Part 4

Well, I had something to eat and went then to look to the horses, but the shed was empty and the horses were gone. I got rather out of temper at this, and I am afraid I swore a little into the bargain, but I thought I had better try and find some tracks of them. During the night there had fallen a little fresh snow, and I could see they had not gone off in the direction of the valley or the works. I found, however, the track of two horses and of a couple of broad large feet in a northerly direction; I followed these for two or three miles, when the tracks parted, and the foot-marks vanished altogether; one horse had gone to the east, and the other to the west, and after following up one first for five or six miles, I came upon him at last. I had to take him home to the hut and tie him up, before I could start looking for the other horse. By the time I got hold of him it was near upon noon, and so there was no use going to the works that day. But I promised I should never disturb the old witch any more,--in the evening I mean.

But these promises are strange things sometimes,--if you keep a promise to Christmas you are pretty sure to break it before next Michaelmas. The year after I made a trip to Christiania late in the autumn,--the roads were in a fearful bad condition and it was already very late in the afternoon before I left town, but I wanted to get home that night. I was on horseback and took the road by Bokstad, which is the shortest, as you know,--to Ausfjerdingen, I mean. The weather was wet and ugly, and it was beginning to grow dark when I started. But when I came over the bridge by Heggelie I saw a man coming towards me,--he wasn't very tall, but terribly big; he was as broad as a barn-door across his shoulders, and his hands were nearly a foot across the knuckles. He carried a leather bag in one hand, and seemed to be talking to himself. When I came nearer to him, his eyes glistened like burning cinders, and they were as big as saucers. His hair stood out like bristles, and his beard was no better; I thought he was a terrible, ugly brute, and I prayed for myself the little I could, and just as I came to the end, down he sank,--in the ground I mean.

"I rode on, humming an old psalm, but suddenly I met him again coming down a hill; his eyes and hair and beard, too, sparkled with fire this time. I began praying again, and had no sooner finished than he was gone. But I had scarcely ridden a mile before I met him once more as I was crossing a small bridge. His eyes flashed like lightning and sparks flew out of his hair and beard, and so he shook his bag, till you could see blue and yellow and red tongues of fire shooting out of it. But then I lost my temper right out, and instead of praying I swore at him, and he vanished on the spot. But as I rode on, I began to be afraid that I should meet this brute again, so when I came to Lovlie, I knocked at the door, and asked for lodgings till daylight, but do you think they would let me in? No. I could travel by day, like other folks, they said, and then I needn't ask for lodgings!--So I guessed the brute had been there before me and frightened them, and I had to set out again. But then I started another old psalm, till the mountains rang with it, and I came at last safe to Stubdale, where I got lodgings--but it was almost morning then."

The manner in which he told these stories, was like his speech, slow and expressive, and he had the custom of repeating single words, or part of his sentences at the end of these, or adding one or another superfluous explanation. He generally applied these remarks after one of his many exertions to keep his pipe alight, and they had such a comical effect on me, that I had great difficulty to refrain from laughing outright. I was in a merry mood after having safely got through my nocturnal expedition, and to this I must ascribe the fact that his stories did not make the impression upon me which, after what I had gone through, might have been expected.

The dawn of the day was now appearing, and old Thor told one of his companions to row me across the lake, and put me on my right road.

TWO LITTLE KITTENS.

Two little kittens, one stormy night, Began to quarrel and then to fight, One had a mouse, the other had none, And that was the way the quarrel begun.

"_I'll_ have that mouse," said the biggest cat, "_You'll_ have that mouse, we'll see about that," "I _will_ have the mouse" said the eldest son. "You _shan't_ have that mouse," said the little one.

I told you before 'twas a stormy night, When these two little kittens began to fight; The old woman seized her sweeping broom, And swept the two kittens right out of the room.

The ground was covered with frost and snow, And the two little kittens had nowhere to go, So they laid them down on the mat at the door, While the old woman finished sweeping the floor.

Then they both crept in as quiet as mice, All wet with snow and cold as ice; For they found it was better, that stormy night, To lie down and sleep, than to quarrel and fight.

THE LABOR OF AUTHORSHIP.

David Livingstone said: "Those who have never carried a book through the press can form no idea of the amount of toil it involves. The process has increased my respect for authors a thousand-fold. I think I would rather cross the African continent again than undertake to write another book."

"For the statistics of the negro population of South America alone," says Robert Dale Owen, "I examined more than a hundred and fifty volumes."

Another author tells us that he wrote paragraphs and whole pages of his book as many as fifty times.

It is said of one of Longfellow's poems that it was written in four weeks, but that he spent six months in correcting and cutting it down.

Bulwer declared that he had rewritten some of his briefer productions as many as eight or nine times before their publication. One of Tennyson's pieces was rewritten fifty times. John Owen was twenty years on his "Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews;" Gibbon on his "Decline and Fall," twenty years; and Adam Clark on his "Commentary," twenty-six years. Carlyle spent fifteen years on his "Frederick the Great."

A great deal of time is consumed in reading before some books are prepared. George Eliot read one thousand books before she wrote "Daniel Deronda." Alison read two thousand before he completed his history. It is said of another that he read twenty thousand and wrote only two books.

"SHE WAS SOMEBODY'S MOTHER."

The woman was old, ragged and gray, And bent with the chill of the winter's day; The street was wet with the winter's snow, And the woman's feet were aged and slow. She stood at the crossing and waited long, Alone, uncared for, amid a throng Of human beings who passed her by; None heeded the glance of her anxious eye. Down the street with laughter and shout, Glad in the freedom of school let out, Came the boys like a flock of sheep, Hailing the snow, piled white and deep. Past the woman so old and gray, Hastened the children on their way, Nor offered a helping hand to her, So meek, so timid, afraid to stir, Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet Should crowd her down on the slippery street. At last came one of the merry troop, The gayest laddie of all the group. He paused beside her and whispered low, "I'll help you across if you wish to go." Her aged hand on his strong young arm She placed, and without hurt or harm, He guided the trembling feet along, Proud that his own were firm and strong. Then back again to his friends he went, His young heart happy and well content. "She is somebody's mother, boys, you know, For she is old, and poor, and slow; And I hope some fellow will lend a hand To help my mother, you understand, If she's old, and poor, and gray, When her own dear boy is far away." And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head In her home that night, and the prayer she said Was: "God be kind to the noble boy Who is somebody's son, and pride, and joy."

DOT LAMBS WHAT MARY HAF GOT.

Mary haf got a leetle lambs already; Dose vool was vite like shnow; Und efery times dot Mary did vend oud, Dot lambs vent also out, mit Mary.

Dot lambs did follow Mary von day of der school-house, Vich was obbosition to der rules of der school-master; Also, vich it did cause dose schilden to schmile out loud, Ven dey did saw dose lambs on der insides of der school-house.

Und so dot school-master dit kick der lamb gwick oud; Likewise dot lambs dit loaf around on der outside; Und did shov der flies mit his tail off patiently aboud,-- Until Mary did come also from dot school-house oud.

Und den dot lambs did run away gwick to Mary, Und dit make his het gwick on Mary's arms, Like he would said, "I don't was schared, Mary would kept me from droubles enahow."

"Vot vos der reason aboud it, of dot lambs und Mary?" Dose schildren did ask it dot school-master; "Vell, don'd you know it, dot Mary lofe dose lambs, already," Dot school-master did said.

Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small, Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all. --LONGFELLOW.

BOB CRATCHIT'S CHRISTMAS.

CHARLES DICKENS.

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for six-pence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt-collar (his father's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day,) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable parks.

And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he, (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him,) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.

"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit, "and your brother, Tiny Tim! and Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by half-an-hour!"

"Here's Martha, mother!" said a girl, appearing as she spoke.

"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits.

"Hurrah! there's such a goose, Martha!"

"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.

"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and had to clear away this morning, mother."

"Well, never mind, so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit, "sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!"

"No, no, there's father coming," cried the two young Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"

"So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter besides the fringe hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder.

Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!

"Why, where's our Martha," cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.

"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.

"Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden falling in his high spirits; for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come home rampant. "Not coming upon Christmas day!"

Martha did not like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off to the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, after Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content.

"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men see."

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more and more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool beside the fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs--as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby--mixed some hot mixture in a jug, with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and put it on the hob to simmer; master Peter and the two young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; and in truth it was something very like it in that house.

Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; master Peter mashed the potatoes with wonderful vigor; Miss Belinda sweetened the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard, upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped.

At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight rose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried "Hurrah!"

There never was such a goose! Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows.

But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous to bear witnesses--to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the backyard and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose--a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a wash-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastry cook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding!

In half-a-minute Mrs. Cratchit entered--flushed, but smiling proudly,--with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour.

Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound being tasted, (the gin and lemons) and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel full of chestnuts on the fire.

Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass,--two tumblers and a custard cup without a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily.

Then Bob proposed "A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears, God bless us!" which all the family re-echoed.

"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear, Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

THOMAS GRAY: 'ELEGY'

"A SNUG LITTLE ISLAND."

If you examine a map of Europe you will notice, not without difficulty, a little speck in the North Sea some thirty-six miles northwest of the mouth of the river Elbe. This little almost invisible speck is an island called Heligoland.

It belongs to Great Britain, having been ceded to this country by the Danes in 1814. Denmark in an evil hour identified herself with the cause of the first Napoleon, and the loss of Heligoland was only one of the results of her misguided policy. The island is to-day known chiefly as the favorite seaside resort of the Hamburghers, and though it is a British possession no English is spoken by the natives. Its name is supposed to mean the Holy Island, tradition affirming that at one period of its existence--many centuries ago--the isle was covered with temples for pagan worship that have long since disappeared.

Hel-i-go-land is one mile in length, about half a mile broad, and triangular in shape. It consists of an Upper and Lower Town, and is surrounded on all sides by steep red cliffs, except at the part upon which the Lower Town is built. Nearly a quarter of a mile east of the main island is a long, low-lying, sandy hill or "dune," which affords splendid bathing. Access from the Lower to the Upper Town, on the Cliffs above, is obtained by means of a wooden stair of 190 steps. Naturally enough, since there is constant need to travel between the two "Towns," this stair is a prominent feature in Heligoland existence. It is the test alike of youthful vigour and of failing strength.

The island children cannot conceive of a country without a stair, and the lads of the colony--like boys all the world over--often adopt the dangerous practice of accomplishing the descent by sliding down the balusters, a pastime that is sometimes indulged in by people of maturer years. The flat-topped rock is occupied by a lighthouse, a battery, a powder magazine, and pasture for 200 sheep. From one end to the other there runs a footpath called the "Highway," or "Potato Lane."

The streets, clean and paved with red brick, are excessively narrow, the only vehicles being perambulators and wheelbarrows, while horse or ass is never--or scarcely ever--seen in the island. The two or three cows which supply the milk during the season duly retire with the last of the visitors to Hamburg, 100 miles distant. The houses of the poorer folk resemble ship cabins, the beds being nailed against the wall like berths, or built in recesses in the walls.

The inhabitants love liberty and independence. They are proud of their "right little, tight little" island, and when business calls them away from it, they always weary to get back home. The rhyme which finds most favor amongst the people is one which, being interpreted, asserts that--

"Green is the land, Red is the strand, White is the sand, These are the colors of Heligoland."

This rhyme indeed, Dr. Robert Brown suggests, may be regarded as their "national anthem."

The Heligolanders earn their livelihood from the harvest of the sea, though a fair amount of business is done by letting lodgings during "the season." From June to October hundreds of visitors besiege it, and during this period it may be described as a suburb of Hamburg, the bulk of the strangers hailing from that prosperous city. In winter the natives have the little island all to themselves.

The Heligoland men are tall, strong, with regular features and are superior in build to their relatives on the mainland. The women are rather handsome, with small feet, well-shaped slender hands, and long hair, for which, indeed, they are famous. As compared with the German or Dutch peasant women, they easily bear the palm.

In their dress they rather affect gay colors, the younger ones especially, like the "Rose" whom the artist has depicted on this page. The dress consists of a scarlet skirt, with a "body" and apron, generally of some light brown "stuff." The bonnet is a product peculiar to the island. It is a piece of pasteboard bent in the shape of a bonnet, over which is fastened a square piece of silk, satin or poplin, occasionally embroidered behind with lace.

The population numbers about 3,000 souls. As already noted, the men are fishers and pilots. The yearly value of the fisheries--which comprise mainly lobsters, crabs, herring, cod, and flat fish--amounts to upwards of $25,000. Trade is carried on by barter, the fish being exchanged with the merchants of Hamburg and Bremen for the goods which the Heligolanders require. The natives are keen, shrewd and honest.

Theft is practically unknown, and the few cases with which the magistrate is troubled arise from the street brawls which now and then take place. The men are usually serious, and rarely joke among themselves or with strangers, and, oddly enough, all the young men are particularly reserved.

Of course the women are not nearly so grave. They are all more lively as well as talkative. Though they are rather good-looking, they get aged and weatherbeaten early, owing to the anxiety of household affairs and other causes. For the men are addicted to the vile habit--common among all uncivilized and too many civilized races--of allowing the women to do very nearly the whole of the manual labor of the house, field and garden. Accordingly we find that the females have to pay in premature age the penalty of their lords' laziness.

The climate is very bracing, but the winters are wet and stormy. The air is so saturated with saline spray that the rain will leave a slight deposit of salt after it has evaporated. During the winter, communication with the mainland is maintained by boat once a week, though the island is often completely isolated for a considerable period by rough weather, drift ice, and various other causes.

Rats and mice are found in Heligoland in plenty, but the oft-quoted story about the rabbits, and the ruin which their burrowing was fast bringing upon the doomed isle is declared by a competent authority to be pure romance. The sea is making rapid inroads upon parts of the Holy Isle, and it is not unlikely that at some far-distant period all that will remain of this out-of-the-world spot will be a wave-lashed rock, the haunt of the gull and the cormorant.

DON'T CROWD.

CHAS. DICKENS.