Chapter 2

The following Sunday when the family was going to church, they asked her whether she would not go with them; but she glanced sorrowfully, with tears in her eyes, at her feet. The family went to hear the word of God, but she went alone into her little chamber; there was only room for a bed and a chair to stand in it; and here she sat down with her prayer-book; and whilst she read with a pious mind, the wind bore the strains of the organ towards her, and she raised her tearful eyes to heaven and said, "Oh God, help me!"

And the sun shone clearly! And straight before her stood the angel of God in white garments, the same she had seen at the church-door; but he no longer carried the sharp sword, but in its stead a splendid green spray full of roses, and he touched the ceiling with the spray, and the ceiling rose up high, and where he had touched it there gleamed a golden star. And he touched the walls and they widened out, and she saw the organ which was playing; she saw the old pictures of the preachers and the preachers' wives.

The congregation sat on cushioned seats, and sang out of their prayer-books. For the church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow chamber, or else she had come into the church. She sat in the pew with the clergyman's family, and when they had ended the psalm and looked up, they nodded and said, "It is right that thou art come!"

"It was through mercy!" she said.

And the organ pealed, and the children's voices in the choir sounded sweet and soft. The clear sunshine streamed warmly through the window into the pew where Karen sat. Her heart was so full of sunshine and peace, and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunshine to God, and there no one asked after the _red shoes_.

* * * * *

Hans Christian Andersen is an excellent allegorist, and has very ingeniously woven together a most interesting fabric in this story of Karen, who, I am sure, every child cannot fail to see is a fabulous heroine. And yet there is something so simple and touching in the whole story, from beginning to end, that one can scarcely read it without weeping over her sufferings, and wondering in their hearts at the severity of her punishment.

In former times there was a real belief in supernatural things among the simple-minded, a belief which, it seems to me, was much more in accordance with the Christian character than the senseless unbelief in every thing which cannot be explained according to natural laws, which is certainly very much the case at the present day among the wise and learned, and much more to be regretted than the credulousness of other days.

NAUGHTY MARIAN.

I thought to find my little girl, When I came home at night, With brow unruffled as her curl, And smiles of love as bright.

I thought she'd jump upon my knee, And tell me all she'd done, In reading, study, work, or play, From morn till set of sun.

Is this my Marian? No, indeed! Not such a frown had she! When my own little girl comes back, Just send her in to me!

MORNING HOUR.

* * * * *

I.

The buds and the blossoms, How bright to the view! Like jewels and diamonds They sparkle with dew.

II.

The sun's rising beams Have kissed each bright flower: How lovely the scene! How peaceful the hour!

III.

All nature awakens From a night of soft sleep, And the insects once more From their hiding-holes creep.

IV.

The old birds have flown Far away to get food, While anxiously wait, Their young trembling brood.

V.

To our Father in heaven Our voices we'll raise, With feelings most fervent, In songs to his praise.

VI.

Dear Saviour, to love thee Our hearts are inclined, Oh, teach us, we pray thee, Thy precepts to mind.

VII.

Upon our heart-garden, Oh, let thy love rain, Like fresh summer showers Upon the young grain.

VIII.

Like soft, gentle dew Upon the dry earth, Which opens the old buds, And to new ones gives birth.

IX.

Oh, teach us to offer Good deeds in thy praise, And acts of true charity Be the hymns that we raise.

X.

From all that will harm us, Or sorrow will bring, Oh, keep us, dear Lord, Beneath thy bright wing.

THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP.

* * * * *

Charley was a little boy, but he knew very well how to pity the poor, because he had a kind heart; and he knew very well that the poor laborers he saw in the streets were not bad because they were meanly dressed and worked hard: he knew they were men, and had hearts like his father and mother, and when they were dressed their appearance was very respectable, and at church no people were more devout or better mannered.

One morning--it was winter--the sun shone down from the sky, and melted the snow and ice in the street and on the tops of the houses, so that it came tumbling down upon the sidewalks, and the streets were overflowing with the great flood. Charley was looking out of the window to see it fall, and the people dodge and scamper along to save themselves from the great slides that would have been very dangerous if they had hit any one on the head. He was thinking too of the poor little ragged boys, as they went by, some with matches, some with newspapers, and some with their hats in their hands begging, and he wished in his heart that he could do something to help them all; but he was but a little boy, and scarcely knew how to take care of himself. As he continued to watch the passers-by, there came along a poor chimney-sweep, with his soot-bag and brush; his feet were very red, and looked as if they were bitten with the frost, for his shoes only half-covered his poor swollen feet, and he had no stockings on. His blanket that hung over his shoulders was black as the chimney, and his face looked like soot.

Charley was watching him as he went along crying, "Sweep, ho! sweep!" when down came one of these great slides right upon his head. He fell flat in a moment, and there he lay as one dead, covered all over with the cold snow and ice. Charley rushed into the street in a moment, and screamed for help, but before he could reach the sweep a good man had raised him up, and was kindly brushing his clothes. He was not much hurt, but severely stunned. Charley took him by the hand and led him into the house, and gave him some dry clothes, and put some stockings and shoes upon his feet, and set before him a warm breakfast besides.

The poor chimney-sweep wept--for so much kindness had touched his heart, and he sobbed out his thanks as well as he could, and took his leave after receiving some small pieces of silver, which. Charley's mother gave him to help him in his toil; for it was a toilsome life he had to lead--that poor sweep; so young, too. It made Charley very sorry to see his tears, and he sat a long time with his head bent upon his breast, and never spoke one word. At last his mother said--

"What troubles you, dear? Are you thinking of the unfortunate chimney-sweep? Then learn a lesson of gratitude for your own happy lot, and be humble; for remember that this poor sweep is as good as you, and perhaps far better in the sight of God, who looks at the heart and not at the outward appearance. See how much he must suffer in his poverty; he may have feelings attuned in beautiful accord with all things noble and charming in nature. He is really very intelligent-looking. He makes me think of the little boy that ran through the streets of a large city all of one cold winter, and then became a great artist, but he was so poor and inexperienced in the ways of the world, that he had to suffer a long time before his genius was discovered. Some time I will tell you about him, that you may know that true genius and worth may be found among the lowest children of earth, and, like the diamond, they will shine when they are polished."

PLEASANT AMUSEMENTS.

* * * * *

"Let us go over our first steps again," said Marian to her sister; "there is nothing like beginning right. When we learn to dance or to sing, or indeed any thing else, we must be sure to learn our _first lesson well_, and then we shall be _sure_ to improve; and dancing is certainly a very useful and pleasing amusement. It is _useful_ because it is a healthy exercise. It is called 'the poetry of motion,' and I have read that the great philosopher Locke speaks of it as of the greatest importance in the education of young people, and he says it cannot be learned too early."

"And I think," said the mother of these young misses, "he is very right; for as we grow older we have more pressing and important uses to perform. Every thing in its own time, my children; as I have told, you before, dancing, as well as music, is a most delightful accomplishment; but we must not neglect our other duties for these."

THE CAGED BIRD.

* * * * *

I.

Pretty bird! pretty bird! Singing so sweet; Art wishing for freedom-- Bird-friends to meet?

II.

Dost thou guess what it is-- Living in trees? And to sleep in a nest Rocked by the breeze?

III.

Thou wert born in a cage, My own dear bird! But, I fancy, new longings Thy heart have stirred.

IV.

Or perhaps to the garden Some bird has flown, And taught thee of freedom, Before unknown.

V.

If I open thy cage And bid thee to fly, Wilt thou ever come back, To gladden mine eye?

VI.

Shall I hear thy sweet song, Morning and eve? Or wilt thou forever Thy mistress leave?

VII.

Well, dear little bird! I'll open thy door: Fly forth to the woods; I'll cage thee no more.

VIII.

But when winter months come, With storm-winds that blow, Come back; I will shelter thee From the storm and snow.

THE YOUNG GLEANER

A FREE TRANSLATION FROM THE GERMAN.

* * * * *

CHAPTER FIRST.

HOW WILLY MEETS THE YOUNG GLEANER IN THE FIELD--HOW HE PITIES HIS MISFORTUNES, AND ASSISTS TO FILL HIS BAG WITH CORN.

One hot day in the harvest-time, a little boy named Willy got leave of his father to go out into the corn-field to watch the reapers bind up the sheaves and load the wagons; and he gathered the field-flowers, and formed them into wreaths to give to his mother, because she loved them dearly. After running about until he was hot and tired, Willy seated himself under the shade of a tree, to rest and amuse himself with his flowers. The poppies, corn-bottles, and darnel, he tied up into bunches. As he was thus occupied, he saw a poor little ragged boy enter the field, his feet bleeding, and an empty bag slung by a cord around his neck.

Willy instantly felt sorry for the distressed boy, and went up to him, and asked him kindly what he cried for and what caused his feet to bleed. And he made the boy sit down under the walnut-tree by him, and, by dint of kind inquiries, drew out of him this pitiful story:--

"We are five children, and our father and mother are very poor. I am the eldest, and my father sends me out in the harvest to glean in the corn-fields, for we have no field of our own to reap, and the little money for which father toils so hard is barely enough to procure our daily bread; but I can fill this bag in a day if I work diligently, and I hope to make a little store against winter, when father is often unemployed, and earning nothing. I went out at daybreak this morning, and had more than half filled my bag, when I had the misfortune to enter the squire's large corn-field. The corn was all reaped and bound up into sheaves. As there were no other gleaners there, I found a good store of ears on the ground, and should soon have filled my bag, if the squire's son, who was in the field, had not seen me.

"He came close up to me with a stick in his hand, and called me a dirty beggar-boy. But I went on with my gleaning as if I did not hear him, which vexed him so that he set the dog on me. I was very much frightened, and in fear and self-defence took up a handful of earth to throw at him, which so incensed its master, that he came up to me, pulled my bag violently from my neck, emptied all that I had gathered upon the ground, threw the bag in my face, and gave me several hard kicks and blows, and ended it all by setting the great dog upon me again, whose bites you see upon my feet."

"What a bad boy!" cried Willy, "and did you treat him as he deserved?"

"No, indeed; I only begged that he would let me pick up my ears of corn; but he would not consent, and drove me out of the field, bidding me never enter there again, under pain of a sound drubbing from the workmen, who would be ready enough, for they laughed when they saw the squire's son ill-treating me." Then the poor sorrowful child began to weep afresh.

"Do your feet hurt you much, poor boy?" asked Willy, in a very sympathizing tone.

"Yes, sadly enough," was the reply; "but I would not mind that at all, if I had not to go home with my bag empty. Father will think that I have been idling all day, and will be angry, and not give me any thing to eat; and I am very hungry now, for I have had only a small piece of dry bread before I came out this morning."

"Oh, is that all?" rejoined Willy. "Here, take this," said the kind boy, handing him a bun which his mother had given him for his luncheon, "for I am not hungry, and if I was, I had rather see you eat it than eat it myself."

The poor boy hesitated to take the bun, but yielded to Willy's kind entreaty, and ate it up very quick.

Then Willy said, "Now let us fill the bag, for I am going to help you."

So they went to work where the sheaves had stood before the cart was loaded, and had nearly filled the bag, when Willy heard his father calling to him from under the walnut-tree.

CHAPTER SECOND.

HOW THE YOUNG GLEANER WAS MUCH FRIGHTENED, AND HOW HAPPY HE WAS MADE--AND HOW DELIGHTED WILLY WAS IN DOING KIND THINGS TO THE POOR.

"I wish you would allow me a few moments," answered Willy to his father, "just to help a poor boy fill his bag from the gleanings of the field."

"But I want you to go with me to the garden," replied his father; "there are some pears to be gathered, and I know somebody that is very fond of pears."

"Yes, I do like them, father--for I suppose you mean me--but to-day I like much better to stay here and help this poor boy. I pity him very much, he has been so cruelly treated by a bad boy." Then Willy told his father of the little boy's adventure in the squire's field, how the squire's son had beaten and set the dog upon him, and how the poor boy had cried and suffered with the pain, and the dread of taking home the empty bag.

The father listened attentively to his son's tale, and immediately went to the little ragged fellow, who was so busy gathering the fallen ears, that he did not hear him when he approached.

"Shall I help you?" said the loud voice of the master of the field.

The child was terrified, and replied, "Indeed, indeed, I have not touched a single stalk or ear of corn except those which were left on the ground."

"I believe you, my little fellow, you need not tremble so; if you were a thief you would not be a gleaner. Come here, my boy." He then took him to a sheaf of corn, and filled his bag.

As soon as this was done, Willy sprung up and flew into his father's arms, and kissed him, exclaiming, "Thank you, thank you, dearest father, kindest father! this is so kind!"

"May God reward you," said the boy, as he went away with tears in his eyes.

Little Willy was very happy, and expressed his interest in the poor boy several times on their way to the garden.

"Why are you so happy, my son? Is it on account of the ripe apricots, or because you have tasted a different pleasure?"

Willy looked into his father's face said, "It is because that poor boy is made happier."

After leaving the garden, he ran to his mother and gave her the flowers he had gathered for her, and related the adventure with the little boy. His mother was very much pleased to find her son possessed so much kindness for the poor, and she promised to assist him in his benevolent feelings, and to allow him in future to look after the poor little stranger, and supply him with clothes, books, and also food for the family, whenever it was necessary for their comfort.

Willy was never so happy and cheerful as when he was doing good and planning something useful to his poor neighbors and friends, for this was the way he lost sight of his own self-gratification, and grew up to be a worthy and honorable man, respected and beloved by all who knew him; for through his tender care and benevolence he dried many tears of penury and sorrow.

PERSEVERANCE.

* * * * *

My master says this is done well, How glad, how proud am I! For I shall see a joyful smile In mother's dear kind eye.

She'll lay her hand upon my head, And kiss my forehead too, And whisper softly in my ear, "Did I not tell you true?"

For when I said, "Oh _dear_, I can't!" And breathed a heavy sigh, My mother said, "Nay, do not fear; Come, let me see you try.

"For if you will I'm very sure It will not be in vain; You know a hard task _really_ learnt Is more than double gain."

I've learned it all, and written it Without the least mistake, And mother said, "I am right glad To see the pains you take."

I did not know how pleasant 'twas To study hard before; But now, I'm very sure, I'll ask For easy tasks no more.

TONY THE MILLER'S SON

* * * * *

CHAPTER FIRST.

ABOUT A MILL, AND THE OLD MILLER WHO BECAME TIRED AND SOLD IT TO TONY'S FATHER, AND OF THE ADVICE GIVEN TO THE NEW OCCUPANT.

For many long years there once stood a solitary mill. It was in a valley between two high mountains. The stream that turned the great wheel was so strong and rapid, that its current never ceased the year through. Even in the hottest summer weather, when all other mills had to stop for want of water, or in the depth of winter, when other mill-streams were frozen over, this same mill could go on, ever working, and never standing still.

For this reason people brought their grain from far and near, even from the city on the farthest side of the lake which received the waters of the stream.

Now it came to pass the old miller grew weary of the old mill, and as he had made a handsome fortune by his industry, he determined to sell it and go to the city, there to spend his days in a more social way, and of use to his fellow-men. After having agreed with a purchaser, and received payment, he delivered the key to him with these words--

"Friend, you have paid me honorably, and I must give you a bit of good advice into the bargain. You may be visited sometimes by strange persons of very small stature, who will ask favors of you. Follow my counsel, and oblige them in what they request. You will find it for your good in doing so." Then the old miller bade him good-by, and went his way.

The new miller took possession of the place, with his wife and only child, whose name was Tony.

Now Tony was a good boy, but very fond of playing, and in the winter season nothing delighted him more than to go a skating with the neighbors' children.

This his father was very willing he should do, because he believed it to be useful in strengthening his limbs.

Here is a picture of Tony skating, but you see he has fallen down flat on his back; but he never minds trifles, he will be up in a moment.

Tony's father was very active, industrious, and exceedingly clever at his business, of a frugal turn, and his wife also a good manager; no wonder that they soon became prosperous.

Half a year had passed away without his hearing or seeing any thing of the little people the old miller had mentioned at parting; but at last, one morning as he was standing outside the mill, a little woman appeared before him so suddenly that he started in surprise. With a small clear voice she spoke.

"Good-morning, neighbor. I came to ask you to open your sluice-gates at noon, so that your mill may stop for half an hour. We have had our large wash, and shall empty our tubs, which will cause a flood that might injure your mill. Farewell! and pray attend to my friendly warning."

CHAPTER SECOND.

HOW THE MILLER BEHAVED TO HIS KIND NEIGHBORS, AND ABOUT THE RUSHING TORRENT WHICH CAME VERY NEAR DESTROYING THE OLD MILL.

The miller knew not what to think. He had never heard of these neighbors before. He had lately been in the upper valley to cut firewood for the winter season, and had seen no trace of inhabitants in the silent gloomy forest. "Besides," thought he, "wherever they are, and if they have ever so great a wash, what need is there to stop my mill? No, no, it will not do, careful neighbor; there is a great deal of meal to be ground to-day, and we must lose no time." He went to work, and forgot the warning.

At dinner, however, one of his men came in hastily, crying, "Master! master! has not the little water-maid given you notice, as she always did to my old master? She and her company are having their large wash and have been emptying their water-tubs. Hark! how the stream roars and rages! and the wheel turns as if driven by a hurricane! The sky is clear, there has been no rain, yet look at the rushing torrent."

The miller, alarmed, looked out of the window. His face became red with anger, and he said, "What did I know about the water-witch, and her abominable washing-day? Spiteful, mischievous hag!"

In an hour or two the stream resumed its usual course, and subsided to its former level; but the wheels and works of the mill were damaged, and the miller suffered from the expense of repairs, and from the delay it occasioned.

After some time the mill went on clacking and grinding corn as well as ever, when one day the miller stood looking at his meadow, thinking to himself, "The grass looks very green, and the weather is very fine; this meadow must be mown to-morrow."

As he thus stood and looked, two airy figures like young girls appeared, so transparent that the miller fancied that he could see the grass through them as they floated over it, and a gentle voice said, "Good day to you, miller! We beg that thou wilt allow us to dance this evening upon this meadow."

Though much astonished, the miller quickly replied in a cross tone, "How! dance upon my meadow! tread down my grass!"

The voice answered "We will not do thy grass any harm; we and our friends dance so lightly that we hardly touch the tips, of thy long grass."

The miller replied sharply, "Why then ask me? If you do not trample my grass, you may dance all the year round for all me."

"Thank you," replied the airy creature; "we only beg, for thy own good, that thou wilt not mow thy grass until a shower of rain has wet it after our dance. Remember this."

They then vanished like a thin vapor.

"Foolish people!" cried the miller; "did I ever hear such nonsense? Must I put off my hay-making till it rains? We may not have such fine dry weather again during the summer. I shall send my men to cut it down to-morrow." He went back to the mill and gave his orders, but said not a word to anybody about what he had heard and seen. When Tony, the miller's son, was going to bed that night, he looked out of the window, and cried to his father--

"There is a strange man with a lantern in the meadow, full of pale lights, dancing about, sometimes forming a wide circle, now dispersing in all directions, then mingling confusedly together."