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In a little while the lid will be
placed upon the coffin, and he will have sweet rest in the grave!" The cloth
which covered his face was lifted up; the dead man's face expressed peace- a
sunbeam fell upon it. A swallow flew with the swiftness of an arrow into the
arbour, turning in its flight, and twittered over the dead man's head. What a
strange feeling it is- surely we all know it- to look through old letters of our
young days; a different life rises up out of the past, as it were, with all its
hopes and sorrows.
How many of the people with whom in those days we used
to be on intimate terms appear to us as if dead, and yet they are still alive-
only we have not thought of them for such a long time, whom we imagined we
should retain in our memories for ever, and share every joy and sorrow with
them. The withered oak leaf in the book here recalled the friend, the
schoolfellow, who was to be his friend for life. He fixed the leaf to the
student's cap in the green wood, when they vowed eternal friendship.
He
fixed the leaf to the student's cap in the green wood, when they vowed eternal
friendship. Where does he dwell now? The leaf is kept, but the friendship does
no longer exist. Here is a foreign hothouse plant, too tender for the gardens of
the North. It is almost as if its leaves still smelt sweet! She gave it to him
out of her own garden- a nobleman's daughter. Here is a water-lily that he had
plucked himself, and watered with salt tears- a lily of sweet water. And here is
a nettle: what may its leaves tell us? What might he have thought when he
plucked and kept it? Here is a little snowdrop out of the solitary wood; here is
an evergreen from the flower-pot at the tavern; and here is a simple blade of
grass.
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The spot was as wild as the centre of
a thick wood. In this snug retreat sat a duck on her nest, watching for her
young brood to hatch; she was beginning to get tired of her task, for the little
ones were a long time coming out of their shells, and she seldom had any
visitors. The other ducks liked much better to swim about in the river than to
climb the slippery banks, and sit under a burdock leaf, to have a gossip with
her. At length one shell cracked, and then another, and from each egg came a
living creature that lifted its head and cried, "Peep, peep."
At length
one shell cracked, and then another, and from each egg came a living creature
that lifted its head and cried, "Peep, peep." "Quack, quack," said the mother,
and then they all quacked as well as they could, and looked about them on every
side at the large green leaves. Their mother allowed them to look as much as
they liked, because green is good for the eyes. "How large the world is," said
the young ducks, when they found how much more room they now had than while they
were inside the egg-shell.
"How large the world is," said the young
ducks, when they found how much more room they now had than while they were
inside the egg-shell. "Do you imagine this is the whole world?" asked the
mother; "Wait till you have seen the garden; it stretches far beyond that to the
parson's field, but I have never ventured to such a distance. Are you all out?"
she continued, rising; "No, I declare, the largest egg lies there still. I
wonder how long this is to last, I am quite tired of it;" and she seated herself
again on the nest.
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"No, that is impossible," replied the old
grandfather; "but I have seen it, and I have tried to carve it in wood, as I
have retained it in my memory. It was a long time ago, while the English fleet
lay in the roads, on the second of April, when we showed that we were true,
ancient Danes. I was on board the Denmark, in Steene Bille's squadron; I had a
man by my side whom even the cannon balls seemed to fear. He sung old songs in a
merry voice, and fired and fought as if he were something more than a
man.
I still remember his face, but from whence he came, or whither he
went, I know not; no one knows. I have often thought it might have been Holger
Danske himself, who had swam down to us from Kronenburg to help us in the hour
of danger. That was my idea, and there stands his likeness." The wooden figure
threw a gigantic shadow on the wall, and even on part of the ceiling; it seemed
as if the real Holger Danske stood behind it, for the shadow moved; but this was
no doubt caused by the flame of the lamp not burning steadily.
Then the
daughter-in-law kissed the old grandfather, and led him to a large arm-chair by
the table; and she, and her husband, who was the son of the old man and the
father of the little boy who lay in bed, sat down to supper with him. And the
old grandfather talked of the Danish lions and the Danish hearts, emblems of
strength and gentleness, and explained quite clearly that there is another
strength than that which lies in a sword, and he pointed to a shelf where lay a
number of old books, and amongst them a collection of Holberg's plays, which are
much read and are so clever and amusing that it is easy to fancy we have known
the people of those days, who are described in them.
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After all, it is just as well that there
are some who can be happy. I have no reason to sing, nor could I sing now if I
were ever so happy; but when I was a whole bottle, and they rubbed me with a
cork, didn't I sing then? I used to be called a complete lark. I remember when I
went out to a picnic with the furrier's family, on the day his daughter was
betrothed,- it seems as if it only happened yesterday. I have gone through a
great deal in my time, when I come to recollect: I have been in the fire and in
the water, I have been deep in the earth, and have mounted higher in the air
than most other people, and now I am swinging here, outside a bird-cage, in the
air and the sunshine.
Oh, indeed, it would be worth while to hear my
history; but I do not speak it aloud, for a good reason- because I cannot." Then
the bottle neck related his history, which was really rather remarkable; he, in
fact, related it to himself, or, at least, thought it in his own mind. The
little bird sang his own song merrily; in the street below there was driving and
running to and fro, every one thought of his own affairs, or perhaps of nothing
at all; but the bottle neck thought deeply.
The little bird sang his own
song merrily; in the street below there was driving and running to and fro,
every one thought of his own affairs, or perhaps of nothing at all; but the
bottle neck thought deeply. He thought of the blazing furnace in the factory,
where he had been blown into life; he remembered how hot it felt when he was
placed in the heated oven, the home from which he sprang, and that he had a
strong inclination to leap out again directly; but after a while it became
cooler, and he found himself very comfortable.
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Perhaps they talked of him who, as a little
boy, had taken away their eggs and their young; of the peasant's son, who had to
wear an iron garter, and of the noble young lady, who ended by being a
ferryman's wife. "Brave! brave!" they cried. And the whole family cried, "Brave!
brave!" when the old house was pulled down. "They are still crying, and yet
there's nothing to cry about," said the clerk, when he told the story. "The
family is extinct, the house has been pulled down, and where it stood is now the
stately poultry-house, with gilded weathercocks, and the old Poultry Meg.
"They are still crying, and yet there's nothing to cry about," said the
clerk, when he told the story. "The family is extinct, the house has been pulled
down, and where it stood is now the stately poultry-house, with gilded
weathercocks, and the old Poultry Meg. She rejoices greatly in her beautiful
dwelling. If she had not come here," the old clerk added, "she would have had to
go into the work-house." The pigeons cooed over her, the turkey-cocks gobbled,
and the ducks quacked.
"Nobody knew her," they said; "she belongs to no
family. It's pure charity that she is here at all. She has neither a drake
father nor a hen mother, and has no descendants." She came of a great family,
for all that; but she did not know it, and the old clerk did not know it, though
he had so much written down; but one of the old crows knew about it, and told
about it. She had heard from her own mother and grandmother about Poultry Meg's
mother and grandmother. And we know the grandmother too.
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After a while I found myself lying
on my bed in my room; but how I got there, or how I got away at all from the
Polytechnic professor, he may perhaps know, I don't. The moon shone upon the
floor, the box lay open, and the dolls were all scattered about in great
confusion; but I was not idle. I jumped off the bed, and into the box they all
had to go, some on their heads, some on their feet. Then I shut down the lid,
and seated myself upon the box. 'Now you'll have to stay,' said I, 'and I shall
be cautious how I wish you flesh and blood again.'
'Now you'll have to
stay,' said I, 'and I shall be cautious how I wish you flesh and blood again.'
"I felt quite light, my cheerfulness had returned, and I was the happiest of
mortals. The Polytechnic professor had fully cured me. I was as happy as a king,
and went to sleep on the box. Next morning- correctly speaking, it was noon, for
I slept remarkably late that day- I found myself still sitting there, in happy
consciousness that my former wish had been a foolish one. I inquired for the
Polytechnic professor; but he had disappeared like the Greek and Roman gods;
from that time I have been the happiest man in the world.
I inquired for
the Polytechnic professor; but he had disappeared like the Greek and Roman gods;
from that time I have been the happiest man in the world. I am a happy director;
for none of my company ever grumble, nor the public either, for I always make
them merry. I can arrange my pieces just as I please. I choose out of every
comedy what I like best, and no one is offended. Plays that are neglected
now-a-days by the great public were ran after thirty years ago, and listened to
till the tears ran down the cheeks of the audience.
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