for 
 otherwise no one would have thought anything 
 of him. But it is a pleasure to reflect how wisely 
 
GOOD HUMOUR. 
 
 63 
 
 everything is arranged in nature. He went 
 about in grand costume, and his place in the 
 saloons of the great was pretty much the same 
 as that of the costly, magnificently-embroidered 
 bell-rope, behind which there is always a good 
 strong useful cord to do the work. He had also 
 his useful cord behind him, a substitute, who did 
 all his work, and does the same work now for 
 another new embroidered bell-rope. Well! it 
 is all right, and properly ordered. 
 
 Yonder rests — really it is a sad story — yonder 
 rests a man, who fo sixty-seven years was la- 
 bouring to produce a clever witticism : this was 
 the great — the sole object of his life : at length 
 he accomplished it, at least according to his own 
 conviction, and so delighted was he that he ac- 
 tually died of joy; no one else therefore had 
 the benefit of it, or was able to appreciate his 
 success. I verily believe that the poor man can 
 hardly rest in his grave from anxiety to make it 
 known ; and that, if the dead can rise at mid- 
 night, as some think they do, he will come forth 
 some night to publish it. But if no one should 
 admire it ! What a mortification ! Ah — this 
 
 is a melancholy grave ! 
 
64 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 Here lies a young lady of good family ; she 
 was principally noted for always favouring the 
 company, when in society, with a display of her 
 vocal powers ; at length she sang, “ Mi manca 
 la voce:” that was the only truth she had ever 
 uttered in her life ! 
 
 In this tomb reposes a damsel of another de- 
 scription. When the voice of Love penetrates 
 to the heart, that of Reason is seldom heard. 
 The lovely girl stood in all the glory of matri- 
 mony. It is an everyday story, but a sad one 
 to tell. Let the dead rest in peace ! 
 
 That grave contains an old dowager ; words, 
 sweet as the dying strains of the swan, were 
 ever on her lips, but her heart was of gall, and 
 its tones harsh as the screech-owl’s voice. She 
 roved about from family to family, rapaciously 
 preying upon her neighbours’ faults, and pre- 
 tending to find them, where none existed. 
 
 Here is a family vault. All the members of 
 that self-sufficient race looked upon themselves 
 as infallible, and upheld each other in every- 
 thing. If the whole world and the newspapers 
 asserted a fact, and the youngest boy came home 
 from school and said, “ I have heard it in this 
 
GOOD HUMOUR. 
 
 65 
 
 way/' his way must be right, for he was one of 
 the family. They carried this self-conceit so 
 far, that, of a surety, if the cock in the family's 
 ponltry-yard thought fit to crow at midnight, 
 they would insist that it must be morning, even 
 though the watchman and every clock in town 
 said it was midnight. 
 
 The great Goethe concludes his c Faust' by 
 saying that it u might be continued ; " so also 
 might be our wanderings here in the church- 
 yard; for hither I come often. If any of my 
 friends or enemies do anything to annoy me, I 
 betake myself to this place, look out for a nice 
 piece of green-sward, and allot it to him or to her, 
 as it may be, bury them forthwith, and let them 
 lie there dead and powerless, until they come 
 back new and better creatures, while I describe 
 their lives and characters, as I have viewed 
 them, in my records of the grave. My advice 
 to every one is to follow the same plan. Never 
 put yourself into a passion when people do any- 
 thing to provoke you, but bury them at once ; 
 keep your temper, and read the Directory, which 
 is the people's universal book. 
 
 When the time comes that I myself shall be 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 deposited in the grave, let this be the inscrip- 
 tion on my tomb-stone : — 
 
 G-ood Humour.’ 
 
is a ©fferaite. 
 
69 
 
 THERE IS A DIFFERENCE. 
 
 — ♦ 
 
 It was in the month of May ; the winds still 
 blew rather coldly, but Spring was come, — at 
 least so said the bushes and the trees, the fields 
 and the meadows, for they were covered with 
 blossoms, and the deadened hedges were awaking 
 into renewed life. But Spring spoke for itself 
 from a tiny apple-tree, that was little more than 
 a twig, so fresh, so blooming, laden with delicate 
 rose-tinted buds, that were about to open. It 
 knew very well itself how pretty it was, for 
 beauty is hereditary through the medium of the 
 leaf, as well as of the blood, and therefore it 
 was not surprised that a nobleman's carriage 
 stopped on the road opposite to it, and that the 
 young Countess said this apple-blossom was the 
 
70 
 
 A poet's day dreams. 
 
 most charming she had ever seen, in fact was 
 Spring itself, in its earliest stage. The twig was 
 broken off, the lady held it in her delicate hand, 
 and shaded it with her silk parasol; and thus 
 they drove on to the palace, where there w r ere 
 many splendid saloons. Clear white curtains 
 waved before the open window, and lovely flowers, 
 in superb vases, were to be seen there ; in one 
 of these, which was as white as if formed of 
 the newly-fallen snow, was the branch with the 
 apple-blossom placed, amidst fresh leaves from 
 a beech-tree ; it was a pleasure to see them. 
 
 So the twig became very proud — just like a 
 human being. A number of persons passed 
 through the rooms, and some, who wished to be 
 thought very wise, expressed their astonishment, 
 and some said scarcely anything, and others said 
 too much; so the apple-tree branch perceived 
 that there was a difference between men as well 
 as between plants. “ Some care about grandeur ; 
 some care about eating ; and there are some w r ho 
 might very well be dispensed with altogether," 
 thought the Apple-blossom ; and as it was placed 
 near the open window, whence it could see over 
 the garden and the fields, it had flowers and 
 
THERE IS A DIFFERENCE. 
 
 71 
 
 weeds enough to look at and to reflect upon ; 
 there they stood, rich and poor, — some indeed 
 very humble. 
 
 “Poor despised herbs !” said the Apple-blos- 
 som, “ what a difference there is between us ! and 
 how unhappy you must feel, if such as you can 
 feel, in the way that I and those like myself do ! 
 Yes, there is a vast difference between us, and 
 it is well that it should be so, or there would be 
 too much equality.” 
 
 And the Apple-blossom looked with a sort of 
 compassion upon the field-flowers, and particu- 
 larly upon one little flower, of which there were 
 many scattered over the ground and in the 
 ditches. No one made bouquets of them ; they 
 were too common, for they were even to be 
 found among the stones of the bridge; they 
 grew like the most noxious weeds, in spite of 
 everything, and therefore the ugly name had 
 been bestowed upon them of “ the DeviTs Milk- 
 pails*.” 
 
 “ Poor despised plant ! ” cried the Apple-blos- 
 som, “ thou canst not help being what thou art ; 
 thou canst not help that thou art so vulgar, 
 
 * The common Danish name for the Dandelion ( Leontodon ) . 
 
72 
 
 A POET^S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 and hast such a frightful name ! It is with 
 plants as with mankind, — there must be a dif- 
 ference among them.” 
 
 “Difference !” exclaimed the Sunbeam, as he 
 kissed the lovely Apple-blossom; but he also 
 kissed the unpretending wild-flowers out on the 
 field, and not only he, but all his brethren 
 among the sunbeams saluted the poorest weeds 
 as well as the rarest flowers. 
 
 The Apple-blossom had never reflected upon 
 the great and universal love of the Creator for 
 all his works — for all that live and have their 
 being through Him ; it had never reflected how 
 much of goodness and beauty might lie con- 
 cealed from the world, but not forgotten by 
 Him. In this also the thoughtless flower much 
 resembled mankind. 
 
 The Sunbeam — the ray from the great lumi- 
 nary above — knew better : “ Thou dost not see 
 far ; thou dost not see clearly. Which is the 
 insignificant herb that thou so particularly 
 pitiest?” 
 
 “It is the dandelion,” said the Apple-blossom. 
 “ They are never placed in the bouquet ; they 
 are trodden under foot ; there are too many of 
 
THERE IS A DIFFERENCE. 
 
 73 
 
 them, and when they run to seed, they fly about, 
 like little patches of wool floating in the air, 
 over the roads, and hang about people’s clothes: 
 they are but miserable weeds.” 
 
 And now over the lawn came bounding a 
 troop of playful children, the youngest of whom 
 was so little that some of the rest carried him. 
 They set him down on the grass, in the midst 
 of the yellow flowers, and he laughed with 
 delight, clapped his little hands, rolled himself 
 about, plucked the golden flowers, and kissed 
 them in his sweet innocence. Those of the 
 children who were rather older, gathered them, 
 and, putting them together, link by link, formed 
 chains of flowers, which they bound round their 
 heads, shoulders, waists, and arms, until they 
 seemed quite encircled and covered with a dra- 
 pery of flowers and verdure; but the eldest 
 among them laid hold cautiously of the stems 
 of those gossamer flowers — fine as the softest 
 down; and then, holding them before their 
 mouths for a moment, blew them off to career 
 in the empty air : those who could achieve this 
 well, believed that they would get nice new 
 clothes before the year was out, — so, at least, 
 
74 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 said their old grandmothers. The despised 
 flower was certainly considered as a veritable 
 prophet on this occasion. 
 
 “ Dost thon behold?” said the Sunbeam, — 
 “dost thou behold its beauty? dost thou behold 
 its pow r er ?” 
 
 “ It has these only in thee yes of children/’ 
 replied the Apple-blossom. 
 
 And an old woman went out upon the green, 
 and dug up, with her knife, many of the roots 
 of the flowers ; some of them she intended to 
 boil, instead of coffee, for herself ; the remain- 
 der she meant to sell to the apothecary, to be 
 made into medicine. 
 
 “ Beauty is a superior charm,” said the 
 Apple-blossom ; “ only a few chosen ones can 
 claim that rare distinction. There is a differ- 
 ence among plants as well as among mankind ” 
 
 Then the Sunbeam discoursed about the in- 
 finite love of God towards the whole creation, 
 and how admirably His wisdom had fixed all 
 things in time and eternity. 
 
 “Oh yes, very true !” said the Apple-blossom. 
 
 Just then, a party entered the saloon, and 
 among them was the young Countess — she who 
 
THERE IS A DIFFERENCE. 
 
 75 
 
 had so much admired the branch of apple-blos- 
 som,, and had placed it in the vase, upon which 
 the sunbeam fell. She brought a flower, or 
 something at least, almost hidden among three 
 or four large leaves, in the hollow formed by 
 which it lay — so that not even a breath of air 
 might get to it to injure it ; more carefully did 
 she carry it, than she had carried the lovely 
 sprig of apple-blossom itself. The sheltering 
 leaves were now opened, and the fine gossamer 
 flower of the despised yellow dandelion appeared. 
 It was that which she had plucked so gently, 
 and carried so carefully, that none of its fine, 
 fragile, feathery down might escape. Safety 
 and unimpaired she had conveyed it thither, 
 and admired its pretty form, its airy grace, its 
 varied beauties, before it should float away from 
 her on the summer breeze. 
 
 “Look!” she exclaimed, “how beautifully 
 the Lord of all has formed this simple flower ! 
 I will paint it along with the apple-blossom : 
 that belongs to a higher species of vegetation, 
 but this poor wild flower is charming also. How 
 different they are! and yet they have both a right 
 to be called beautiful.” 
 
76 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 / 
 
 And the Sunbeam kissed the poor wild floweret; 
 and then he kissed the lovely Apple-blossom ; 
 and at that moment it seemed to have borrowed 
 the hue of the blush rose. 
 
% dooi) for |lot(jin§. 
 

79 
 
 A GOOD FOR NOTHING. 
 
 A magistrate stood at his open window ; he 
 had on a ruffled shirt, with a jewelled breast- 
 pin in it; he was particularly well shaved, 
 though it was his own performance; but he 
 had managed to give himself a slight cut, over 
 which he had skilfully placed a neat patch. 
 
 “Come here, you youngster!” cried he. 
 
 And the youngster was no other than the 
 son of the washerwoman, who happened to be 
 passing by ; he respectfully took off his cap- — 
 it was flat and battered down, so that it might 
 have been put into his pocket. In poor, but 
 clean and well-patched clothes, and with heavy 
 wooden shoes, stood the boy humbly, as if he 
 had been standing before the King himself. 
 
80 
 
 A POET S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 “ You are a good boy,” said the Magistrate, 
 “ a very civil boy. Your mother washes things 
 very well down at the river. You are going 
 there with what you have in your pocket. It 
 is a sad thing that your mother has such bad 
 habits ! How much have you there ?” 
 
 “ Half a gill/* said the boy, in a low voice, 
 and with a frightened look. 
 
 “And this morning she had the same?” 
 asked the gentleman. 
 
 “No, it was yesterday,” replied the child. 
 
 “ Two halves make a whole ! She is a good- 
 for-nothing. The intoxication that prevails 
 among that class of people is shocking ! Tell 
 your mother that she ought to be ashamed of 
 herself ; and don’t you ever become a drunken 
 sot — but you are sure to be one. Poor child ! 
 Go now !” 
 
 And the boy went. He held his cap in his 
 hand, and the wind blew about his golden 
 locks, so that they streamed in the air. He 
 went along the street, turned down the lane, 
 and so on to the river, where his mother w T as 
 standing in the water with her washing-stool, 
 and beating the linen with her batlet. The 
 
A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 
 
 81 
 
 sluice-gates of the water-mill were up, so that 
 the stream was running fast; the sheets, drawn 
 on by the current, threatened every moment to 
 carry away the stool, which the washerwoman 
 was obliged to hold fast. 
 
 “ I am almost exhausted,” said she ; “ I am 
 glad you have come, I shall now have some- 
 thing to strengthen me a little; for six hours 
 I have been standing here. Have you anything 
 for me ? ” 
 
 The boy brought out the flask ; the mother 
 put it to her lips and drank from it. 
 
 “ Oh, how much good it does me ! how it 
 warms me ! it is almost as good as warm meat, 
 and it does not cost so much. Take a drop, 
 my boy : you look so pale, and you are so cold 
 in those thin clothes ! It is chill autumn 
 now. Ah ! the water is very cold. What if I 
 should become ill ! But no — I shall not be ill. 
 Give me another drop now, and then do you 
 take some ; but only a sip — a little sip : you 
 must not accustom yourself to this, my poor 
 unfortunate child \ ” 
 
 She got upon the little bridge where the 
 boy was standing, and stepped from thence to 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 A POET’S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 the bank; water ran from the rope of rushes 
 she had tied round her waist — water streamed 
 from her scanty garments. 
 
 “ I toil and drudge, till the blood is ready to 
 burst from under my finger-nails ; but what 
 does that signify if I can only — only keep you 
 from want, my sweet boy \” 
 
 At that moment a somewhat older woman 
 approached them : she was very poorly clad, and 
 wretched in her general appearance; she was 
 lame, and had a large, thick, false curl hang- 
 ing over one eye, which it was intended to 
 conceal, but the injury to which the awkward 
 curl only made more observable. She was a 
 friend of the washerwoman , — “ lame Molly with 
 the curl ” the neighbours called her. 
 
 “ Poor thing ! how you toil, and slave, and 
 stand in that cold water ! you might be allowed 
 to have something to warm and strengthen you, 
 without their finding fault with the drop you 
 take and then the whole of the Magistrate’s 
 discourse with the boy was repeated to the 
 washerwoman, for Molly had overheard it all ; 
 and much enraged she was, that he should have 
 
A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 
 
 83 
 
 spoken thus to the child about his own mother, 
 and blamed her for the little drop she took, 
 while the gentleman himself drank wine from 
 a handsome decanter even at his luncheon. 
 “ Fine wine and strong wine ! rather more than 
 any thirst requires ; but this is not called drink- 
 ing — oh no ! It is all very proper in them , 
 but you are a good-for-nothing !” 
 
 “ Did he speak in this manner to you, my 
 boy?” said the washerwoman, with quivering 
 lips ; “ you have a mother who is good for no- 
 thing ! Perhaps he is right, yet he should not 
 have spoken so to my own child. But from 
 that house much affliction has come to me ! ” 
 
 “ You were a servant in that house, when 
 the Magistrate’s parents were alive and resided 
 there ; but that is many years ago. Many a 
 bitter morsel has been eaten since then ! ” and 
 Molly laughed. “ There was to have been a 
 grand dinner today at the Magistrate’s, and 
 everything was ready for the feast, but they 
 had to give it up. I have it from the man- 
 servant himself. About an hour ago a letter 
 was received, mentioning that the youngest 
 brother, in Copenhagen, is dead.” 
 
 g 2 
 
84 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 “Dead!” shrieked the washerwoman, turn- 
 ing as white as a corpse. 
 
 “ Bless me ! ” exclaimed the elder woman, 
 “ what should you care about it ? But, by the 
 bye, you knew him when you lived in the 
 family.” 
 
 “And is he dead ? He was the best, the most 
 excellent of human beings. Our Lord creates 
 few like him;” and the tears rolled down her 
 cheeks. “ Oh, Heavens ! my head seems swim- 
 ming round ! perhaps I drank too much from 
 the flask : I feel so ill !” and she leant for sup- 
 port against the wooden railing. 
 
 “ Good gracious ! you are very unwell,” said 
 the woman ; “ but you may be better presently. 
 No, you really are ill, you must let me take 
 you home.” 
 
 “ But the linen there ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, I will look after that. Here, take my 
 arm ! the boy can stay and watch the linen 
 until I return ; I will finish your work for you, 
 there is not much more to do.” 
 
 The feet of the washerwoman seemed to give 
 way beneath her. 
 
 “ I have remained too long in the cold water ; 
 
A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 
 
 85 
 
 I have not had a dry stitch about me since 
 morning. I feel as if I had fever : how my 
 head aches ! Oh, Lord Jesus ! help me and my 
 poor child ! ” and she wept bitterly. 
 
 The boy cried also^ and sat down to keep his 
 lonely watch over the clothes. The two went 
 slowly away, — the poor washerwoman with tot- 
 tering steps, up the lane, down the street, and 
 past the Magistrate’s house, and just before 
 it she sank, exhausted, on the pavement. A 
 crowd immediately gathered. Lame Molly 
 rushed into the court-yard, calling for help. 
 The gentleman and his friends looked out from 
 the windows. 
 
 “It is only the washerwoman,” said he: “she 
 has been drinking too much ; she is a good- 
 for-nothing creature. It is a sad pity, for the 
 sake of her poor child. I am very sorry for 
 the boy; as to the mother, she is good for 
 nothing.” 
 
 She recovered from her fainting-fit, and was 
 taken to her miserable home, where they laid 
 her on her bed. The well-meaning Molly pre- 
 pared for her a cup of warmed ale, with a little 
 butter and sugar : it was what she thought the 
 
86 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 best medicine; then she returned to the wash- 
 ing-ground, and after having thumped the re- 
 mainder of the linen with all her might, she 
 congratulated herself upon the result of her 
 kind exertions, and brought the wet load back 
 with her. 
 
 In the evening she sat with the invalid in 
 her poor apartment. Some potatoes and a few 
 slices of ham, which she had obtained from the 
 Magistrate’s cook for the sick woman, made 
 a comfortable meal for herself and the child; 
 the invalid w as satisfied with the smell of the 
 victuals. 
 
 The boy then went to bed — the same on 
 which his mother was lying, but his place was 
 at her feet— and an old faded coverlet was 
 thrown over him, which had once been gay 
 with the blue and scarlet stripes in which it had 
 been worked. 
 
 The washerwoman felt a little better, for the 
 warm ale had strengthened her, and the very 
 savour of the nice supper had done her good. 
 
 “ Thanks, thanks, you kind creature,” said 
 she to Molly. “ I w^ill tell you everything when 
 the boy is asleep. I think he sleeps already. 
 
A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 
 
 87 
 
 How calm and innocent he looks, with his eyes 
 closed ! He knows not why his mother suffers 
 so greatly. May God preserve him from so 
 much sorrow \ 33 
 
 “ I was a servant at the Counsellor’s — the 
 father of the Magistrate. And it so happened 
 that the youngest son, who was a student at 
 college, came home on a visit. I was then 
 young, gay, and thoughtless ; but, Heaven is my 
 witness, I was innocent, and had no evil de- 
 signs,” said the invalid. “ The student was so 
 lively, so pleasing, so joyous ! — there was not 
 a drop of bad blood in his composition. He 
 was all goodness and kindness ; a better young 
 man never lived upon this earth. He was a 
 member of the family, and I only a servant- 
 girl; yet we became lovers, and our love was 
 honourable on his part, and pure on mine. He 
 confided it to his mother : he looked upon her 
 as a sort of guardian-angel ; and she was indeed 
 one of the most amiable, most sensible, and 
 kindest of women. 
 
 “ He had to leave us ; and he placed his gold 
 ring upon my finger. When he was gone, my 
 mistress called me into her private room, and 
 
88 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 there she stood looking so serious and yet so 
 mild ! I could have fancied a superior being from 
 a higher world was before me. She pointed out 
 to me the great disparity in mind and in station 
 between her son and me. She said that though 
 he then was attracted by my beauty, that would 
 fade, and there was nothing to replace it. I 
 was without education, she said, whereas his 
 intellect was highly cultivated; and that this 
 vast difference between us would eventually 
 lead to unhappiness, since there could be no- 
 thing congenial in our tastes and habits. C I 
 respect the poor/ said she ; ‘ perhaps in heaven 
 they will hold a higher place than many of the 
 rich; but in this world one should not rush 
 thoughtlessly and madly on a career which is 
 to be a journey for life, lest one should be upset 
 in the way, as you two would assuredly be. I 
 know that a worthy man, a tradesman, has pro- 
 posed to you — I mean Eric, the glover ; he is a 
 widower without children, and is well off ; you 
 had better think of his offer.’ Every word that 
 she uttered was like a knife stabbing me to 
 the heart ; but the lady was right ; still I felt 
 crushed and wretched. I kissed her hand, and 
 
A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 
 
 89 
 
 shed many salt tears, and still more freely did 
 they flow when I had withdrawn to my own 
 room, and was alone with my sorrow. It was 
 a sad night which followed that miserable day ; 
 God only knows how I laughed, and shrieked, 
 and raved ! The Sunday after, I went to church, 
 to the Communion-table, to seek comfort there. 
 And I was comforted. As I was leaving church, 
 I met Eric, the glover. My mind was made up ; 
 we met each other civilly and quietly, for he 
 was always very well behaved. I went up to 
 him, held out my hand to him, and said, 'Do 
 you still care for me ? 5 'I do, and always 
 shall/ was his reply. ' Will you marry a girl 
 who respects and esteems you, but cannot offer 
 you her love yet ?’ e That will follow/ said he ; 
 so we plighted our faith to each other. I went 
 home to my mistress; the gold ring her son 
 had given me I had placed near my heart, for 
 I could not wear it on my finger during the 
 day, only at night when I retired to rest. I 
 kissed the ring till my lips bled, and then I 
 gave it to my mistress, and told her that the 
 following week I was to be married to the 
 glover. She threw her arms round me and 
 
90 
 
 A POET’S DAY DREAMS, 
 
 kissed me ; she did not say that I was good-for- 
 nothing ; but perhaps I was better then, though 
 I had not experienced so many reverses as I 
 have done since. The wedding took place at 
 Candlemas ; and for the first year all went well 
 - — we had a good house, a lad, and female ser- 
 vants ; and you, Molly, were among these.” 
 
 “Oh, you were a blessed mistress,” said 
 Molly ; “ never shall I forget how kind you and 
 your husband were ! ” 
 
 “It was in our prosperous days that you 
 were with us. We had then no children. I 
 never saw the student again. But I am wrong, 
 I did see him, but he did not see me. He 
 came here to his mother’s funeral. I saw him 
 standing by the grave ; he was as pale as death, 
 and looked so sad ; but that sorrow was for his 
 mother. After his father’s death, he went to 
 travel in foreign countries, and has never been 
 here since. He never married, that I know; 
 he devoted himself entirely to his profession — 
 the law. Me he must have forgotten ; and even 
 had he seen me, he could never have recognized 
 me, so ugly have I become : but it is all right.” 
 
 Then she spoke of the heavy trials she had 
 
A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 
 
 91 
 
 undergone when misfortune seemed to hover 
 over them. They had a little capital of five 
 hundred rix-dollars, and there was a house to 
 he sold for two hundred ; it wanted repairs, but 
 they bought it. Then the masons and carpen- 
 ters gave in their estimates at a thousand rix- 
 dollars, and the money had to be borrowed. 
 She continued — 
 
 “ About this time, my dear little boy, who is 
 sleeping there, was born. His father fell into 
 a severe and lingering illness. For three entire 
 years he was quite helpless, and I had even to 
 dress and undress him. Everything went wrong 
 with us; we borrowed and borrowed; all our 
 furniture and effects went, and my husband 
 died at length ! I have worked, and drudged, 
 and toiled, trying to scrape up something for 
 the poor child. I have scoured floors and 
 washed linen, and exerted myself to labour in 
 every way; but I shall never get better now. 
 God’s will be done ! May He have mercy on 
 me, and protect my child!” So saying, she 
 fell asleep. 
 
 In the morning she felt so much better, that 
 she thought herself able to return to her work. 
 
92 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 But she had scarcely gone into the cold stream 
 than she was seized with a shivering fit and 
 faintness. Convulsively she clasped her hands ; 
 a deep groan escaped from her lips, and she fell 
 suddenly down. Her head lay on the dry bank ; 
 but her feet were immersed in the water ; her 
 washing-tubs, with nothing to secure them, 
 floated away down the stream; and in this 
 state she was found by Molly, who had come 
 with some coffee for her. 
 
 In the meantime a messenger had arrived at 
 her humble home from the Magistrate, desiring 
 her to come to his house, as he had something 
 to communicate to her. She was not there ; so 
 the messenger proceeded to the river-side. The 
 washerwoman was dead ! 
 
 “ She has drutik herself to death,” said the 
 Magistrate. 
 
 In the letter which brought the intelligence 
 of his brother’s death, the contents of his will 
 were given; and therein appeared the sum of 
 six hundred rix-dollars bequeathed to the 
 glover’s widow who had formerly lived as ser- 
 vant with his parents. It was directed that the 
 money should be judiciously given to her and 
 
A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 
 
 93 
 
 her child — in larger or smaller portions, as they 
 might require it. 
 
 “ There was once some sort of tender con- 
 nection between my brother and her,” said the 
 Magistrate ; “ it is as well that she is out of 
 the way; the boy will now inherit the whole 
 sum, and I shall place him with respectable 
 people ; he may become a good mechanic.” 
 
 So he called the boy into his patronizing 
 presence, promised to provide for him, and told 
 him how fortunate it was that his mother was 
 dead, for she was good for nothing ! 
 
 She was buried in a pauper’s grave, Molly 
 planted a rose-bush on the lowly mound, and 
 the child stood by it. 
 
 “'My dear, dear mother!” said he, as the 
 tears streamed from his eyes, “ is it true that 
 she was a — good-for-nothing?” 
 
 “ No, she was good !” said the poor woman, 
 looking up towards heaven : “ I knew her good- 
 ness many years ago, and better still last night. 
 I tell you she was very good; and our Lord up 
 yonder, in the Kingdom of Heaven, knows that 
 too; it is only the wicked world which say, 
 
 * She was good for nothing.’ ” 
 
% leaf from Jjeakn. 
 
97 
 
 A LEAF FROM HEAYEN. 
 
 + 
 
 High above, in the pure clear air, flew an angel, 
 with a flower from the gardens of Heaven ; and 
 just as he had imprinted a kiss upon it, one of 
 its little tiny petals fell downwards, and alight- 
 ing upon the moist ground in the midst of the 
 wood, it immediately took root there, and put 
 forth its shoots like the other plants. 
 
 “That is an odd slip yonder!” they ex- 
 claimed ; and no one seemed to know whether 
 it was a thistle or a nettle. 
 
 “ Perhaps it is a garden flower ,” said they, 
 as they laughed at and ridiculed it ; but it grew 
 and flourished more than any of the rest. 
 
 “What do you want here?” cried the tall 
 thistle, with its stinging leaves : “ do you mean 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 to be a check upon us ? this is not your home, 
 and we are not going to put up with you.” 
 
 Winter arrived, snow covered the plants, but 
 from that one the snow glanced so brightly 
 that it looked like a sparkling sunbeam. 
 
 In Spring it had grown into a blooming 
 plant, more beautiful than any other in the 
 wood. 
 
 The Professor of Botany now began to make 
 his excursions ; he came, among other places, to 
 this wood, and he brought his Botanical Cate- 
 chism with him. He looked at the plant and 
 then at his book, but there was no description 
 of it in his “ Guide to Botany,” therefore it 
 was impossible for him to find out to what class 
 it belonged. 
 
 “ It is a variety,” said he ; "I do not know 
 it, it is not laid down in our system of Botany.” 
 
 “Not laid down!” said the thistle and the 
 nettle ; the large trees round stood and listened, 
 and looked on, but they said nothing either 
 for or against it, and it is always the safest way 
 to be — dumb. 
 
 Then there came through the wood a very 
 poor, but innocent girl ; her heart was pure, 
 
A LEAF FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 99 
 
 her understanding strong through faith, her 
 only earthly possession was an old Bible, but 
 from its pages the voice of God spoke to her, 
 “ I dwell in the high and holy place, with him 
 also that is of a contrite and humble spirit,” 
 and “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome 
 evil with good.” 
 
 If we suffer wrongfully, if we are misjudged 
 and scorned, then we are like unto Him, the 
 purest and the best, Him they scoffed at, and 
 nailed to the cross, where he prayed — “ Father, 
 forgive them, for they know not what they 
 do!” 
 
 She stopped before the unknown plant, whose 
 green leaves where so sweetly fragrant, and 
 whose flowers in the bright sunshine looked 
 like a splendid display of fireworks ; and there 
 came tones from each, as if arising from the 
 deep wells of melody, which thousands of years 
 shall not exhaust. With fervent devotion, she 
 thought of all God’s glorious works ; she drew 
 down one of the branches, in order to examine 
 the flower more nearly and to inhale its per- 
 fume, and it gladdened her heart. Fain would 
 she have taken one of the flowers, but she feared 
 
 h 2 
 
100 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 to break one off, lest it should soon wither in 
 her hands, and therefore she took but a single 
 green leaf, carried it home, and laid it in her 
 Bible, where it looked always fresh and un- 
 decayed. 
 
 It remained hidden among the leaves of the 
 Bible, and with the Bible it was laid under the 
 young girl’s head, when, some weeks after, she 
 was placed in her coffin, with death’s holy solem- 
 nity upon her sweet countenance, as if it were 
 imprinted on that dust of the earth, that the 
 spirit stood before its God. 
 
 But out in the wood bloomed the wonderful 
 plant. Soon it grew to be a tree, and all the 
 birds of passage came and saluted it, but par- 
 ticularly the swallow and the stork. 
 
 “ It is some foreign thing,” said the thistle 
 and the burdock, “ therefore how could we here 
 at home resemble it ?” 
 
 And the dark snails sneered. 
 
 Then came the swineherd, and he pulled up 
 the thistles and the other weeds to burn, and he 
 dug up the whole of the wonderful tree, even to 
 the roots, and made it into bundles, for he said, 
 “ That shall also be rendered serviceable.” 
 
A LEAF FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 101 
 
 In about a year from that time the King of 
 the country fell into a state of deep melancholy ; 
 he sought all manner of occupation, but was 
 none the better for it ; the most philosophical 
 works were read to him, and also the lightest 
 that could be procured : neither did any good. 
 Then came a message from one of the wisest 
 men in the world, who had been applied to, and 
 he told them that there existed a remedy which 
 would prove an infallible restorative to the 
 sufferer. 
 
 “ In the King’s own realms there grows in a 
 wood a plant of heavenly origin ; it has often 
 been seen without having been remarked.” 
 Then followed a description of the plant, which 
 would make it easy to find. 
 
 “ It is green in winter as well as in summer ; 
 take therefore, every evening, a fresh leaf from it, 
 and lay it on the King’s brow ; it will influence 
 his thoughts, and a delightful dream every night 
 will strengthen him for the coming day.” The 
 directions were distinct enough; so all the 
 doctors and the Professor of Botany went forth 
 into the wood — but where was the plant ? 
 
 “ I made it into faggots,” said the swine- 
 
102 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 herd ; “ it has gone to ashes long ago : I knew 
 no better.” 
 
 “ Knew no better ! ” exclaimed all the learned 
 men together. “Ignorant! Ignorant!” and that 
 accusation the swineherd might lay to heart : of 
 course it applied to nobody else. 
 
 Not a leaf of the plant was to be found; the 
 only one left lay in the coffin of the dead, — 
 and no one knew anything about it. 
 
 The King himself came, in one of his fits 
 of despondency, to the wood, and to the spot. 
 “ Here the tree stood,” cried he, “ it is a sacred 
 spot.” 
 
 And the place was enclosed by a gilded rail- 
 ing, and sentries watched it night and day. 
 
 The Professor of Botany wrote a pamphlet 
 about the celestial plant, therefore he received 
 a golden reward, which gave him and his family 
 great pleasure. This is the most joyful part of 
 the whole story, for the plant was gone, and the 
 King remained melancholy and afflicted. 
 
 “ But he was so before,” said the swineherd. 
 

105 
 
 GRIEF 0E HEART. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 This, with which we have at present to do, is 
 a tale in two parts; the first part may indeed 
 be short, but it gives us the rudiments of the 
 story, and therefore it is serviceable. 
 
 We were staying in the country, at a lordly 
 mansion, and it so happened that the family 
 there were absent for a day. During their 
 absence, there came from the nearest market- 
 town a good dame, who brought her lap-dog 
 with her ; she came, as she said, to solicit the 
 family to take “ shares” in her tannery. She 
 was laden with her prospectuses, and we advised 
 her to put some of them in an envelope, and 
 address it, on the outside, to the owner of the 
 house. 
 
 “ Commissary-general of war, Knight, etc. etc.” 
 
106 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 She listened to us, took up a pen, asked us to 
 tell her the proper address again, and to say it 
 slowly. “ Commissary-general,” repeated she, 
 stopping short — and then she sighed and said, 
 “ I am but a woman \ } * She had put the lap- 
 dog down on the floor while she was writing, 
 and he growled ; he had been brought with her 
 for the sake of his health, and for her pleasure, 
 and she had no business to place him on the 
 floor. A snub-nosed, fat animal he was. 
 
 “ He does not bite,” said the dame, “ he has 
 no teeth ; he is just like one of the family, and 
 so faithful ! A little snappish to be sure, but 
 he has been teased into that by my grandchil- 
 dren : they were playing at having a wedding, 
 and they would have him to be bridesmaid ; 
 and that was too fatiguing for him, poor dear 
 creature ! ” 
 
 So she put up her papers, and took the lap- 
 dog in her arms. This is the first part, which 
 really could not have been dispensed with. 
 
 The lap-dog died ! That is the second part. 
 
 About a week after, we went to the market- 
 town, and put up at the inn. Our windows 
 looked out upon a court-yard, which was divided 
 
GRIEF OF HEART. 
 
 107 
 
 in two by a wooden fence. In one of these hung 
 skins and hides, raw and tanned ; here were to 
 be seen all the implements needful in a tan-yard, 
 and it was that which belonged to the widow. 
 The lap-dog had died that very morning, and 
 was buried there in the yard, the widow’s grand- 
 children — that is to say, the grandchildren of 
 the tanner’s widow, for the lap-dog had not been 
 married — were filling up the grave; it must have 
 been quite a pleasure to lie there. The grave 
 was enclosed by pieces of broken crockery-ware, 
 and strewed with sand ; by way of a tombstone, 
 the children placed upon it an old oil-flask, with 
 its neck upwards, this could not however be 
 deemed very allegorical. 
 
 The children danced round the grave, and the 
 eldest of the boys, a sturdy little urchin of about 
 seven years of age, proposed that there should 
 be an exhibition of the lap-dog’s grave, to every 
 one in the street ; admission was to be paid for, 
 and the price was to be a button, — that being an 
 article every boy had, and which might also be 
 found on the clothes of many of the little girls ; 
 and his proposition was carried nem. con . 
 
 So all the children from the street and from 
 
108 
 
 A POET’S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 the back-street came and paid their button. 
 Not a few of them were observed afterwards 
 in the evening going about with their garments 
 hanging by one button; however they had seen 
 the lap-dog’s grave — and the button was well 
 bestowed. 
 
 But outside of the tan-yard, close up to the 
 gate, stood a little child in tatters, miserably 
 clad, but with such beautiful glossy curls and 
 such clear blue eyes, that it was a pleasure to 
 look at her; she said not a word, nor did she 
 cry, but she looked on so wistfully every time 
 the wicket in the gate opened. She knew that 
 she did not possess a single button, therefore she 
 stood timidly and sorrowfully on the outside ; 
 there she stood, while all the other children 
 passed in and passed out again ; and when they 
 were all gone she sat down quietly, put her hands 
 before her pretty face, and burst into tears, — she 
 alone had not seen the lap-dog’s grave ! 
 
 It was to her a real grief of heart , acute, as 
 children’s sorrows often are. 
 
 We beheld this from the opposite windows — 
 and, seen thus from a little distance, how many 
 of our own and of other people’s sorrows might 
 
GRIEF OF HEART. 
 
 109 
 
 not seem equally trivial, and equally deserving 
 of ridicule ! 
 
 This is the story; and those who do not 
 understand it can take shares in the widow’s 
 tannery. 
 
fitotjjmg m its |li§jjt JJktt 
 
113 
 
 EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. 
 
 ^ — 
 
 More than a hundred years ago, there stood 
 behind a forest, and near a large lake, an old 
 baronial castle, surrounded by a deep moat, 
 wherein grew many reeds and bulrushes. Close 
 by the drawbridge, which led to the main gate, 
 stood an old willow-tree, that leaned over the 
 rushes. 
 
 From the defile there arose the clang of horns 
 and the clatter of horses* feet, and therefore the 
 little girl who was minding the geese hastene 1 
 to drive her charge from the drawbridge, before 
 the hunting-party should gallop up; but they 
 rushed on with such speed, that she had only 
 time to spring on one of the parapets of the 
 bridge, to escape being ridden over. 
 
 i 
 
114 
 
 A POET S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 She was still little more than a child, slender 
 and delicate, but with a pleasing countenance, 
 and uncommonly beautiful eyes ; but the lord 
 of the castle observed nothing of all this ; gal- 
 loping along as he came, he turned the whip he 
 held in his hand, and in pure sport he thrust 
 at her with its handle ; it knocked her on the 
 breast, and she fell over backwards. 
 
 “Everything in its right place l” cried he: 
 “down to the dirt with you l” and he laughed 
 loudly, it was so very amusing, and the others 
 all laughed with him ; the whole party hallooed 
 — the hounds bayed, for 
 
 “The rich bird comes with a whizzing sound*.” 
 
 — At that time he was rich enough. 
 
 * This line is a quotation from an old Danish Vise, or 
 song, which may be rendered into English, thus : 
 
 “ The poor bird comes limping away, 
 
 Slowly moving as it may, 
 
 Over mead and grassy plain. 
 c Rich bird, rich bird ! dost thou not see 
 How my feathers droop with pain ? 
 
 “ The rich bird comes with a whizzing sound, 
 
 Soaring far above the ground, 
 
 Over many a lofty height. 
 
 ‘ Poor bird, poor bird ! dost thou not see 
 How my wings are strong and bright ?’ ” 
 
 See Thiele’s c Danske Folkesagn,’ vol. ii. p. 150- -Transl. 
 
EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. 115 
 
 The poor girl stretched out her hands to 
 catch at something as she was falling, and she 
 got hold of one of the branches of the drooping- 
 willow ; but she was suspended over the moat ; 
 and as soon as the huntsmen and their hounds 
 were well in at the gate, she tried to get up to 
 the bridge, but the branch broke partially off 
 close by the stem, and down she fell among the 
 rushes. At that moment she found herself seized 
 in a powerful grasp, by a hand which was 
 stretched over her : it was that of a pedlar, 
 who, from a short distance, had observed her 
 situation, and had hastened to her rescue. 
 
 “ Everything in its right place,” he exclaimed, 
 mimicking the baron, as he drew her up to dry 
 land ; he then tried to replace the broken branch, 
 but in its “ right place” it never more could be 
 affixed ; so he broke it off entirely, and casting 
 it into the mire beneath, he exclaimed, Grow 
 if you can, and may one of your branches be 
 scooped out into a flute that shall surprise them 
 up at the castle ! ” He wished the nobleman 
 and his companions a good sound thrashing, and 
 hoped some day they would meet with their de- 
 serts ; and then he went up to the castle, but 
 
 i 2 
 
116 
 
 A poet's day dreams. 
 
 not to the grander apartments — he was too in- 
 significant for that. He went to the servants' 
 hall, and they examined the goods he had for 
 sale ; but from the banqueting-room above came 
 shouts and uproar, and discordant sounds which 
 were intended for songs. Laughter mingled 
 with the yells of the hounds; there was great 
 gormandizing and carousing going on ; wine and 
 old ale sparkled and foamed in goblets and in 
 jugs ; the hounds were gorged along with their 
 masters ; and in their drunken folly the sports- 
 men even kissed the animals, who, in truth, 
 were somewhat more rational than themselves. 
 The pedlar was sent for with his goods, but it 
 was merely to make rude rough sport of him 
 and them. More and more merry and obstre- 
 perous they became, until their senses began to 
 be overpowered by the strength and quantity of 
 their potations. 
 
 “Everything in its right place!" exclaimed 
 the pedlar, when he was safely out of Sodom and 
 Gomorrah , as he called the castle. “ The open 
 high-road, that is my right place; up yonder I 
 was quite out of my element." And as he 
 walked by, the little girl who looked after the 
 
EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. 117 
 
 geese nodded to liim from the gate of the 
 green. 
 
 Days and weeks passed on, and the broken 
 willow-branch, which the pedlar had thrown 
 down into the moat amidst the reeds and rushes, 
 looked fresh and flourishing, nay, it even put 
 forth shoots ; so the little girl who tended the 
 geese knew that it must have taken root down 
 there, and she rejoiced that “her tree,” as she 
 called it, lived and was thriving. 
 
 Yes ! It continued to flourish, but every- 
 thing else at the castle went faster and faster to 
 ruin. Gambling and drinking were the order 
 of the day and of the night there, and these are 
 not the best anchors to lean on. 
 
 Before six years had elapsed, the lord of the 
 castle wandered forth as a beggar, with his wal- 
 let and his staff, and the place was purchased 
 by a rich tradesman ; he was no other than the 
 very pedlar who had been once insulted in the 
 banqueting-hall of the castle during a scene of 
 drunken revelry. But honesty and industry 
 will win their way, and the pedlar was now the 
 owner of the castle. Prom the time that he 
 became master, there was no gambling allowed 
 
118 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 within its walls ; not a card was to be seen there, 
 for he asserted card-playing to be an invention 
 of the Evil One, contrived to lead mankind 
 astray. 
 
 The new master of the castle took a wife to 
 himself. And who was she ? She was the girl 
 who had looked after the geese, and who had 
 always been well-behaved, good, and pious. In 
 the handsome dresses she now wore, she looked 
 as beautiful, and as lady-like, as if she had been 
 born in a higher station of life. 
 
 All was happiness and prosperity at the old 
 castle. The mistress looked after the household 
 and other domestic matters; and the master 
 took charge of the out-door concerns. A bless- 
 ing appeared to be with all they did, and one 
 piece of good fortune followed the other. 
 
 The old castle was repaired and painted, and 
 kept nicely clean; the moat was cleared out, 
 and fruit-trees planted in it ; and on the mu- 
 ter evenings the mistress of the family sat and 
 span wool and linen with her maids. On the 
 Sunday evenings, the Bible was read aloud ; 
 and it was the high sheriff himself — for the 
 pedlar had arrived at that dignity in his more 
 advanced years — who read it. The children 
 
EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. 119 
 
 were healthy, and received a good education ; 
 but they could not boast of great abilities. 
 
 A hundred years had now passed. 
 
 It was in our own time; the lake had be- 
 come a morass ; the old castle was in ruins ; 
 and near it was an oblong pool of water, en- 
 circled by a low stone wall : this had formerly 
 been the deep moat, and here now stood a 
 magnificent old tree, with its drooping branches; 
 it was the tree that the pedlar’s wife, long, long 
 ago, had called “hers;” there it still stood, and 
 testified how beautiful a willow can become, 
 when it is left to itself. Its trunk was indeed 
 cleft from the roots upwards, and the winds had 
 twisted it ; but it stood nevertheless, and in its 
 cracks and crevices, where mould had gathered, 
 grew grass and flowers ; above, especially, where 
 the larger branches divided themselves, there 
 seemed quite a little hanging garden, with rasp- 
 berries and chickweed; and even a branch or 
 two of the mountain-ash, which had attached 
 themselves to it, their slender boughs and scarlet 
 berries contrasting well with the old willow- 
 tree, as it dipped itself in the water, over which 
 it cast a dark and somewhat gloomy shade. A 
 little path ran near this place. 
 
120 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 Upon the rising ground, near the wood, 
 from which there was a fine and extensive view, 
 stood the new house. It was a large, hand- 
 some building, with numerous light modern 
 windows. The wide steps at the front-door 
 looked gay with roses and other flowering plants, 
 and the lawn was as smooth as green velvet. 
 The rooms were filled with costly furniture, — 
 sofas and lounging-chairs, tables with white 
 marble slabs, and books richly bound in silk 
 and gold. Yes : the inhabitants of that house 
 were wealthy people ; moreover they were great 
 people; they were barons — hereditary barons, 
 for the title was transmitted from father to son. 
 
 “ Everything in its right place,” said they 
 also ; and therefore all the old pictures, which 
 had occupied the place of honour, and had been 
 greatly prized in the old castle, were now hung 
 up in the back passage, leading to the boys’ 
 school-room. Well scratched they were, es- 
 pecially two old portraits, — the one, of a man 
 in a red coat, and with a large wig ; the other, 
 of a lady, with powdered hair standing 'up very 
 high, and a rose in her hand ; each portrait 
 encircled with a thick wreath of willow-leaves. 
 
EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. 121 
 
 There were a number of holes in both the pic- 
 tures, which had been made by the little barons, 
 who frequently honoured the old couple by 
 making them their targets. These were the 
 likenesses of the high sheriff and his lady, the 
 founders of the race ! 
 
 “But they were not really of our family,” 
 said one of the little barons : “ he was a ped- 
 lar, and she was a girl who ran after the geese. 
 They were not like our papa and mamma.” 
 
 So the old portraits were scratched and ill- 
 used. And as everything must be “in its own 
 place,” the ancestor and ancestress adorned 
 the back passage to the school-room. The 
 tutor in the baron's family was a clergyman's 
 son. One day he went to take a walk with 
 the little barons and their eldest sister, who, 
 though still young, was grown up, and they 
 followed the path that led to the old willow- 
 tree. As they went on, she plucked the wild 
 flowers, to make a nosegay of them ; and as 
 she did so, she listened with pleasure to the 
 tutor's discourse about the beautiful works of 
 nature, and to anecdotes of men and women 
 celebrated in history. She was a sensible, 
 
122 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 amiable girl, noble in heart and mind, and with 
 a soul capable of valuing all God’s creations. 
 
 They stopped close by the old willow-tree, 
 and the youngest of the little barons wished 
 much to have a flute made from it. He had 
 often had flutes made from other willows ; so the 
 tutor broke a small branch off to please him. 
 
 “ Oh, do not touch that tree ! ” cried the 
 young baroness : but the branch was already 
 broken off. “That is our celebrated old tree: 
 I have such an affection for it ! They ridicule 
 me, at home, about it ; but I do not care. 
 There is a legend about this tree.” 
 
 She then repeated all that we have already 
 heard about the tree, about the old castle, 
 about the pedlar and the girl, who first met 
 there, and who afterwards became the founders 
 of her baronial family. 
 
 “ They would not receive a title, these good 
 old people,” said she : “ they had a saying, 
 
 c Everything in its right place,’ and they did 
 not think it proper to be ennobled only because 
 they were rich. It was their son — my great- 
 grandfather — who became a baron. He had 
 a first-rate education, was much taken notice 
 
EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. 123 
 
 of, associated with princes and princesses, and 
 was asked to all their parties. At home, every- 
 one thinks most of him ; bnt for my part — I 
 scarcely know why — there is something about 
 the old couple that attracts me more. They 
 must have been so patriarchal in their ways 
 yonder in the old castle, when the lady sa 
 spinning among the maids, and the husband 
 read the Bible aloud to them !” 
 
 “ They must indeed have been pious, ex- 
 cellent people!” said the clergyman’s son; 
 and the conversation then fell on the nobility 
 and the middle classes : and it might have 
 been thought that he did not belong to the 
 burgher class, so much did he speak in favour 
 of those who were noble. 
 
 “ It is pleasant to hear of a race who have 
 distinguished themselves — those who have as it 
 were a spur in their blood, urging them on to 
 high achievements. It is a proud thing to in- 
 herit an ancient name, which of itself is an 
 introduction to the highest society. Nobility 
 is the mint which puts a stamp upon that which 
 even of itself is valuable. It is the tone of the 
 times to assert — and many poets have adopted 
 
124 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 it — that people of rank are often stupid, frivo- 
 lous, or ill-disposed; and that shining talents 
 and virtues are more frequently found among 
 the inferior classes, principally among the very 
 lowest. But I do not think this ; it is an axiom 
 equally foolish as incorrect. In higher stations 
 are to be seen many strikingly beautiful traits 
 of character. My mother used often to relate 
 such to me, which had come under her own 
 observation. I will only tell you one little 
 incident among several I know, which shows 
 goodness of heart. My mother was on a visit 
 at the house of a distinguished family in town ; 
 my grandmother, I think, had been a nurse to 
 the noble matron ; my mother was in the room 
 with the lordly master of the house, when an old 
 woman on crutches appeared in the court-yard 
 below. “ She is sadly helpless !” exclaimed the 
 aged nobleman, and before my mother could look 
 round, he was out of the room and away down- 
 stairs. Though seventy years of age himself, 
 he had gone down to the decrepit beggar, to 
 save her further fatigue in obtaining the charity 
 she had come to ask. It was but a trifling 
 act of good-nature, to be sure, but, like the 
 
EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. 125 
 
 “ widow's mite,” it told of kindness of heart 
 and consideration for the poor. Nor are snch 
 good feelings, or snch affability, rare among 
 the great. But when we see individuals, be- 
 cause they have good blood in their veins, and 
 a genealogical tree, prancing proudly like an 
 Arabian horse, disdaining their fellow-creatures 
 because they are a grade or two lower in society, 
 and treating every one who has not a title with 
 hauteur, we cannot but think that such nobility 
 is corrupt and contemptible, and cannot but 
 ridicule and satirize the parts they play on the 
 stage of life.” 
 
 Such was the tutor's speech : it was rather 
 long, but the flute was made. 
 
 There was a large party assembled at the 
 country-house; many guests from the metro- 
 polis, as well as from the neighbourhood, were 
 there, and ladies dressed with taste, and without 
 it. The saloons were filled with company ; the 
 clergymen of the neighbourhood stood humbly 
 amidst a group in a corner, that looked as 
 gloomy as the grave, but they were cheerful 
 enough nevertheless. 
 
 There was to be a great concert, so the little 
 
126 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 baron brought his willow-flute with him, but 
 he could not make it sound, neither could his 
 papa, therefore the flute was pronounced as 
 being good for nothing. 
 
 There was plenty of instrumental and vocal 
 music, equally charming to those who took part 
 in its performance, and to those who had the 
 pleasure of listening. 
 
 “You are also an amateur,” said a cavalier 
 to the clergyman’s son; “you play on a flute 
 you made yourself ; that is really genius — com- 
 manding genius! Well, we live in astonishing 
 times ; everybody must go along with them, must 
 they not ? You will enchant us with this little in- 
 strument, I am certain,” and so saying he held 
 out the little flute that was hollowed out of the 
 willow-tree down at the pool, and in a loud and 
 authoritative voice he requested that the tutor 
 would favour them with a solo on it. 
 
 It was easy to see that he intended to make 
 a fool of him, therefore the tutor declined 
 playing ; but he was begged and pressed so much 
 to do so, that at length he took the flute and 
 put it to his lips. 
 
 It was a wonderful flute ! it sent forth a tone 
 
EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE. 127 
 
 as loud as if it had proceeded from a steam- 
 engine. It washeard over the whole mansion, 
 over the gardens, grounds, and wood, away, 
 away, miles in the country round ; and with the 
 sound went forth a blast which roared, “ Every- 
 thing in its right place ! ” Then the papa flew 
 along, apparently borne by the wind, out of the 
 house, and was put down in the herdsman’s 
 hut, and the herdsman flew up, not into the 
 grand saloons — there he might not enter — but 
 into the servants’ hall, amidst the fine gentle- 
 men who wore silk stockings, and these great 
 men were almost out of their wits with conster- 
 nation, that such a nobody should presume to 
 place himself at table with them. 
 
 But, in the grand room, flew the young ba- 
 roness up to the head of the principal table, 
 where she was worthy to preside, and by her 
 was placed the clergyman’s son ; they both sat 
 there as if they had been a bridal couple. 
 
 An old count, of one of the first families 
 in the kingdom, was hurled from his seat of 
 honour to a more lowly one, bearing the same 
 name in common parlance, for the flute adhered 
 to justice ; the witty cavalier, who had insisted 
 
128 
 
 A POET^S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 upon hearing the flute, flew in among the cack- 
 ling hens in the poultry-yard, whither some 
 others followed him. 
 
 At the distance of some miles the sound of 
 the magic flute was heard, and it gave rise to 
 strange occurrences. The family of a wealthy 
 tradesman, who were driving four horses, were 
 blown out of their carriage, and never entered 
 it again ; two rich peasants, who had got posses- 
 sion of cornfields of their own, were blown down 
 into a muddy ditch. It was a dangerous flute. 
 Fortunately it burst after the first long blast, 
 and its remains were put out of the way. 
 
 But the lesson was not quite lost on the 
 bar oids family ; for though everything soon re- 
 sumed its usual routine, the two old portraits of 
 the pedlar and the girl who had looked after the 
 geese, repaired and in new frames, were hung up 
 in the grandest drawing-room. And when some 
 good judges had pronounced them to be the 
 work of first-rate artists, nobody could tell what 
 was their value. They still occupy an honour- 
 able position : “ Everything in its right place 
 and so everything will be in the end. Eternity 
 is long, even longer than this story. 
 
Clje at tjje Cljeesemmiger's. 
 
 K 
 
, 
 
 
131 
 
 THE NIS AT THE CHEESEMONGER’S. 
 
 There was a certain student; he lived in the 
 garret, and possessed nothing. There was a 
 cheesemonger and chandler ; he occupied the 
 ground-floor, and owned, the whole house, and 
 the NTis^ attached himself to him, for he got 
 every Christmas Eve a dish of groats with a 
 large lump of butter in it. The cheesemon- 
 ger could give that, and the Nis stayed in the 
 shop, and found much instruction there. 
 
 One evening the student entered the shop 
 by the back door, to purchase some cheese and 
 some candles; he had no one to send, so he had 
 
 * The Nis of Denmark and Norway is the same imaginary 
 being that is called Brownie in Scotland, and Kobold in Grer- 
 many. He is represented as a dwarf, dressed in grey, with a 
 pointed red cap. — Transl. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 to come himself. He bought what he wanted, 
 paid for it, and had received a nod, with “ good 
 evening,” from the cheesemonger and from his 
 wife : she was a lady who could do more than 
 merely nod — she was endowed with the “ gift 
 of the gab.” And the student nodded back — 
 but suddenly stopped, for his attention was ar- 
 rested by something on the paper which was 
 wrapped round the piece of cheese : it was a 
 leaf torn out of a book — out of a very old book, 
 which never ought to have been so ill-used — a 
 book of poems. 
 
 “ There is more of it,” said the cheese- 
 monger; “I gave an *old woman some coffee 
 for it ; if you will pay me eight skillings*, you 
 shall have the rest.” 
 
 “ Thanks !” cried the student, “let me have 
 it in place of this cheese. I can eat bread 
 and butter without cheese, but it were a sin 
 if the whole of this book should be torn up 
 into bits and shreds. You are a sensible man 
 — a practical man, but you set no higher value 
 on poetry than that butter-tub does.” 
 
 * A skilling is a small Danish coin, in value rather less 
 than a halfpenny. 
 
THE NIS AT THE CHEESEMONGER^. 133 
 
 It was a rude speech, especially what related 
 to the tub ; but the cheesemonger laughed, and 
 the Student laughed, for it was said in a 
 joking way. But the Nis was angry that any 
 one should presume to speak so uncivilly to 
 a cheesemonger, particularly as that cheesemon- 
 ger was his landlord and sold excellent butter. 
 
 When it was night, the shop shut up, and 
 every one in bed except the student, the Nis 
 went softly into the dame’s apartment, and took 
 her talkativeness , which she did not use when 
 she was sleeping, and upon whatever inanimate 
 object in the room he placed it, however dumb 
 before, it could tell its thoughts, and speak 
 almost as well as its owner ; but only one could 
 be operated upon at a time, which was a mercy, 
 otherwise they would all have tried to talk each 
 other down. 
 
 And the Nis placed the talkativeness on the 
 mouth of the tub, in which lay several old 
 newspapers, and asked, “ Is it indeed true, that 
 you do not know what poetry is ?” 
 
 “ Oh no, I know it very well,” said the 
 tub : “ it is something which is to be found 
 occasionally in the newspapers, and other peri- 
 
134 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 odicals ; it is placed in the lowest part of the 
 papers, and takes little room elsewhere ; it is 
 sometimes cut out of these. I should think, 
 if the truth were known, I have more of it 
 in me than the student has, and yet I am only 
 a poor tub at the cheesemonger’s !” 
 
 Then the Nis placed the talkativeness on the 
 coffee-mill, and how it did go — so fearfully 
 fast ! Then he placed it on the money-till and 
 other articles in the shop, one after the other : 
 they all said the same thing as the tub had 
 done ; therefore what everybody says must be 
 respected. 
 
 “Now, I will try it on the student,” said he; 
 and he crept softly upstairs to the garret, 
 where the student lived. A light was burning 
 in his room, so the Nis peeped through the 
 keyhole, and saw that the student was reading 
 from the torn book he had brought up with 
 him. But how curious was the light that arose 
 from it ! There issued from the book an ef- 
 fulgent stream of radiance, that grew like the 
 stem of a tree, waxing taller and taller, until it 
 spread its luminous branches far over the stu- 
 dent’s head. 
 
THE NIS AT THE CHEESEMONGERS. 135 
 
 Every leaf was rich in beauty, and every 
 blossom seemed like the head of a lovely girl, 
 some with eyes dark and shining, others of the 
 clearest blue. Each fruit resembled a glittering 
 star, and a sound wondrously melodious pro- 
 ceeded from the whole. 
 
 Never had the Nis seen or imagined any- 
 thing so glorious ; so he remained standing on 
 tiptoe, peeping and peeping, until the light 
 within having gradually faded away, the stu- 
 dent extinguished his lamp and retired to rest ; 
 but the little Nis still stood there, for the 
 mysterious tones of music continued to float 
 around, soothing and sweet, a delightful lullaby 
 to the student, as he sought repose. 
 
 “ This is marvellous ! ” exclaimed the little 
 Nis ; “ I could not have imagined this ! I 
 think I shall stay with the student ! ” . . . . 
 and he reflected and considered; at last he 
 sighed — ■“ But the student has no groats ! ” So 
 he went down, — yes, he actually went down 
 again to the cheesemonger’s ! and it was well 
 he did so, for the tub had almost exhausted 
 all the good dame’s talkativeness , he had been 
 making such use of it ; so the Nis took it away 
 
136 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 from him and restored it to the owner; but 
 the whole shop, from the money-till downwards, 
 had, from that time forwards, a great opinion 
 of the tub, and they held it in such rever- 
 ence and thought it so learned, that ever after, 
 when the cheesemonger read the c Theatrical 
 News/ or the ‘ Artist’s Journal,’ or even the 
 ' Times,’ of an evening, they thought that these 
 had all come from the tub. 
 
 But the little Nis sat no longer quietly below, 
 satisfied with the amount of wisdom and in- 
 formation that prevailed in the shop. No — as 
 soon as a light was visible in the garret-room, 
 he betook himself upstairs to peep through the 
 keyhole ; and ideas of grandeur seemed to come 
 upon him, such as we experience in gazing on 
 the mighty waves, when God “ walketh upon 
 the wings of the wind,” and His storms rage 
 over it. He burst into tears, he knew not 
 why, but there was something delicious in these 
 tears. How delightful it must be, he thought, 
 to stand with the student under that tree of 
 light; but that was beyond his hopes, and he 
 was happy to look through the keyhole. There 
 he stood in the cold passage, the chill autumn- 
 
THE NIS AT THE CHEESEMONGER’S. 137 
 
 wind hissing down through the dormar window 
 in the roof ; and it was so cold — so cold ! — but 
 he did not heed it until the light in the garret 
 chamber disappeared and the sweet sound died 
 away in the howling wind. Then he shivered 
 all over, and crept down again to his own well- 
 sheltered nook; it was so warm and comfort- 
 able ! And when the Yule-time came round, 
 with its groats and a great lump of butter — ah ! 
 the Cheesemonger then carried the day ! 
 
 But in the middle of the night, the Nis was 
 awoke by a frightful noise in the street: people 
 were thundering upon the window-shutters and 
 doors— the watchman’s shrill whistle was going 
 — there was a great fire, and the whole street 
 was lighted by the glare. Was it in their house, 
 or at their neighbour’s ? Where was it ? It 
 was terrific ! The cheesemonger’s lady became 
 so flurried, that she took her gold ear-rings out 
 of her ears, and put them into her pocket to 
 preserve them; the cheesemonger rushed to save 
 his bonds, and the servant-girl to rescue a silk 
 mantle, she considered her most valuable pos- 
 session; every one was trying to save what 
 they deemed of most consequence, and so also 
 
138 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 did the little Nis. With two springs he was 
 up the stairs, and into the room where the stu- 
 dent was standing quietly at the open window, 
 looking at the fire which was in the adjacent 
 house. The little Nis seized up the wonderful 
 book from the table, put it into his red cap, and 
 held it fast with both his hands ; the greatest 
 treasure in the house was saved, and was his 
 own ! So he bolted away out upon the roof 
 and up to the top of the chimney, and there he 
 sat in the illumination from the burning house, 
 and held fast with both his hands the red cap, 
 in which the treasure lay. He was in a fit of 
 enthusiasm and excited feelings ; but when the 
 fire had been extinguished, and he began to re- 
 flect soberly, his discreet determination was — 
 “ I will go back among them : I cannot give up 
 the cheesemonger, on account of the groats.” 
 That savoured of human nature, and was 
 much after the manner of mankind : for do 
 we not all cling to the good things of this 
 world ? 
 
®| ]t Jfte. 
 
141 
 
 THE FLAX, 
 
 The Flax was in bloom. It has lovely bine 
 flowers, as delicate as the wings of a butterfly, 
 but still more beautiful. The sun shone on 
 the Flax, and gentle showers from the skies 
 watered it ; and it was as useful to it to be 
 watered, as it is to young children to be washed 
 — it improves their health and beauty — and so 
 it does with the Flax. 
 
 “ People say I am looking so well ! 33 exclaimed 
 the Flax, and am growing so tall, that a large 
 quantity of linen will come from me. Oh, how 
 happy I am ! I am surely the most fortunate of 
 all plants : everything goes well with me, and I 
 shall be something by-and-by. How brightly 
 the sunbeams sparkle, and how the refreshing 
 
142 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 rain-drops glitter ! I am extremely happy — 
 none can compare in good fortune with me.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes, yes !” said the rails of the fence, 
 “ you do not know the world, but we do ;” and 
 they sang with cracked and doleful voices the 
 old ditty — 
 
 u Snip, snap, snurre, 
 
 Basselure ! 
 
 The song is at an end.” 
 
 “No, it is not !” replied the Flax; the sun 
 shines in the morning; the rain is refreshing; 
 I can almost hear myself grow ; I can feel that 
 I am in flower ! I am perfectly happy ! ” 
 
 One day however people came, laid hold oi 
 the Flax by its head, and pulled it up by the 
 roots — that hurt it ; it was then laid in water, 
 and kept there till it was almost drowned, and 
 after that it was put over a fire and absolutely 
 boiled : it was dreadful ! 
 
 “One cannot always be in prosperity,” said 
 the Flax ; “ one must encounter some trials to 
 gain wisdom.” 
 
 But things became worse. The Flax was 
 squeezed and broken, hacked and slashed ; and 
 truly it got knowledge enough of suffering. It 
 
THE FLAX. 
 
 143 
 
 was then put upon the wheel, and that went 
 whiz ! whiz ! so fast round, that it was difficult 
 for the poor Flax to collect its thoughts ; but it 
 was very patient, and it did think, in the midst 
 of its torture, “The remembrance of the hap- 
 piness I have enjoyed should make me glad — 
 glad . . . oh ! ” And it repeated the same to 
 itself when it was placed on the loom, out of 
 which it came a long beautiful piece of linen. 
 The whole of the Flax, every inch of it, was 
 now r in that web ! 
 
 “Well! this is astonishing. I never could 
 have believed this. Good fortune still attends 
 me. What would those croaking railings of the 
 fence say to me now? If I have suffered a 
 good deal, it was not for nothing : what I am 
 now makes up for it. I am so strong, yet so soft, 
 so white, so long ! This is better than being a 
 plant, such as I was, even though covered with 
 flowers. No one took care of me then, and I 
 never got any water, except when it rained. 
 Now I am waited upon : a girl turns me every 
 morning, and every evening I get a nice shower- 
 bath from a watering-pot ; the clergymans wife 
 herself has been to see and admire me; she 
 
144 
 
 A POET^S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 says I am c the very best web of linen in the 
 parish/ I cannot be happier than I am at 
 present.” 
 
 The piece of linen was then taken into a 
 house, and it came under the infliction of the 
 scissors. How it was cut up, and chopped, and 
 pierced with needles ! There was no pleasure 
 in all that. But the linen became twelve gar- 
 ments, which it is not usual to name, although 
 every man must have them, — twelve of these. 
 
 “Well! now I am turned to some account. 
 This then was my destiny. It is pleasant, after 
 all, to be of use in the world ; and although we 
 have become twelve linen garments, we are still 
 one, for we are one dozen . How very extraor- 
 dinary.” 
 
 A year or two passed ; the linen was worn out. 
 
 “Everything must wear out,” said each of 
 the garments. “ I should have been very glad 
 to have lasted longer, but one cannot do impos- 
 sibilities.” 
 
 They were then torn up into strips and bits, 
 and they thought it was all over with them ; for 
 they were hacked and rent with wires and iron 
 spikes, till they were reduced to mere atoms, 
 
THE FLAX. 
 
 145 
 
 and then regularly cooked in hot water, until 
 they knew not what they were ; but, behold ! 
 they became beautiful fine white paper ! 
 
 “Nay, this is a surprise, and a charming sur- 
 prise,” said the paper; “I am finer now than 
 ever I was, and now people will write on me. 
 What may not be written ? It is really a most 
 extraordinary piece of good fortune.” An ex- 
 cellent history ivas written upon it, and it con- 
 tained so much of goodness and truth, that it 
 made those wiser and better who read it ; it was 
 a great blessing that the paper could record 
 such useful ideas. 
 
 “ This is more than I ever dreamed of when 
 I was a little blue flower far away in the fields. 
 Could I then have thought that I should live to 
 convey instruction and pleasure to mankind? 
 I can even yet hardly believe it, — but so it is. 
 Our Creator knows how little I have done to 
 improve my own condition and raise myself to 
 what I am now. I have only at all times sub- 
 mitted cheerfully to His will ; so he has borne 
 me on from one state of prosperity and honour 
 to another still higher : whenever I have thought, 
 f The song is at an end ’ I have found my- 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 self metamorphosed into something higher and 
 better. And now I shall be sent to travel 
 round the world, that mankind may read me. 
 Formerly I had only little blue flowers; now 
 every blossom I can count is some delightful 
 thought. How very happy I am ! ” 
 
 But the paper did not set off upon its travels ; 
 it went only as far as the printer’s ; and there 
 all that stood on it was printed in a book, — nay, 
 in many hundred books, — for in this manner 
 alone could people without number have the use 
 and enjoyment of it ; much more so than if the 
 single manuscript had travelled round the whole 
 world, or been stuck up on a highway. 
 
 “ Well, it is all for the best !” exclaimed the 
 written paper ; “ I am not much disappointed ; I 
 shall remain at home, and be honoured like an 
 aged grandfather. It was I who was written 
 upon ; the words flowed from the pen into me. 
 I shall stay here, while the books are dispersed 
 everywhere ; I shall be taken great care of ; it 
 is all very well, and I am extremely fortunate.” 
 
 So the paper was tied up in a bundle, and put 
 on a shelf. 
 
 “ It is very proper to give me some rest,” said 
 
THE FLAX. 
 
 147 
 
 the paper; “ after a life of many vicissitudes 
 and some hard work, a little repose is very desi- 
 rable. They must all respect me. I too now 
 know what is in me ; it is always an advantage to 
 know one’s self. What may next happen none 
 can foresee; who may look into the future?” 
 One day all the papers were removed from 
 the shelf and laid upon the hearth. They were 
 going to be burned; for it was not thought 
 fitting to sell them as waste paper to the cheese- 
 monger, to wrap up butter, sugar, and other 
 things in. All the children in the house stood 
 round the hearth. They wished to see “the 
 bonfire;” they wished to see first the blaze, 
 then the multitude of red sparks of fire that 
 would remain among the dark ashes, going out 
 so rapidly one after the other. 
 
 And the paper lay in a large heap upon the 
 hearth. Oh, how the flames shot up from them ! 
 They rose higher than ever the Flax had grown 
 with its little blue flowers, and shone brighter 
 than ever the whitest linen had done ; all the 
 written sentences became red, and every word 
 and thought disappeared in a blaze of light. 
 
 “ Now I shall most likely ascend to the sun,” 
 
 l 2 
 
148 
 
 A POET S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 said the flame ; and it seemed as if a thousand 
 voices in the fire said the same; but it only 
 flared over the hearth, and then expired. But, 
 more subtile even than the flames, almost invi- 
 sible to mortal eyes, floated tiny imperceptible 
 particles, as many as there had been once flowers 
 upon the Flax : these were lighter than the flame 
 that raised them ; and when nothing remained 
 of the paper but the dark, unsubstantial ashes, 
 they danced round the spot, leaving their traces 
 on whatever they touched; and the children 
 belonging to the house stood and sang round the 
 ashes — 
 
 “ Snip, snap, snurre, 
 
 Basseiure, 
 
 The song is at an end.” 
 
 But the little invisible particles said, “ The Song 
 is never at an end. This is the most delightful 
 state of all, and we are still the happiest of 
 the happy.” 
 
 But the children could not hear what was 
 said ; nor could they ha^ve understood it, if they 
 had heard it, for children cannot understand 
 everything. 
 
%\t #lb Combstoiif. 
 
151 
 
 THE OLD TOMBSTONE. 
 
 In a small market-town, at the house of a per- 
 son to whom the premises he lived on belonged, 
 the whole family were one evening assembled, 
 at that period of the year when people are apt 
 to remark, “The days are lengthening.” The 
 weather was mild, the lamp was lighted, the 
 curtains were drawn before the windows, in 
 which were placed various flower-pots ; and out- 
 side, the moon was shining brightly. But the 
 party in the room were not talking of the moon- 
 light, they were talking about a large old stone 
 that lay in the court-yard, near the kitchen- 
 door, on which the kitchen-maid often ranged 
 the saucepans she had just scoured, to let them 
 dry in the sun, and with which the children 
 were fond of playing : it was an old tombstone. 
 
152 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 “ I believe/’ said the master of the house, 
 u it came from the old Convent-church, which 
 was almost in ruins, and was pulled down; 
 everything belonging to it was sold, — the pews, 
 seats, pulpit, — the very tombstones ! My 
 father, of blessed memory, bought several of 
 the tombstones, and they were laid down as a 
 pavement, but this stone was not wanted : the 
 pavement was made without it, so it has always 
 remained in the court-yard.” 
 
 “ It is easy to perceive that it was a tomb- 
 stone,” said the eldest of the children, “for 
 even now there are plainly enough to be seen on 
 it an hour-glass and a piece of an angel, but 
 the inscription which must have been on it is 
 almost worn out, all except a name, ^Preben/ 
 and a large ‘ S ’ that stands close to it, and a 
 little way beneath, c Martha nothing more can 
 be made out, and even these names are only 
 discernible when it has rained hard, or we have 
 washed the stone.” 
 
 “ Good God ! it is Preben Svane’s and his 
 wife’s tombstone!” exclaimed a very old man, 
 who was sitting with them, and who, when 
 much younger, might, in point of age, have 
 
THE OLD TOMBSTONE. 
 
 153 
 
 been grandfather to any one in the room. “ Yes, 
 that worthy couple were among the last who 
 were buried in the old churchyard. They were 
 a pious, excellent old couple, so^far back as when 
 I was a child. Everybody knew them, and 
 everybody respected them; that ancient pair 
 were honoured here in town as if they had be- 
 longed to royalty. It was reported that they 
 were very rich ; but they wore the plainest and 
 simplest clothes, with nothing fine about them 
 except their linen, which was always of the 
 nicest and whitest that could be. They were a 
 venerable-looking old couple, Preben and Mar- 
 tha ! When they sat on the bench that used 
 to stand on the landing at the top of the high 
 steps which led to their house, with the old 
 linden-tree spreading its green branches over 
 it, and they nodded kindly to the people who 
 passed, every one felt proud of their notice. 
 They were exceedingly charitable to the poor. 
 They clothed them, and fed them, and in every 
 respect they acted like faithful and sincere 
 Christians. The old woman died first. How 
 well I remember that ! I was then a very little 
 boy, and my father had taken me to old Pre- 
 
154 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 ben’s ; we were there just after his wife died ; 
 the old man was in such distress — he cried like 
 a child. The corpse was lying in the bed-room, 
 close to where uje were sitting, and Preben was 
 telling my father, and one or two other neigh- 
 bours who had called in, how lonely he would 
 be; how happy he had been; how many years 
 they had lived together; how well they had 
 always agreed, and how dear they had been to 
 each other. I was quite a child, as I said be- 
 fore, but I well remember with what surprise I 
 listened to the old man, and observed how he 
 became more and more excited, and how his 
 sunken eyes beamed, and his withered cheeks 
 glowed, when he spoke of the days of his early 
 attachment, — how graceful and charming she 
 was, and by how many little attentions he had 
 tried to win her smiles. Then he spoke of his 
 marriage, and his whole countenance lighted up 
 as if he were living over again the happy days 
 gone by ; but she was lying dead in the next 
 chamber, an aged woman ; and he was an old 
 man, though still describing the spring-time of 
 hope. Ah, so goes the world ! I was then but 
 a little child, and now I am old, — old as Preben 
 
THE OLD TOMBSTONE. 
 
 155 
 
 Svane. Time flies, and all things change ! I 
 remember so well the day of his funeral. A 
 few years before they died, the old couple had 
 their tombstone prepared, with an inscription, 
 and their names, all ready on it ; and one even- 
 ing the tombstone was wanted ; it was brought, 
 and laid upon the grave of one of them. Next 
 year it was lifted to admit old Preben, who had 
 gone to rejoin his deceased wife. They had not 
 left the wealth behind them which was expected, 
 and what they did leave went to some relations 
 in a distant part of the country, who knew and 
 cared nothing about them. The old house they 
 had occupied, and the bench in the little land- 
 ing-place under the linden-tree, were removed 
 by order of the magistrates, for they were too 
 old-fashioned to stand longer in the modern 
 town. Since then the old church has shared 
 the same fate, and the churchyard has been dug 
 up ; so Preben and Martha’s tombstone, like all 
 the rest there, came into the possession of any 
 one who would buy them. Though it has not 
 been hewn to pieces and made paving-stones to 
 be trodden under foot, it only serves as a play- 
 thing for children, and a shelf for the kitchen- 
 
156 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 maid’s saucepans to dry on. The busy street 
 now passes over the sacred spot where Preben 
 and Martha have so long reposed, and no one 
 thinks of them more.” 
 
 And the old man who had said all this, shook 
 his grey hair sadly, and exclaimed, “ Forgotten ! 
 every one shall be forgotten ! ” 
 
 Then other matters were spoken of in the 
 parlour ; but the youngest boy there, a child with 
 large earnest eyes, crept upon a stool, behind 
 the curtains, and looked down into the court-, 
 yard, where the clear moonbeams were stream- 
 ing on the old stone, which had always been an 
 object of curiosity to him, but now stood before 
 him as a whole chapter from a book of history . 
 All that the old man had told of Preben and 
 his wife, that tombstone corroborated ; and he 
 looked first at it, and then up at the calm clear 
 moon, in the high heavens above, and it seemed 
 to him as if some glorious celestial countenance 
 were shining over the earth. 
 
 “ Forgotten ! every one shall be forgotten !” 
 was now heard in the room, and at that moment 
 an invisible angel kissed the boy’s brow and 
 breast, and whispered softly to him. 
 
THE OLD TOMBSTONE. 
 
 157 
 
 “ Preserve well the given seed ! Preserve it 
 till manhood ! Through thee, child, shall the 
 effaced letters, the decaying tombstone, stand 
 forth in bright and golden characters before 
 coming generations. The aged honoured couple 
 shall again, arm in arm, wander through the 
 ancient streets, and, with benevolent smiles, sit 
 on the accustomed bench, under the linden- 
 tree, saluting the poor and the rich. The seed, 
 "planted at this hour, will, in future years, bloom 
 and flourish, and produce in thee the true spirit 
 of poetry. Never can the good and the beautiful 
 be forgotten : they live in the melody of song 
 — in the traditions of the past ! ” 
 
/ 
 
Clje Jftbc pm. 
 
161 
 
 THE FIVE PEAS. 
 
 -4 
 
 There were five peas in a pea-shell ; they were 
 green, and the shell was green, and therefore 
 they fancied that the whole world was green, 
 — and they had a right to do so. 
 
 The shell increased in size, and so did the 
 peas. They made very good domestic arrange- 
 ments, placing themselves in a neat row. The 
 sun sent its warm rays on the pod, and the rain 
 kept it fresh; they were sheltered and com- 
 fortable, — had light by day, and darkness by 
 night, as it should be; and the peas became 
 larger, and always more thoughtful, as they sat 
 idle there, for as yet they had no occupation. 
 
 “ Shall we always be kept sitting here ? ” said 
 they ; “ we shall become quite hardened, staying 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 here so long. We cannot help fancying that 
 there must be something going on outside.” 
 
 But weeks passed on; the peas became yellow, 
 and the pod became yellow : “ The whole world 
 is turning yellow,” said they, — and they had a 
 right to think so. 
 
 At length, they felt a pulling at the pod : it 
 was broken off, and fell into a human hand, 
 and from thence into the pocket of a jacket, 
 along with several other fall pea-sliells. “They 
 will soon be opened,” said they, — and they 
 waited expecting it. “Would that I could 
 foresee which of us will ramble the furthest,” 
 said the smallest pea, — “the shell will soon give 
 way.” 
 
 “All must happen as it is ordained !” said the 
 largest. Crack went the pod, and all five of 
 the peas rolled out in the clear sunshine. They 
 lay in a child’s hand; a little boy looked at 
 them, and remarked that they were nice peas 
 for his pop-gun ; and one of them was forthwith 
 consigned to the gun, and shot away. 
 
 “Now I fly away, out into the wide world : 
 catch me if you can !” and it was off. 
 
 “ I,” said another, “ shall fly straight to the 
 
THE FIVE PEAS. 
 
 163 
 
 sun; it is a superb pea-shell, and will be very 
 comfortable for me.” 
 
 Off he went. 
 
 “1 shall sleep wherever I alight,” said two 
 of the others; “but we shall roll far enough.” 
 And they first rolled on the floor, and then 
 were also fired from the pop-gun. 
 
 “ All must happen as it is ordained ! ” ex- 
 claimed the last, as it too was shot away. It 
 flew up on an old board under a garret-window, 
 and alighted in a hole in the wood, where there 
 was some moss and soft earth ; the moss covered 
 it up, and there it lay hidden, but not forgotten 
 by its great Maker. 
 
 “ All must happen as it is ordained ! ” it ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 In the little garret-room dwelt a poor woman, 
 who went out during the day to clean stoves, to 
 chop firewood, or do any other manual work ; 
 for though she was clever and capable of doing 
 many better things, she was extremely poor; 
 and at home, in her little chamber, lay her 
 daughter, a half-grown girl, so slender and deli- 
 cate ; for a whole year she had been confined to 
 bed, hovering between life and death. 
 
 m 2 
 
164 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 “ She is going to her little sister/’ said the 
 woman. “ I had these two children, it was hard 
 work for me to support them both, but it pleased 
 Our Lord to take one of them from me ; would 
 that I might be permitted to keep the other, 
 who is still with me ! but God does not see fit 
 to separate them, and she is going fast to her 
 little sister.” 
 
 The sick girl however lived on ; she lay pa- 
 tiently and still the whole day, while her mother 
 was out trying to earn something. 
 
 It was Spring, and early one morning, just as 
 the mother was going out to her day’s labour, 
 the sun shone brightly through the little win- 
 dow down upon the floor, and sparkled upon 
 the panes of glass. 
 
 “ What little green thing is that, peeping up 
 behind the window, and waving in the wind ?” 
 said the young invalid ; and her mother went to 
 the window and opened it a little. 
 
 “ Why it is a tiny plant,” said she, “ that has 
 shot up with small green leaves. How could it 
 have got into this crevice, I wonder ? It will be 
 a little garden for you to look at.” 
 
 So the sick girl’s bed was moved nearer to 
 
THE FIVE PEAS* 
 
 165 
 
 the window, where she could see the little 
 sprouting plant, and the mother went away to 
 her work. 
 
 “ Mother, I think I am getting better,” said 
 the little girl one afternoon. “The sunshine 
 has been so warm today ! The little plant 
 thrives nicely, and I think that I shall thrive 
 too, and be able to get up and go out into the 
 bright sunshine !” 
 
 “Would to God you could !” exclaimed the 
 mother ; but she feared that never would be. 
 She put a little stick close by the green sprout, 
 which had inspired her daughter with the plea- 
 sant thoughts of returning health, that, twining 
 round it, it might not be snapped by the wind ; 
 she fastened a bit of packthread to the board, 
 and tied the other end to a little projection 
 above the upper frame-work of the window, 
 that the tendrils of the young plant might have 
 something to cling to, and creep up as they 
 grew longer ; and every day they were observed 
 to have run up higher and higher. 
 
 “ It is actually beginning to flower ! ” said the 
 woman one morning ; and now also she began 
 to entertain the hope and belief that her poor 
 
166 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 sick girl would recover. She had remarked that 
 latterly the child had been more lively, that for 
 the last few mornings she had raised herself 
 without assistance in her bed, and sat up looking 
 at her little garden of one plant. The following 
 week the girl was able to leave her bed for an 
 hour or two. She sat cheerfully in the warm 
 sunshine, near the open window, on the out- 
 side of which bloomed a lovely pea-flower. The 
 little girl stooped her head, and softly kissed 
 the delicate blossom. That day was like a fes- 
 tival in the humble garret-room. 
 
 “ A kind Providence has planted this sweet 
 flower up here, and permitted it to thrive, in 
 order to convey hope and gladness to you, my 
 beloved child — and to me \” said the happy 
 mother, smiling gratefully on the flower, as if 
 it had been an angel messenger from Heaven. 
 
 But what became of the other peas, — those 
 others who were scattered abroad in the wide 
 world ? “ Catch me if you can” fell into the 
 
 spout on a roof, and came next into a pigeon’s 
 craw, where it lay like Jonas in the inside of the 
 whale. The two lazy ones landed in the same 
 sort of place, and were also eaten by pigeons. 
 
THE FIVE PEAS. 
 
 167 
 
 and certainly that was becoming solidly useful ; 
 but the fourth, who aspired to reaching the sun, 
 fell into the nasty gutter, and lay days and 
 weeks in the stagnant water, until it became 
 quite swelled. 
 
 “ I am becoming enormously stout \ ” said the 
 pea; “I shall burst at this rate. I am sure 
 no pea ever was so large, and that none can 
 equal me in size. I am the most remarkable, 
 doubtless, of the five from the old pod ” 
 
 And the Gutter agreed with it. 
 
 But the young girl stood at the window with 
 sparkling eyes, with the glow of health upon her 
 cheeks, and she folded her delicate white hands 
 over the pea-blossom, and thanked the Giver of 
 all good for it. 
 
 “ I prefer my pea ! ” said the Gutter. 
 
<Tk #l)i gtafir. 
 
171 
 
 THE OLD MAID, 
 
 A PICTURE, 
 
 Out on the green ramparts that surround the 
 city of Copenhagen, stands a large red build- 
 ing with numerous windows, in which may be 
 observed balsams and southernwood growing ; 
 there is a look of poverty about the place; it 
 is a home for those who are poverty-stricken : 
 it is that institution for infirm old people — 
 “ Wartou 
 
 Look ! up against yon low window an old 
 woman is leaning. She plucks the withered 
 leaves from the balsam, and gazes out upon the 
 green ramparts, where sprightly children are 
 
 * Wartou is the name of one of the hospitals for the re- 
 ception of the aged and infirm poor at Copenhagen. 
 
172 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 rolling about in their joyous play. Whither 
 are her thoughts wandering? The drama of 
 a life is standing before her mind. 
 
 These children of the poor — how happily 
 they are playing ! what rosy cheeks ! what 
 sparkling eyes ! but what wretched shoes and 
 stockings they have on ! They dance on the 
 green turf there, where the old legend tells 
 that many, many years ago, when the ground 
 in that spot often sank in, an unfortunate child 
 had been swallowed up, with her flowers and 
 toys, by the earth,— precipitated into an open 
 grave. It was walled up, and from that time 
 the mound became solid, and was soon covered 
 with a beautiful green-sward. The children 
 did not know the story, else they might have 
 fancied that they heard the poor little victim 
 crying beneath the ground, and the dew-drops 
 on the grass might have seemed to them her 
 scalding tears. 
 
 They knew not the story of that King of 
 Denmark, who, when the enemy lay outside, 
 rode past this place, and swore that he would 
 die at his post. Then came the matrons and 
 the maidens from the city, and threw boiling 
 
THE OLD MAID. 
 
 173 
 
 water down over the foes, who — clad, though 
 they knew it not, in their grave-clothes — were 
 crawling, in the midst of the snow, np the out- 
 side of the ramparts. 
 
 The children of the poor gambolled on mer- 
 rily. 
 
 “ Laugh on, thou little girl ! womanhood is 
 coming soon ; that important day is coming, 
 when thou shalt walk hand in hand with thy 
 companions, dressed in the white muslin which 
 has cost thy mother so much, to take upon 
 thyself, in the House of God, the vows that 
 were uttered for thee at thy baptism. 
 
 “ Years will bring with them many dark days, 
 but they will also bring the bright anticipa- 
 tions of youth. Thou shalt love ; yet scarcely 
 wilt thou know it. Thou wilt meet him ; thou 
 wilt wander with him upon the ramparts in 
 the early spring, when all the church-bells are 
 ringing in the great Fast-day. At that time 
 there are no violets to be found but near the 
 old palace of Rosenborg - *: there stands a con- 
 
 # Rosenborg Palace, at Copenhagen, was built in 1604 by 
 the . English architect, Inigo Jones. It formerly lay outside 
 the city, but since the ramparts were raised, and the city 
 enlarged, it has become situated within the walls. — Tkansl. 
 
174 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 spicuous tree, more remarkable than any other 
 upon the rampart, it is ever the first to put 
 forth fresh young buds , — there ye will loiter. 
 Every succeeding year that tree buds afresh; 
 so, alas ! does not the human heart : upon it 
 frown many darker clouds than ever lower over 
 the natural horizon. Poor child ! Perhaps also 
 he who should be thy bridegroom may be called 
 to sleep in the narrow coffin ; and then — thou 
 mayest become a poor old maid ! From the 
 windows of Wartou thou mayest gaze through 
 the balsams out upon the children at play, and 
 mayest see, in the probable fate of some of 
 them, a reflection of thine own history.” 
 
 Such was the drama of life that started up 
 before the mental vision of the Old Maid, as 
 she looked upon the ramparts where the sun 
 was shining, and the rosy children were play- 
 ing, free, thoughtless, and happy, as the birds 
 that winged their way amidst the elastic fields 
 of air. A poet might make a heart-stirring 
 tale from her reverie ; but the Old Maid, she 
 had only to remain at Wartou ! 
 
% Cjjousanb fears Pence. 
 
/ 
 
177 
 
 A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE. 
 
 4 
 
 Yes ! in about a thousand years hence they 
 will be coming on the wings of steam through 
 the air over the oceans of the world. Thus 
 America's young inhabitants will visit the an- 
 cient shores of Europe. They will come to view 
 the monuments of the past — the ruins of former 
 cities, just as we now, in our time, go to seek 
 out the mouldering glories of Southern Asia. 
 
 The Thames, the Danube, the Rhine, will 
 still flow on ; Mont Blanc will rear its snowy 
 summits then, as now ; the Aurora Borealis will 
 still shine over the lands of the North; but 
 race after race shall have passed into dust ; the 
 mighty ones of a moment — rank after rank — 
 shall have been forgotten, as those who now 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 slumber in many a field, where the com is 
 waving, and the unreflecting reaper treads on 
 their silent graves. 
 
 “To Europe!” cry America’s future sons. 
 “ To the land of our forefathers — to the beautiful, 
 land of romance and old souvenirs — Europe !” 
 
 The air- ship comes ; it is crowded with travel- 
 lers, for the voyage is more rapid than that by 
 sea : the electric wires, under the ocean, have al- 
 ready telegraphed how large the air-caravan is. 
 
 Europe is descried. It is the coast of Ire- 
 land that is seen ; but the passengers are sleep- 
 ing then; they will awake when they hover 
 over England : there — in the first European 
 earth they set foot on — they will greet the 
 Land of Shakspeare, as it is called by the 
 sons of genius ; the land of politics, the land 
 of machinery, others call it. 
 
 One whole day is devoted to it ; that is all 
 the time that the hurried tourists have to spare 
 to the great countries of England and Scotland. 
 
 A road passes under a tunnel to France — 
 the land of Charlemagne and Napoleon. 
 Moliere is named ; the learned talk of a Classic 
 and Romantic school in far distant ancient days, 
 
A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE. 
 
 179 
 
 in which have flourished heroes, poets, and 
 artists, not known in our time, but which are 
 to be thrown up from Europe’s crater — Paris. 
 
 The air-ship passes rapidly over that land 
 whence Columbus sailed, where Cortez was 
 born, and where Calderon sang his dramas in 
 flowing verse. Lovely dark-eyed females live in 
 the blooming valleys; and in the ballads of olden 
 times are named the Cid and the Alhambra. 
 
 Through the air and over the sea they pursue 
 their way to Italy — down to where the old, 
 “the eternal city,” Rome lay; it is gone, and 
 the Campagna is a desert. One single column 
 remains to mark the spot where stood the 
 Cathedral of St. Peter ; but there is a doubt of 
 its having really belonged to that once superb 
 edifice. 
 
 To Greece they hasten, to sleep one night at 
 the grand hotel on the top of Mount Olympus, 
 in order to say that they have been there. A 
 few hours takes them over the Bosphorus, to 
 glance at the place where Byzantium stood. 
 Poor fishermen now spread their nets, where 
 tradition tells that the gardens of the Harem 
 lay, in the time of the Turks. 
 
 n 2 
 
180 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 The vestiges of large cities on the hanks of 
 the mighty Danube — cities not known to us — 
 they float quickly over ; but now and then 
 they stop to see the ruins of these rich places 
 which time has yet to create. 
 
 The air-caravan goes on — Germany is beneath 
 them — Germany, once covered with railways and 
 canals. The land where Luther spoke, where 
 Goethe sang, and Mozart in his day ivaved 
 his magic sceptre over the kingdom of music ! 
 
 One day they devote to Germany, and one 
 day to the North, to the native lands of (Ersted 
 and of Linnaeus, and to Norway, the country 
 of ancient heroes. Iceland they take on their 
 way home. The Geysers boil no longer ; Hecla 
 is worn out ; but, like the stone tablets of its 
 venerable Sagas, for ever stands that rocky isle 
 amidst the dashing waves. 
 
 “ There is much to see in Europe,” say the 
 young Americans ; “ and we have seen it all 
 in eight days ; it is quick travelling — but quite 
 possible.” And one, whose name is well known 
 in his own age, brings out a celebrated work — 
 “ Europe seen in eight days” 
 
Cbc fast |)earf. 
 

 /K. 
 
 / 
 
183 
 
 THE LAST PEARL. 
 
 There was a rich house, a happy house ; all 
 within it, family, servants, and guests, were 
 pleased and joyous, for on that day a son and 
 heir was born ; and the mother and child were 
 doing well. 
 
 The shaded night-lamp in that comfortable 
 chamber yielded a faint and subdued light ; 
 rich silk curtains of costly texture were drawn 
 before the windows ; the carpet was thick and 
 soft as moss; and all was arranged to induce 
 repose, and sweet refreshing slumber. In the 
 calm silence that reigned around, the very sick- 
 nurse had fallen asleep : and why not ? All in 
 her charge were well and safe. The guardian 
 spirit of the race stood at the head of the bed ; 
 
184 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 and far over the infant, resting on its mother’s 
 breast, it leaned — like a canopy of shining stars, 
 each one of which was a pearl of happy angary. 
 Life’s good fairies had all brought their gifts 
 to the new-born babe ; and there sparkled 
 health, riches, prosperity, love, — in short, all 
 that mankind could desire upon earth. 
 
 “ All has now been brought and bestowed,” 
 said the guardian spirit. 
 
 “No,” said a soft voice close by — that of the 
 infant’s good angel. “ One fairy has not yet 
 brought her gift. But she will bring it — bring 
 it some day, even though years should pass be- 
 fore then. The last pearl is wanting.” 
 
 “Wanting !” exclaimed the guardian spirit of 
 the race : “ thou dost alarm me much. Here 
 nothing must be wanting ; but if indeed it be 
 so, then let us seek her — that mighty fairy ; 
 let us go to her.” 
 
 “ She will come, — she will come some day. 
 Her pearl must be added, that the wreath may 
 be woven in perfection.” 
 
 “ Where does she dwell? Where is her home? 
 Tell me, and I will go to seek that pearl.” 
 “Wilt thou?” exclaimed the infant’s good 
 
THE LAST PEARL. 
 
 185 
 
 angel ; “ then I will guide thee to her, where 
 she may now be sought : for she has no sta- 
 tionary abode — she is always wandering, and 
 stays hut as a guest anywhere ; she visits 
 alike the nobleman’s castle and the peasant’s 
 hut — none of human kind does she overlook : 
 to each she brings her gift, be that the amount 
 of a world or of a child’s toy ; and this infant 
 must she also meet. She may be near, or she 
 may be afar off. Bethink thee well ! But if 
 thou art resolved to go, we will together seek 
 that pearl — the last pearl which must be found 
 in the earthly destiny of man.” And hand- 
 in-hand they soared away to the spot which at 
 that moment was the fairy’s home. 
 
 It was a large house, with dark passages and 
 empty chambers, and all about it was wonder- 
 fully still; a window, leading to the balcony, 
 stood open, so that the cold air was rushing in, 
 and the long white window-curtains were waving 
 in the wind. 
 
 In the middle of this large saloon stood an 
 open coffin, and in it lay the corpse of a woman 
 in the prime of life. She was a mother. The 
 choicest flowers, the most lovely roses were 
 
186 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 strewed so thickly over her, that only the slender 
 fingers of the folded hands were visible. The 
 dead countenance, fixed as it was, had a noble 
 and sublime expression of goodness, Christian 
 love, and veneration for God. 
 
 Around the coffin stood the husband and 
 the children — a sorrowing group ; the youngest 
 child was in its father’s arms. The last farewell 
 was said ; the husband kissed the clay-cold lips ; 
 each child kissed the icy hands, that were now 
 like withered leaves, — those hands which had 
 so often been clasped round them in tenderness 
 and love. Large salt tears fell in clustering drops 
 upon the floor, but not a word was uttered : si- 
 lence spoke a world of grief, and, sobbing bit- 
 terly, they withdrew. 
 
 Lights were burning in the room, and redly 
 glared the fluttering flames, as they were agitated 
 by the fresh night-wind. Strangers entered; 
 they placed the lid above the dead, they screwed 
 it down fast, and the echo of that harrowing 
 sound fell with indescribable anguish on the 
 hearts of the mourning family. 
 
 “ Whither hast thou brought me?” whtepered 
 the guardian spirit of the race. “ Here dwells 
 
THE LAST PEARL. 
 
 187 
 
 no fairy whose pearl must be entwined with the 
 brightest gifts of Life.” 
 
 “ In this place she dwells, now at this solemn 
 hour,” said the Guardian Angel ; and pointed to 
 the room where in her lifetime the mother was 
 wont to sit amidst pictures and flowers ; where, 
 as the presiding fairy of the house, she used to 
 provide for the comfort of her husband, her 
 children, and her friends; where, cheering as 
 the bright sunshine, she used to diffuse happi- 
 ness around her, and be the heart and soul of 
 the family. There, in her place, a stranger sat, 
 a female, in long, dark, flowing garments ; it was 
 Sorrow , now the mistress, instead of her who 
 was dead. A burning tear rolled down her wan 
 cheek, and fell on her sable robe ; it became a 
 pearl, — a pearl lustrous as the rainbow’s hues ; 
 the Guardian Angel caught it up, and it seemed 
 to shine with the mild effulgence of some dis- 
 tant star. 
 
 Sorrow’s pearl, the latest, but one which 
 cannot be dispensed with, for it enhances the 
 value and power of the rest. Seest thou not 
 here the reflection of that rainbow, which unites 
 earth to heaven ? As each of our beloved ones 
 
188 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 die and leave us, we have one friend more in 
 Heaven to long to rejoin. Whilst it is night on 
 earth, we look up at the glorious stars in the 
 infinite expanse above. In Sorrow’s Pearl Hq 
 the Psyche-wings that will bear us up to yonder 
 distant spheres. 
 
fflntor % ffilHIoto-trec. 
 
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 ♦ 
 
 
 
191 
 
 UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 The country is very bare round Kjoge; the 
 town indeed lies on the sea-shore, and that is 
 always pretty ; but it might be prettier than it 
 is : flat fields surround it, and it stands far from 
 any wood ; but to those whose home it is, the 
 place may seem even beautiful, for in one’s home 
 one finds everything pleasant, everything that 
 might be sought for in the finest town in the 
 world. And it must also be allowed that on 
 the outskirts of Kjoge, where a couple of small 
 gardens stretch down to the little stream which 
 flows towards the sea, it must be very charming 
 in summer-time; and so the two little neigh- 
 bours, Knud and Johanna, thought, as they 
 played there, and crept under the gooseberry- 
 
192 
 
 A POET’S DAY DREAMS. 
 
 bushes to each other. In one of the gardens 
 stood an elder-tree, in the other an old willow, 
 and under that the children loved best to play. 
 They chose well, although the willow stood so 
 near the stream that they might easily have 
 fallen into the water; but a kind Providence 
 watches over little children, and they were 
 careful themselves ; besides, the boy was such a 
 coward when water was in question, that it was 
 scarcely possible to get him far out upon the 
 beach, where the other boys so often went in 
 summer to splash about amidst the waves. They 
 tried to shame him into joining them, and some- 
 times he endeavoured to overcome his fears; 
 but the little Johanna once dreamed that she 
 was sailing in a boat in Kjoge Bay, that Knud 
 attempted to come out to her, and that the sea 
 rose first as high as his neck, then speedily 
 covered his head. From the time that he heard 
 this dream he would never venture again in the 
 water, let them call him coward or what they 
 would. Johanna’s dream made a great impres- 
 sion upon him. 
 
 Their parents, who were poor people, were 
 often together, and Knud and Johanna played 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 193 
 
 in the gardens, and in the country road, where, 
 along the ditch, grew a whole row of willow- 
 trees, but they were not pretty, for they were 
 too much trimmed ; much more beautiful was 
 the old willow in the garden, and under it they 
 often sat, as has before been related. 
 
 There is a large market-place at Kjoge, and 
 on market-days were to be seen there a whole 
 street of tents, with ribands, boots and shoes, 
 and all sorts of goods. There was always a 
 crowd, and often rainy weather, and then the 
 steam from the damp clothes of the peasants 
 was none of the most agreeable, but, to counter- 
 balance it, came the delightful perfume of the 
 honey-cakes, of which there was an entire booth- 
 ful, some among them gaily ornamented. The 
 man who sold them lodged, during the market 
 time, at the house of little Knud’s parents. Of 
 course he always presented him with a honey- 
 cake, of which, as certainly, Johanna always 
 got the largest share ; but, what was still better, 
 the vendor of the honey-cakes could tell a num- 
 ber of stories about everything, even about his 
 cakes, and he told a story about them one even- 
 ing, which made so deep an impression on the 
 
 o 
 
194 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 two children, that they never could forget it; 
 therefore we may as well hear it also, especially 
 as it is not long. 
 
 “ There lay on the counter two honey-cakes/’ 
 said he ; “ the one had a likeness on it of a man 
 wearing a hat, the other of a young woman 
 without a bonnet, but with a dab of leaf-gold 
 on the head. They had each a face on the side 
 that was turned up, where they could be seen, 
 and not on the wrong side — but men themselves 
 have not faces behind. The cake with the man 
 had a bitter almond at one side, that was his 
 heart; the young lady, on the contrary, was 
 only a honey-cake. They lay as specimens for 
 show on the counter; they lay there long, so 
 they fell in love with each other, but neither of 
 them said a word about it, and people must 
 speak if their love is to come to anything. 
 
 “ ‘ He is of the male sex ; he should make the 
 first advance/ thought she, but she would have 
 been delighted to know that her affection was 
 returned. 
 
 “ He was coarser and more gluttonous in his 
 thoughts, and so men always are; he fancied 
 that he was a living boy in the village, that be 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 195 
 
 possessed four skillings, and that he bought the 
 young lady, and ate her. 
 
 “ They lay for days and weeks on the counter, 
 till they became very dry ; and her thoughts be- 
 came more refined and like those of a woman : 
 
 ‘ I am contented that I have remained so long 
 on the counter near him/ thought she, as she 
 broke across, where her heart should have stood. 
 
 “ ‘ Had she known of my love, she might have 
 held out longer/ thought he. 
 
 “ And that is the story ; and here they both 
 are,” said the man who sold honey-cakes. 
 “They are remarkable for their silent love, 
 which was the bane of their lives, and never 
 came to anything; here they are for you.” So 
 he gave the cake with the man to Johanna, and 
 that with the cracked damsel to Knud ; but they 
 were so interested in their history, that they 
 could not bring themselves to eat the lovers. 
 
 Next day, taking the cakes with them, the 
 children went to Kjoge churchyard, where the 
 church-walls are covered with that beautiful 
 evergreen, the ivy, which winter and summer 
 hangs there, like a rich mass of tapestry that 
 never can fade. They set up the two honey- 
 
 o 2 
 
196 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 cakes against a low green bank in the bright 
 sunshine, and repeated to a number of other 
 children the story of their speechless love, which 
 could come to nothing. The little children 
 were all much excited by the tale, and looked 
 with a sort of bewildered curiosity at the honey 
 pair ; but a big boy who happened to be among 
 them, out of mischief, seized the cracked young 
 lady, and devoured her. The children all cried 
 at her loss ; however, considering that it would 
 not be right to leave the man alone in the world, 
 they ate him up themselves ; but the story was 
 never forgotten. 
 
 The two children continued to be always to- 
 gether, either under the elder-tree or the old 
 willow, and then the little girl used to sing, with 
 a clear, sweet, silver voice, the prettiest songs. 
 Knud had no voice for singing, but he was not 
 deficient in other respects. The Kjoge people, 
 even the greatest lady among them, the w ife of 
 the man who kept the hardware-shop, used to 
 stand still and listen to Johanna. 
 
 “What a voice that child has!” she would 
 exclaim. 
 
 These were happy days, but they were not to 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 197 
 
 last always. The neighbours were separated; 
 the little girl's mother had died, her father was 
 about to be married again at Copenhagen, and 
 to settle there in a business that promised to be 
 lucrative. 
 
 So the friends parted, with many tears, and 
 the children in particular wept bitterly at the 
 separation ; but the elder members of each 
 family promised to write each other at least 
 once a-year. Knud was soon after placed with 
 a shoemaker, to learn a trade ; he could no longer 
 be left to saunter idly about. 
 
 Oh, how gladly upon his few holidays would 
 he have gone to Copenhagen, to see little Jo- 
 hanna ! But this was impossible ; he had never 
 been there, though Kjoge lay only about fifteen 
 miles from it ; he could sometimes however dis- 
 cern the spires of the Copenhagen churches on 
 a clear day, and once he even beheld the gilded 
 cross shining on Our Lady's church ! 
 
 Ah, how constantly his thoughts dwelt on 
 Johanna! Had she remembered him? She 
 had ! At Christmas a letter came from her 
 father to Knud's parents, telling them how well 
 the writer was doing in Copenhagen, and how 
 
198 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 fortunate J ohanna had been ; that her fine voice 
 had brought her into notice, that she was now 
 engaged at the theatre, and sang there ; that she 
 was already making a little money for herself, 
 and from this she sent to her dear neighbours at 
 Kjoge a small sum, to assist them in spending 
 a merry Christmas Eve ; she hoped they would 
 drink her health, was added in a postscript in 
 her own handwriting, and at the bottom of it 
 stood, “ Kind remembrances to Knud .” 
 
 They all cried together, but it was with joy, 
 not sorrow. Johanna’s image had never been 
 absent a moment from Knud’s mind ; and now 
 he knew that she also thought of him. His 
 only anxiety therefore was to become a jour- 
 neyman shoemaker, and then, as he loved 
 Johanna so much, he saw no reason why he 
 should not marry her ; and, absorbed in these 
 pleasing contemplations, many a time he ran 
 the awl into his own fingers instead of the work 
 — but what mattered that ? he went on stitching 
 and labouring industriously, for happy hopes 
 were before him, and he had determined not to 
 be dumb like the honey-cakes, whose history 
 had conveyed so good a lesson to him. 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 199 
 
 At length he arrived at the long- anticipated 
 dignity of journeyman, and was provided with a 
 knapsack in due form. He was to go to Copen- 
 hagen for the first time in his life, and a situa- 
 tion had already been obtained for him there. 
 “ Oh, how delighted J ohanna will be ! ” he 
 thought. She was now seventeen years of age, 
 and he was nineteen. 
 
 He was on the point of purchasing a gold 
 ring for her at Kjoge, but he bethought him 
 that he would have a better choice in Copen- 
 hagen. He took leave of his parents, and started 
 briskly on foot one autumn day in the midst of 
 a drizzling rain; the leaves were falling from 
 the trees, the rain increased, and, thoroughly 
 wet, he reached Copenhagen, and the house of 
 his new master. 
 
 The first Sunday after he was settled in town, 
 he determined to pay a visit to Johanna and 
 her father. His new clothes fitted him well, 
 and he put on his new hat from Kjoge, which 
 made him look much smarter than his old flat 
 cap. 
 
 He found the house he sought, and had many 
 stairs to ascend. He felt almost giddy mount- 
 
200 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 ing so high, and wondered how people could 
 endure to live one above another so strangely 
 in town. 
 
 He entered a very neatly furnished room, 
 and Johanna’s father received him most kindly; 
 his wife was a stranger to him, but she shook 
 hands with him, and offered him some coffee. 
 
 “ How glad Johanna will be to see you ! ” 
 said her father; “you have grown up quite a 
 good-looking young man. You shall see her 
 directly ; there is a girl I have already reason 
 to be proud of, and she will do still better, 
 please God ! She has her own apartments and 
 pays us for them.” Her father then knocked 
 as ceremoniously at her door, as if she had been 
 a stranger ; they went in. What a magnificent 
 drawing-room ! There was not so handsomely 
 furnished a room in all Kjoge — the Queen her- 
 self could not have a more splendid one. There 
 was a beautiful carpet, there were window-cur- 
 tains sweeping down to the very floor, a sofa 
 covered with velvet, flowers in China vases, pic- 
 tures, and a mirror in which you could see your 
 whole figure, for it was the size of a door ! 
 Knud saw all this at one glance, the same glance 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 201 
 
 in which he beheld Johanna herself; she was a 
 tall grown-up girl, very different from what 
 Knud had pictured her to himself, but much 
 more beautiful ! There was not a lady at Kjoge 
 to compare to her ; how grand she seemed ! 
 She looked at first with some surprise at Knud, 
 as if she did not recognize him, but only for an 
 instant ; then she flew up to him as if she would 
 have kissed him — but she did not do that. How 
 glad she was to see the friend of her childhood 
 again ! The tears stood in her eyes, and she 
 had so many questions to ask, inquiring about 
 everybody and everything — from Knud’s parents 
 down to the elder and willow-trees. She called 
 them elder-mother and willow -father, as if they 
 had been human beings. Then she reminded 
 him of the honey-cakes, and their dumb love, 
 and how they had lain on the counter till they 
 both became old and good for nothing ; and then 
 she laughed so gaily ; but the blood mounted to 
 Knud’s cheeks, and his heart beat faster and 
 faster : he was thankful to find that she had 
 not turned haughty. He observed also that it 
 was she who made her father ask him to spend 
 the evening with them. She poured out the tea 
 
202 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 for him herself, and carried his cup to him ; and 
 afterwards she took a hook and read aloud to 
 them all, and Knud remarked that the subject 
 was Love — love, which was uppermost in all his 
 thoughts. Afterwards she sang a simple air to 
 him, — a song that seemed to tell the whole his- 
 tory of her feelings, as if her heart spoke in 
 every word. Yes, Knud felt that she cared for 
 him. The tears streamed down his cheeks, he 
 hardly knew why, and he could not utter a 
 single syllable. He felt that his silence must 
 make him seem very awkward, but she pressed 
 his hand and said, “You have a good heart, 
 Knud, be always what you are now.” 
 
 That was a delightful evening ; it was scarcely 
 possible to sleep after it, and Knud did not 
 close his eyes that night. On his taking leave 
 Johanna’s father had said, “Well, now do not 
 forget us. Let us see that the whole winter 
 does not pass before you come to visit us 
 again.” Therefore he thought that he might 
 go there sometimes on Sunday, and he deter- 
 mined to do so. But every evening, when the 
 work was over — and they worked by candle- 
 light — Knud went out ; he went always to the 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TIIEE. 
 
 203 
 
 street where J ohanna lived, and gazed up at her 
 window, for there was almost always light in 
 her apartment. One evening he could plainly 
 perceive her shadow upon the curtain : oh, that 
 was a happy moment ! 
 
 However his evening rambles were observed 
 and much disapproved of by his master’s better 
 half : she signified to her husband that he was 
 “ after no good ;” but the master only laughed, 
 and replied, “ He is a young man.” 
 
 “ I shall see her on Sunday, and then I shall 
 tell her how much she is in my thoughts, and 
 ask her to be my wife. At present, to be sure, 
 I am only a poor journeyman ; but I may rise 
 to be a master shoemaker, and I will work very 
 hard. Yes ! I will speak to her. No good 
 can come from silent love : that , at least, I 
 have learned from the honey-cakes.” 
 
 When Sunday came, Knud hastened to the 
 house where Johanna resided — but what a sad 
 disappointment ! They were all going out for 
 the day : however Johanna shook hands with 
 him affectionately, and asked him if he had 
 ever been at the theatre. She told him he must 
 go ; that she was to sing the Thursday following. 
 
204 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 and she would send him a ticket if he could 
 find time to make use of it. How kind this was! 
 
 On Thursday a sealed letter was handed to 
 Knud; there was nothing written in it, but 
 it contained the promised play-ticket. That 
 evening Knud went to the theatre for the first 
 time in his life, — and what did he see? He 
 saw J ohanna, so beautiful, so splendidly dressed ! 
 She was, indeed, married to a stranger; but 
 that was only in the play — it was only acting, 
 not reality, or she surely would never have sent 
 him a ticket. Every one seemed much pleased, 
 and applauded loudly, and Knud shouted 
 “ Hurra ! ” 
 
 The King himself smiled to Johanna, as if 
 he too was pleased with her success. What a 
 mere nobody Knud felt himself then ! He was 
 shocked at his own insignificance ; but he loved 
 her devotedly, and she was so much attached 
 to him, and it was the man’s part to speak 
 first — so the history of the honey-cakes had 
 taught, and it was quite true. 
 
 The following Sunday, Knud hastened to 
 Johanna’s. His mind was made up — he would 
 propose to her to accompany him to the altar. 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 205 
 
 She was alone, and received him so kindly, 
 that all seemed favourable to his wishes. 
 
 “It is well you came,” said she; “I had 
 almost determined on sending my father for 
 you ; but I had a presentiment that you would 
 be here this evening. I have something to tell 
 you : I am going to France, and we are to 
 leave this on Friday. I am obliged to go — 
 but it will be a great advantage to me.” 
 
 To poor Knud it seemed as if the room were 
 whirling round, and as if his heart were going 
 to break : yet not a tear started to his eye ; 
 but his sudden and excessive pallor betrayed 
 how wretched he was. Johanna saw his dis- 
 tress; she almost wept as she exclaimed, “Dear, 
 good, sincere being ! ” Then Knud's tongue 
 became loosened, and he poured forth to her 
 the history of his early affection, his present 
 love, and entreated her to become his young 
 wife. But as he uttered these words, he ob- 
 served that Johanna became as white as a 
 corpse ; she clasped her hands, and said, ear- 
 nestly and sorrowfully, “ Do not make yourself 
 and me unhappy, Knud. I shall always be as 
 an affectionate sister to you — you may depend 
 
206 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 on that ! — but ... I can be nothing more.” 
 And she placed her soft hand lightly upon his 
 flushed brow. “ God will give us strength to 
 bear much, if we will only ourselves try.” At 
 that moment her step-mother came in. “Knud 
 is so distressed, because I am going away,” said 
 she. “ Be a man, Knud ! ” and she tapped him 
 on the shoulder. It appeared as if they had 
 been speaking of her approaching departure, 
 and of nothing else. “ Knud,” said she, “be 
 good and reasonable, as you used to be under 
 the willow-tree, when we were both children.” 
 But poor Knud felt as if the world were 
 crushing him ; his thoughts were like loose 
 atoms, blown hither and thither by the wind. 
 He staid — he knew not whether they had asked 
 him or not ; but they were all kind and friendly, 
 and Johanna herself brought him his tea. 
 Then she sang — not any of the old songs, yet 
 one so beautiful, that his heart was like to 
 break. He did not offer her his hand when he 
 was going away ; but she took it, and said, 
 “ You will shake hands with your sister, when 
 you bid her farewell, my old playfellow !” and 
 she smiled through the tears that chased each 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 207 
 
 other down her cheeks. Again she whispered, 
 “ Brother !” It was her last farewell. 
 
 She sailed away towards France ; Knud went 
 ont as usual, to wander up and down the now 
 deserted street. The other young men in the 
 shop where he was, questioned him about his 
 sad and solitary rambles ; they told him he 
 should go with them to seek amusement : he 
 was young, and why so careworn ? 
 
 He consented to accompany them to a 
 dancing-booth : there were many pretty girls 
 present, but none like Johanna; and exactly 
 there, where he had hoped to forget her, she 
 stood more vividly than ever before his mind’s 
 aching eye. “ God gives us strength to bear 
 much, if we will only ourselves try/’ she had 
 said to him. There came a feeling of religious 
 solemnity over him ; he clasped his hands, and 
 the violins played, and the gay-looking girls 
 danced around ; but he felt shocked, it was not 
 a place to which Johanna could have gone with 
 him — yet she was there, in his heart. He hur- 
 ried out, and, rushing through the streets, he 
 passed the house where she had lived. It was 
 dark — all around was dark, empty, and lonely. 
 The world went its own way, and Knud his. 
 
208 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 It was winter, and all the waters were frozen 
 over : it seemed as if everything was buried that 
 had life. 
 
 But when Spring came, and the steamers 
 commenced their voyages, Knud took a violent 
 longing to get away somewhere — to go forth 
 into the wide world — but not to go near France. 
 
 So he strapped his knapsack across his back, 
 and wandered away. He travelled from town 
 to town in Germany, without rest or pleasure ; 
 but when he arrived at the fine old city of 
 Nuremberg, it seemed as if his love of roaming 
 had ceased, and he resolved to stop there. 
 
 It is a curious old place, and looks as if it had 
 been cut out of an ancient picture-book. The 
 streets lie anyhow, as it were; the houses have 
 no idea of standing in rows ; the balconies are 
 flanked with small towers ; spires and statues 
 hang over the pavements ; and high above, 
 from the curiously constructed roofs, project 
 slates, formed into dragons and lanky hounds. 
 
 Knud found his way to the market-place, 
 with his knapsack on his back; he paused by 
 one of the ancient fountains, where the grand 
 old bronze statues, scriptural and historical, 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 209 
 
 stand, amidst the sparkling jets of water. A 
 pretty servant-girl just then came for water; 
 she gave Knud a refreshing draught of it, and a 
 rose from a bunch of flowers she held in her 
 hand. This seemed to him a good omen. 
 
 Immediately afterwards the organ in a church 
 near began to peal; it reminded him of his 
 home and of his Kjoge church, and he entered 
 the large cathedral. The sun shone through the 
 high stained glass windows, and fell in slanting- 
 rays amidst the tall slender pillars ; his thoughts 
 became full of devotion, and peace once more 
 entered into his soul. 
 
 He sought and found a good master at Nu- 
 remberg, and he remained with him and learned 
 the language. 
 
 The old moats around the* town are now 
 transformed into kitchen-gardens, but the lofty 
 walls still stand, with their solid towers ; the 
 ropemaker twists his rope in the wooden gal- 
 lery that runs by the walls of the town, in the 
 cracks and crevices of which grow elder-trees, 
 whose green branches hang over some small 
 neat houses beneath. In one of these lived the 
 tradesman for whom Knud worked; and over 
 
 p 
 
210 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 the little garret-window of the room in which he 
 slept, bent some of the bonghs of these trees. 
 
 He staid there a summer and a winter, but 
 when spring came he could stand it no longer. 
 The elder-trees were in blossom, and the per- 
 fume reminded him so much of home, that he 
 felt almost as if he were in the garden at Kjoge ; 
 so he left his master, and went to another who 
 lived more in the town, where there were no 
 elder-trees. 
 
 His new abode was close to one of the old 
 stone bridges, and near a windmill ; outside 
 there was a rapid stream, that was almost en- 
 closed by the houses, to which were attached 
 old rickety balconies, that hung over the deep 
 water, and looked as if they were about to fall 
 into it ; but at a little distance, among the op- 
 posite row of houses, there was an old willow- 
 tree, that seemed to hold fast to a house in 
 order to prevent itself from being carried away 
 by the stream. It spread its drooping branches 
 over the water exactly as the willow-tree in the 
 garden did over the river at Kjoge. 
 
 Yes ! he had fled the elder -mother merely to 
 fall in with the willow -father, a tree that, espe- 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 211 
 
 daily on a moonlight night, had something 
 about it which made him feel that 
 
 “ His heart more Danish beat 
 Beneath the moonlight sweet.” 
 
 But it was not the moonlight which had this 
 effect upon him ; no ! it was the willow-tree. 
 He could not bear it any longer ; and why not ? 
 Ask the willow; ask the blooming elder-tree. 
 He bade farewell to his new master and to 
 Nuremberg, and went further away. 
 
 He never spoke of Johanna to any one ; he 
 kept his sorrow to himself. Often did he think 
 over the story of the honey- cakes; and now he 
 understood why the man had a bitter almond in 
 his side (he had himself a bitter taste of this); 
 and Johanna, who was always so smiling and so 
 gentle, she was only honey-cake. He felt as 
 if the strap of his knapsack were choking him, 
 but when he loosened it, the same sensation re- 
 mained. The outward world was nothing to 
 him — his world was in his own saddened mind. 
 
 When first he beheld the gigantic mountains 
 of Switzerland, the world seemed grander to 
 him; his pent-up feelings broke out, and his 
 eyes filled with tears. The Alps appeared to his 
 
 p 2 
 
212 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 fancy like the wings of the earth at rest : what 
 if they were to spread themselves out, and raise 
 with them the dark woods, the rushing torrents, 
 and the mighty masses of snow ! “ On the 
 
 great day of Doom the earth will extend its 
 wings, will soar up to God, and hurst as a bubble 
 in the glory of His light. “Oh,” he sighed, 
 “would that Doomsday were come !” 
 
 Silently he wandered on, and turned his steps 
 to a country that seemed to him a grassy or- 
 chard. The girls nodded to him from the bal- 
 conies of the houses, and the tops of the hills 
 looked red in the evening sun. He saw the 
 Rhine, like one long billow rolling on in its 
 majestic course, its white waters heaving like 
 masses of clouds chasing each other, as in the 
 skies above. Willingly would he have remained 
 in one of the little Rhine villages, but there were 
 too many elder-trees and willows in them : so he 
 crossed the hills, — the high, the towering moun- 
 tains, — passing through the blasted rocks, and 
 over the lofty paths, where the torrents are 
 heard dashing around, while the dark clouds lie 
 beneath. From the regions of .snow and Alpine 
 roses, he descended to a warm summer sun, and 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 213 
 
 there, bidding farewell to northern lands, he 
 passed under the chestnut-trees to the flowery 
 plains and the vineyards of the South. The 
 mountains formed a wall between him and all 
 old associations, and it was well that it should 
 be so. 
 
 There lay before him a large handsome town : 
 it was called Milan, and there he found a 
 German, who took him into his employment. 
 The German and his wife were a good-hearted 
 old couple; and they were kind to the quiet 
 workman, who spoke little, laboured hard, and 
 was always civil and well-behaved. It also 
 seemed as if God had vouchsafed to remove 
 the heavy burden from his heart. 
 
 His greatest pleasure was to mount to the 
 top of the magnificent cathedral, which he could 
 fancy had been built of ice from his distant 
 home ; he could fancy that of it were formed the 
 statues, the pointed spires, the ornamented open 
 halls ; and the white images seemed to smile to 
 to him from every niche, and peak, and arch 
 around. Above him was the blue vault of 
 heaven; beneath, the town, and the green widely- 
 stretching level plains of Lombardy ; and on the 
 
214 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 north the lofty mountains covered with per- 
 petual snow. Then he would think of Kjoge 
 churchy and the ivy clinging round its red walls ; 
 but he had no longing to return to it. No ! 
 here^ beyond these mighty hills, would be his 
 burial-place. 
 
 He had resided at Milan about twelve months, 
 which completed the third year since he had 
 left home, when his master took him one even- 
 ing to the grand opera-house, — a sight in itself 
 worth seeing. Seven tiers of boxes rose one 
 above the other, with their silk curtains and dra- 
 peries ; and from the floor to the roof were to be 
 seen splendidly-dressed ladies, with bouquets in 
 their hands as if going to a ball ; and gentlemen 
 in full costume, some shining in silver and gold. 
 It was as light as day, and the orchestra sent 
 forth bursts of harmony, equally loud and beau- 
 tiful. It was much finer than the theatre at 
 Copenhagen, but still J ohanna was there ; while 
 here — See ! is this magic ? As if bidden by 
 an enchanter’s wand, the curtain rises, and there 
 
 stands Johanna ! In a robe woven of gold 
 
 and silk she stood, with a gilded crown on her 
 head; she sang as only an angel could sing; 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 215 
 
 she smiled as only Johanna could smile; and 
 she seemed to look straight towards Knud. 
 
 The unfortunate Knud seized his master’s 
 hand, and cried in a voice of great excitement, 
 “Johanna!” but he was not heard by the au- 
 dience, for the music was loud ; his master 
 nodded, and taking up the play-bill on which 
 the name was in full length, he said, “Yes, 
 you are right, she is called Johanna.” 
 
 Was it a dream? Oh no ! Tumults of ap- 
 plause saluted her, bouquets and wreaths were 
 flung at her feet, and whenever she left the 
 stage, she was called back, again and again. 
 
 Out in the street the people surrounded her 
 carriage, and they drew it themselves. Knud 
 joined them; he was the foremost and the most 
 zealous of all, and when they reached her hand- 
 some, splendidly illuminated house, he placed 
 himself close to the carriage-door. It opened, 
 she stepped out, and the light fell strongly on 
 her sweet, lovely countenance ; and she bowed 
 her thanks and smiled to the crowd around. 
 Knud looked fall in her face, and she looked 
 full in his, but she did not know him. A noble- 
 man, with an order on his breast, offered her his 
 
216 
 
 a poet’s day dreams. 
 
 arm : she was engaged to be married to him, it 
 was said among the by-standers. 
 
 Knnd went to his master’s house, and buckled 
 on his knapsack ; he must, he would go home 
 to the elder and the willow, — ah ! under the 
 willow-tree. In one hour a life-time may be 
 lived. They entreated him to stay, but he 
 would not listen to them ; they told him that 
 it was the dead of winter, that the snow was 
 everywhere on the mountains, and he would 
 find no path. But he said he would follow 
 the track of the slow-travelling diligence ; and 
 with his knapsack on his back, and staff in hand, 
 he started on his toilsome journey. 
 
 And he went towards the mountains, and 
 travelled on, up one, and down another; ex- 
 hausted, he looked around him to discover some 
 human habitation, but neither hamlet nor hut 
 could he see. The stars kindled their lights 
 high above him, his footsteps tottered, his head 
 swam ; low down in the valley stars also began 
 to twinkle, — it • seemed as if the skies were 
 stretched out beneath him. He felt ill. The 
 stars beneath now became clearer, and more 
 and more numerous, and they moved hither 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 217 
 
 and thither. It was a little town, whose lights 
 were glimmering ; and when he ascertained this, 
 he strained every nerve to reach it, and was so 
 fortunate as to obtain a humble lodging there. 
 
 In this place he remained for a day or two, 
 as he absolutely required some rest and nourish- 
 ment. It was thawing in the valley, and sleet 
 was falling. One morning a wandering musi- 
 cian arrived there, with his hand-organ; he 
 played a Danish melody, and the sound of that 
 well-known air revived Knud’s anxiety to get 
 home. Again he set off on his dreary journey. 
 Day after day he travelled, with a haste in- 
 duced by his increasing desire to reach his na- 
 tive country — to die there. But he communi- 
 cated his feelings to none. No one could have 
 guessed the sorrow that was in his heart — a 
 sorrow which was not for the want of worldly 
 prosperity — which was not for leaving friends — 
 he had no friend. A stranger he passed through 
 foreign lands, homewards, towards the North. 
 In the only letter that for more than a year his 
 parents had written him, they had said, “ You 
 are not a Dane in heart, as we all are here, at 
 home ; it is shocking ! You only care for foreign 
 
218 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 countries.” His parents might write thus — 
 how little they knew him ! 
 
 It was evening, he was walking along the 
 highway, and it was beginning to freeze; the 
 country was becoming more and more flat, 
 covered with fields and meadows ; on one side 
 of the road stood a willow-tree ; all around re- 
 minded him of Denmark and of home. 
 
 He sat down under the willow-tree, for he 
 felt very tired; his head drooped, his heavy 
 eyes closed, but he noticed and knew that the 
 green branches of the willow were bending over 
 him. The tree seemed to have been trans- 
 formed into an old man of gigantic size — the 
 willow-father himself, who raised him in his 
 arms, and carried him, the weary one, home to 
 the shores of his native Denmark — to the little 
 town of Kjoge — to his childhood’s haunts ! Yes, 
 it was the Kjoge willow-tree itself, that had 
 gone abroad into the world to seek and to find 
 him ; and now he was found, and was brought 
 home to the little garden near the stream, 
 and there stood Johanna in all her splendour, 
 with the golden crown upon her head, as he 
 last had seen her, and she greeted him with 
 
 “ Welcome !” 
 
UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE. 
 
 219 
 
 And close by them stood two strange figures, 
 but they looked more like human beings than 
 they had done in former years ; these were 
 the honey-cakes ! Man and woman they had 
 become in good earnest. 
 
 “ Thanks ! ” said they both to Knud ; “ thou 
 hast given us speech, thou hast taught us that 
 thoughts must be declared, if they are ever 
 to be acted upon ; we have at length told ours 
 — and we are — betrothed l” 
 
 So hand-in-hand they walked through the 
 streets of Kjoge, into the church, and Knud and 
 J ohanna followed them ; they also went hand- 
 in-hand. The church stood before them with 
 its red walls and green clustering ivy ; the great 
 door opened of itself, and the organ pealed 
 as they entered. The honey-cake bridal pair 
 drew back to give place to Knud and Johanna, 
 and together they knelt at the altar ; she bowed 
 her head over his face, and ice-cold tears fell 
 from her eyes — it was the ice that his intense 
 love was melting in her heart — and they fell 
 upon his burning cheek, and ... At that 
 moment he awoke, and found himself sitting 
 under an old willow-tree, in a foreign land, 
 
220 
 
 A poet’s day dreams. 
 
 on a cold winter evening ; a shower of hail was 
 falling, and the hail-stones pelted him in the face. 
 
 “ It was the most delightful hour of my life \” 
 said he, “ and it was but a dream. O God, let 
 me dream it again \" 
 
 And he closed his eyes, he slept, he dreamed. 
 
 During the night there was a heavy fall of 
 snow — it drifted over him and entirely covered 
 his feet; he slept on. Next morning, when the 
 country-people passed on their way to church, 
 they saw a young man sitting, frozen to death, 
 under the Willow-tree. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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