• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 It Is Perfectly True.
 The Little Match-Girl.
 The Darning-Needle.
 The Story of a Mother.
 The Angel.
 Only One Other Story.
 Back Cover






Group Title: Tales.
Title: Good wishes for the children
CITATION PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00026986/00001
 Material Information
Title: Good wishes for the children
Uniform Title: Tales
Alternate Title: Hans Andersen's good wishes for children interpreted by A.A.B. and S.C.P
Physical Description: 41 p., 34 leaves of plates : ill. ; 21 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Andersen, H. C ( Hans Christian ), 1805-1875
Riverside Press (Cambridge, Mass.) ( Publisher )
Publisher: Riverside Press
Place of Publication: Cambridge
Publication Date: 1873
 Subjects
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1873   ( lcsh )
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Cambridge
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by Hans Christian Andersen.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00026986
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002221163
notis - ALG1383
oclc - 07347150

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Front Matter
        Page 3
    Title Page
        Page 4
        Page 5
    Table of Contents
        Page 6
    It Is Perfectly True.
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
    The Little Match-Girl.
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
    The Darning-Needle.
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    The Story of a Mother.
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    The Angel.
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
    Only One Other Story.
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
    Back Cover
        Page 84
        Page 85
Full Text
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GOOD WISHES FORTHE CHILDRENBYHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENCAMBRIDGEprinteb at tte flibergibe Prec1873


Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1873, byH. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY,in the Office of the Libiarian of Congress, at Washington.


CONTENTSPAGEIT IS PERFECTLY TRUE ITHE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL 6THE DARNING-NEEDLE IITHE STORY OF A MOTHER 18THE ANGEL .28ONLY ONE OTHER STORY 33


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IT IS PERFECTLY TRUE." THAT is a frightful story," said a hen, and"I in a part of the town, too, where the af-fair hadn't taken place. " That is a frightful talein the hen-house! I don't dare to sleep aloneto-night! It is a good thing that we are so manyof us together here on the roost." And then sherecounted such things, that the feathers of allthe other hens bristled, and the cock's combdrooped. It is perfectly true.But we must begin at the beginning, whichwas in a hen-house on the other side of thetown. The sun was going down, and the fowlsflew up to roost. One of the hens was white-feathered and short-legged. She laid her quan-tum of eggs, and was, as a fowl, respectable inevery particular. As she settled herself on theperch, she plucked herself with her bill, andthereby lost a little feather. " There it goes!"1


2 It is Perfectly True.she said; "'the more I pick myself, the morebeautiful I shall grow!" Now this was said injoke, for she was the wit of the barn-yard, andmoreover, as remarked, highly estimable. There-upon she went to sleep.It was dark all about, the hens were packedclose together, and the one next to her was notasleep. She heard, and yet she didn't hear, asone must do in the world, if he would live inpeace. Still, she had to confide the matter toher neighbor." Did you hear what was said just now? Idon't call names, but there is a hen who wantsto pick her feathers out in order to be beautiful!If I were the cock, I would scorn her! "And just above the fowls sat the owl, withher husband and children. They have sharpears in that family, so they heard every wordwhich neighbor hen spoke, and they rolledtheir eyes, and the owl mother fanned herselfwith her wings."' Don't listen! don't listen! but then youheard what has just been said ? I heard it withmy own ears, and one who has his ears can heara good deal! "


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It is Perfectly True. 3" One of the hens has forgotten what beseemsa hen to that degree, that she sits there andpulls out her feathers to make herself beautiful,and to attract attention! "" Prenez garde aux enfants," said the owlfather; " that is not for children! "" I will just tell it to the owl opposite, she issuch an exemplary owl! "Herewith the mother flew away." Hoo! hoo! oohoo!" they both hooted downto the doves in the neighbor's dove-cote. " Haveyou heard! have you heard! oohoo! there is ahen who has pulled out all her feathers tobeautify herself, and to be the object of remark.She will freeze to death, if she hasn't done soalready. Oohoo!"" What? which? " cooed the doves!" In the neighbor's yard. I as good as saw itmyself! The story is almost too scandalous torepeat, but it is perfectly true!""I call it all true, word for word," said thedoves, and went cooing to their own barn-yard,-" There is a hen, some say even thatthere are two, who have pulled out all theirfeathers to be singular, and to outshine the


4 1t is Perfectl True.others. That is a dangerous game, for one caneasily catch cold and die of fever, and they haveboth died! "" Wake up! wake up!" crowed the cock, andflew up on the fence. Sleep was in his eyesstill, but he crowed notwithstanding,-"Threehens have died from unfortunate attempts ateccentricity and superiority. They had pulledout all their feathers! It is a pathetic history;I don't want to keep it to myself, let it spread.""Let it spread!" piped the bats. And thehens clucked, and the cocks crowed, " Let itspread, let it spread! "And so the story ran from barn-yard to barn-yard, and at last came back to the place fromwhich it started."There are five hens," it ran, " who haverivalled each other in pulling out their feathers,to see which could make herself the most con-spicuous; and then they pecked each other untilthey bled and fell down dead, a laughing-stockand disgrace to their families, and a great loss totheir owners."And the hen who had lost the single feather,very naturally didn't recognize her own story;


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It is Perfectly Trzie. 5and as she was a virtuous hen, she said, " Idespise such hens; but there are plenty likethem. One shouldn't keep such a thing quiet,and I shall do my best to bring the tale.into thenewspapers, that the whole country may knowit; the hens have deserved it, and their familiestoo! "And it appeared in the papers, and wasprinted. And it is perfectly true, that out ofone feather, five hens may be made!1*


THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL.IT was frightfully cold; it snowed, and wasalready nearly dark and evening-the lastevening of the year.In all this cold and darkness there went alongthe street a poor little girl with bare head andfeet. True, when she left home she had slippers;but of what good were they? They were verylarge slippers, which her mother had been wear-ing; as large as that, even, were they. The littlegirl lost them as she scampered across the street,because two carriages were dashing along atsuch a terrible rate. One slipper was not tobe found, the other a mite of a child had seizedand run away with; he thought it would make acapital cradle for his children when he had any!And now the child went on with little barefeet, all red and purple with the cold. She hada quantity of matches in her old apron, and abundle of them in her hand. Nobody hadbought any of her the long, long day; nobodyhad given her a single penny.


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The Little Match-Girl. 7Shivering with cold and hunger, she crawledalong, the picture of misery, poor little thing!The snow-flakes covered her long fair hair,which fell about her neck in curls; but shedidn't think of that.Lights were shining in all the windows, andthere was a delicious smell of roast goose: itwas St. Sylvester's feast; ah! she did think ofthat.She sat down in a corner made by two houses,where one projected a little beyond the other,and cowered and huddled herself together; hersmall feet were drawn up under her, but she wascolder than ever, and didn't dare to go home.She hadn't sold any matches, you know, andhadn't a penny to take back.She would be sure to get a beating from herfather; and then it was very cold at home too;they had only the roof over them, through whichthe wind whistled, even if the great holes werestopped with straw and rags.The little hands were well-nigh stiff with cold.Oh, how much good a match would do her,if she should take only one out of the paper,scratch it on the wall, and warm her fingersby it!


8 The Little Match-Girl.She drew one out. Rrscht! how it sputtered,how it burned! It was a warm, clear flame, like"a little candle, as she held her fingers over it;"a wonderful little candle! It seemed really tothe child as if she were sitting before a greatiron stove with polished brass feet and brassmountings. The fire burned so blissfully, andwarmed so beautifully. The little one alreadystretched out her feet to warm them, when, ohdear! the flame went out; the stove vanished.She had only the bit of blackened wood fromthe burned match in her hand.A second was scratched on the wall; it burned,and when the light fell upon the wall it becameas transparent as a veil; she could look directlyinto the room.The table was laid with a snow-white clothand shining porcelain, and the roast goose,stuffed with apples and prunes, sent forth a fine,tempting steam. And, what was still moresumptuous to see, the goose hopped downfrom the platter and tottered along the floor,with knife and fork in his breast, up to the poorchild.Then the match went out, and there remainedonly the thick, icy cold walls.


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The Little Match-Girl. 9She lighted still another match. And nowshe sat beneath the most beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and far better hung thanthe one which she had seen through the glassdoor, in the house of the rich merchant.Thousands of tiny candles burned on thegreen branches, and bright pictures, such asyou see in show windows, looked down uponher.The little one stretched out her hands, butthe match went out.The Christmas lights mounted higher andhigher; she saw them now like stars in the sky.One fell down, and made a long trail of light." Now some one has died," thought the littlegirl; for her grandmother, the only person whohad loved her, and she was dead now, had toldher that when a star falls a soul flies up to God.She scratched a match on the wall again; itgrew bright, and in the light stood the old grand-mother, all distinct and shining -all mild andloving." Grandma," cried the little one, " oh, take mewith you! I know you'll go away, when thematch is done burning; you will vanish like the


o1 The Little latc/h-Girl.warm stove, like the fine roast goose, and thegreat beautiful Christmas-tree."And quickly she lighted the whole bunch ofmatches, for she wanted to keep her grand-mother fast.And the matches burned so brilliantly that itwas lighter than at midday. The grandmotherhad never before been so beautiful, so large.She took the little maiden in her arms, and bothflew in joy and brightness so high, so high; andthere was neither cold, nor hunger, nor care.They were with God.But in the cold morning there sat in thecorner, leaned against the wall, the poor littlegirl with red cheeks, and a smile upon hermouth, frozen, in the last night of the old year.The New Year's sun rose over the little deadbody.Stiff sat the child with the matches, and onebundle of them burned." She must have wanted to warm herself,"said some one.And no one knew what beautiful things shehad seen, and with what splendour she had gonewith her grandmother to the joys of a New Year.


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THE DARNING-NEEDLE.O NCE there was a darning-needle, who con-sidered herself so fine that she fancied shewas a cambric-needle." Look out that you hold me tight!" she saidto the fingers which took her up. " Don't letme fall; if I slip to the ground, it is very certainthat you will never find me again, I am so fine."" We will see," said the fingers, and therewithseized her round the body."Look! I come with my train!" said thedarning-needle, and drew a long thread afterher; but there was no knot in the thread.The fingers stuck the needle into the cook'sslipper: the upper leather was torn, and was tobe sewed together." This is vulgar work," said the darning-needle;"I shall never get through this; I shall break,I shall break!"And she did really break." Didn't I tell you ? " said the darning-needle." I am too delicate."


12 The DarningA-Nee'dle." Now it's good for nothing," said the fingers;but they held it all the same. The cook droppedsealing-wax on the needle, and fastened herneckerchief with it." Ah, now I'm a breast-pin!" said the darning-needle. " I knew well enough that I shouldcome to honour; if one has anything in him, hewill come to something!"And with that she laughed to herself ; for youcan never see when a darning-needle laughs.Now she sat up and looked about her, as proudas if in a state coach."Allow me to ask whether you are gold ? "she asked the pin, who was her neighbor." You have a very fine appearance, and a headof your own, only it is small. You must try togrow, for it is not every one who gets sealing-wax dropped on him !"And the darning-needle drew herself upproudly so high, that she fell out of the kerchief,and into the gutter, which the cook was rinsing." Now we'll have a journey!" said the darning-needle. "Let us hope that I sha'n't come togrief."But she did come to grief.


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The Darning,-Nredle. 13" Oh, I'm too fine for this world!" she said,as she lay in the gutter. " But I know whoI am, and that is some satisfaction." And thedarning-needle preserved her haughty demean-our, and didn't lose her good-humour.And every kind of thing ran over her: chips,and straws, and pieces of old newspapers." See, how they sail!" said the darning-needle." They don't know what there is under them.Here I am, here Ilie! Ah, there goes a shavingnow, who thinks of nothing in the world buthimself; and only a shaving! Here comes astraw,- no, but how it wheels and turns! Don'tbe so taken up with yourself, you might easilyhit against a stone. Here comes a bit of newspaper. What is printed on it has been forgot-ten long ago, and yet how it spreads itself andflaunts! Now I sit patient and still. I knowwho I am; and thal I shall always remain! "One day something lay near her, which glit-tered so brilliantly that the darning-needlethought it was a diamond; but it was only abottle-stopper, and because it shone at such arate the darning-needle addressed it, and intro-duced herself as a breast-pin.2


14 The Darning-Needle." You are a diamond, I suppose ? "" Yes, something of the kind."And so each thought the other was a thing ofgreat value; and they discoursed of the prideand haughtiness of the world." I was in the box of a Mamsell," said thedarning-needle; "and this Mamsell was thecook. On each hand she had five fingers,and anything so conceited as those fingers Ihave never seen. And they were there just totake me out of the box and to put me backagain."" Were they aristocratic ? " asked the stopper." Aristocratic !" said the darning-needle, " No;but uncommonly stuck up. They were fivebrothers of the family Finger.' They heldthemselves proudly by the side of each other,though they were of different lengths. Theoutside one, the thumb, was short and thick; hestuck out from the hand, and had only one jointin his back, and could make only one bend; buthe said that if he were cut off, his owner wouldbe too maimed for service. Sweet-tootl, thenext finger, used to stick into all the sweets andsours; he pointed to the sun and moon, and gave


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The Darning-Needle. 15the pressure when the fingers wrote. Longmnan,the third, looked at all the others over hisshoulder. Goldsides, the fourth, went about witha gold belt on, and little Peter Playman didn'tdo the first thing, and was proud of that. Infact, it was bragging, bragging from beginningto end; so I left them."" And now we sit here and shine !" said thestopper.At that moment more water came into thegutter; it overflowed, and carried off the stopperwith it."Well, well, she has gone on!" said thedarning-needle, "and I stay put. I am too fine;but that is my pride, and it is laudable."And she sat there, as proud as proud couldbe, and had many deep thoughts."; I almost think that I was born of a sunbeam,I am so exquisite! And it appears to me thatthe sunbeams are always hunting for me underthe water. Alas! I am so fine that my ownmother can't find me. If I only had my eyethat broke off, I believe that I could cry; butthen I wouldn't do it; crying is not genteel."One day a couple of little street boys lay


16 The Darning-Needle.there, and rummaged in the gutter, where theyfound nails, and pennies, and such things. Itwas dirty work, but then they liked it." Hulloa!" shouted one, who had prickedhimself with the darning-needle. " That's apretty fellow!"" I am no fellow; I'm a young lady!" said thedarning-needle; but nobody listened.The sealing-wax had disappeared, and she hadgrown dark too; but black makes you lookslimmer, and so she thought that she was moregenteel than ever."There comes an egg-shell floating along!'said the youngsters; and then they stuck thedarning-needle in the egg-shell." White walls, and I black !" said the darning_needle. " Very becoming! now people can seeme! If I only don't get sea-sick, for then Ishould break."But she wasn't sea-sick, and didn't break."It is a good thing against sea-sickness, ifyou can have a steel stomach, and then if youdon't forget that you are a little better than amortal! There, now my sea-sickness is quitegone; the more refined one is, the more he canbear."


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The Darning-Needle. 17"Crack!" said the egg-shell, -a cart wentover her." Gracious, how that squeezes me!" said thedarning-needle. " Now I shall be sea-sick. Ishall break; I know I shall! "But she didn't break, if the cart did go overher. She lay her length,- and there let her lie2*


THE STORY OF A MOTHER.A MOTHER sat by her little child; she wasso sad, so wretched, because it must die.It was very pale; the little eyes were closed.The child breathed heavily, and sometimesdeeply, as if it sighed; and the mother lookedstill more sadly on the little creature.There came a knock at the door, and a poorold man walked in, well covered up in a horse-blanket, for that is warm, and he needed it -itwas mid-winter. Without, everything was cov-ered with ice and snow, and the wind was blow-ing so fiercely that it cut the face.And as the old man shivered with cold, andthe child slept for a moment, the mother wentto the stove, and put a mug of ale there to warmfor him. And the old man rocked to and fro,and the mother sat on a chair next to him, andlooked at her sick child who breathed so heavily,and took the little hand." You think, don't you, that I shall keep him ?"


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The Story of a Mo/ther. 19said she ; " the dear God will not take him fromme?"And the old man (it was Death himself) noddedstrangely: the nod might mean " yes," or " no."And the mother's eyes sank, and tears rolleddown her cheeks. Her head was very heavy -for three days and three nights she hadn't closedher eyes; and now she slept, but only for amoment: then she started and shivered withcold." What's that? " she cried, and looked aboutwildly.But the old man was gone, and her little childwas gone, he had taken it with him; and therein the corner rattled and buzzed the great clock-the heavy pendulum ran down to the floor-bang! and then the clock stood still.And the poor mother rushed from the house,and called after her child.Out there, in the midst of the snow, sat awoman in long black clothes, and she said," Death has been there in your room; I saw himhurry out with your little child: he strides fasterthan the wind, and never brings back what hehas once taken."


20 The Story of a Moheir." Only tell me which way he has gone!" saidthe mother. " Tell me the way and I will findhim."" I know it," said the woman in black; " butbefore I tell you, you must sing to me all thesongs which you used to sing to your child.I love those songs; I have heard them before.I am Night, and I saw your tears as you sangthem.""I will sing them all, all," said the mother;" but don't stop me, so that I can't catch him,and find my child."But Night sat mute and still. Then themother sang and wept; and there were manysongs, but more tears. And then said Night," Go along to the right in the gloomy pineforest; I saw Death take his way there withyour little boy."Far in the wood the ways crossed, and sheknew no longer which to choose. Now therestood in the path a thorn-bush, with neitherleaves nor flowers (but it was, of course, onaccount of its being winter), and icicles hungfrom its branches." Didn't you see Death pass by with my littlechild ? "


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The Story of a Mother. 21" Yes," said the thorn-bush ; " but I won't tellyou which way he took, unless you warm me inyour bosom. I am freezing to death, and turningto ice."And she pressed the thorn-bush to her breastso close that it thawed and melted. And thethorns stuck into her flesh, and her blood flowedin great drops. But the thorn-bush shot outfresh green leaves, and had flowers in the coldwinter's night: so warm is it in the heart of asorrowing mother And the thorn-bush told herthe way which she must take.And soon she came to a great lake, on whichwas neither sail- nor row-boat. The lake wasnot sufficiently frozen to bear her, and still notenough broken up to allow her to wade through.Still she must cross it, if she wished to findher child. So she lay down to drink up thelake, which would be, of course, impossible fora mortal; but the sorrowing mother thoughtthat perhaps a miracle might happen."Dear me! no, that would never do;" saidthe lake. " Let us two see if we can't make abargain. I have a great fancy for collectingpearls, and your eyes are the two brightest pearls


22 The Story of a Mlother.that I have ever seen; if you will weep them outin me, then I will bear you over to the greathot-house where Death dwells, and nurses flowersand trees; each of them is a human life.""Oh, what wouldn't I give to come to mychild!" said the poor, over-wept mother; andshe wept still more, and her eyes fell down tothe bottom of the lake, and became two costlypearls. But the waters lifted her up as if she hadbeen in a swing, and with one motion landed heron the other shore, where stood a wonderfulhouse a mile long. One didn't know whether itwas a mountain with woods and caves, or whetherit was divided into rooms. But the poor mothercouldn't see it she had wept her eyes out." Where can I find Death, who went awaywith my little child ? " she asked." He hasn't come here yet," said an old graywoman, who went about there and took care ofDeath's hut-house. " How ever did you bringyourself here, and who has helped you ? "" The dear God has helped me," she answered." He is merciful, and I know that you too will bethat. Where shall I find my little child ? "" I don't know him," said the old woman;


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The S/ory of a Motl ur. 23and now you can't see! Many flowers and treeshave faded away to-day, and soon Death willcome to transplant them. You know, of course,that each mortal has his life's tree, or life'sflower, according to his lot? They look exactlylike other plants, only their hearts beat; children'shearts can beat too. So you can look about, andperhaps you can know the heart-beat of yourchild. But what will you give me, if I tell youwhat more to do? ""I have nothing to give," said the grief-stricken mother; " but I will go to the ends ofthe earth for you."" Thank you; I have no business there," saidthe old woman; "but you may give me yourlong black hair. You know well enough that itis beautiful, and it pleases me! You may takein exchange my white hair, that is something."" Is that all you want?" she cried. " Youshall have it and welcome." And she gave herthe beautiful hair, and took the old woman'swhite hair in return.And then they went into the great hot-houseof Death, where trees and flowers grew wonder-fully together. There were delicate hyacinths


24 The Story of a Mother.under glasses, and great peonies like trees.There grew water plants some quite fresh -others half sick; water snakes crawled on them,and black crabs stuck to the stalks. Therewere noble palm and oak trees, and theretoo grew parsley and the wild thyme. Eachtree and each flower had its name; and eachwas a human life. The people still lived -onein China, another in Greenland, and all over theworld. There were great trees in small pots, sosmall that they were very much crowded, and onthe point of bursting the pots; and there weremany small, weakly flowers in rich earth, hedgedabout with moss, and carefully watched andtended. But the desolate mother bent over allthe smallest plants. She heard the humanheart beating in each, and out of millions sheknew her child's." This is it," she cried, and stretched her handover a little crocus, which, quite diseased, hungits head on one side." Don't touch the flower," said the old woman," but stand just here, and when Death comes(I expect him every moment) don't let him tearthe plant up, but threaten that you will do the


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The Story of a Mother. 25same thing with the others, then he will bealarmed; for he must answer for them all to thedear God: not one does he dare to tear up untilhe has God's permission! "Then all at once there rushed through thehall an icy cold, and the blind mother felt thatit was Death who came in." How did you find your way here ? " said he." How could you come quicker than I ?"" I am a mother," she answered.And Death stretched his long hand towardsthe delicate little flower; but she held her ownhands tight around it, so closely, so closely andyet so carefully, that she didn't crush a leaf.Then Death breathed on her hands, and she feltthis colder than the icy wind, and her handsfell powerless." Against me you can do nothing!" saidDeath." But the dear God can," said she." I do only His will!" said Death. " I amHis gardener. I take all His flowers and trees,and transplant them into the great garden ofParadise, in the unknown land. But how theygrow there, and what it is like, I mustn't tellyou.3


26 The Story of a lMother." Give me back my child! " said the mother;and wept and implored. And all at once sheseized with her hands two beautiful flowers, andcried to Death, " I shall tear up all your flowers,for I am desperate."" Let them alone," said Death; " you say thatyou are so unhappy, and now would you makeanother mother as wretched as yourself? "" A mother too," sighed the poor woman, anddropped the flowers." Here are your eyes," said Death; " I fishedthem out of the sea they shone so bright.I didn't know that they were yours. Takethem back, they are even brighter than before;and then step down to the deep well near us.I will call the names of the two flowers, and youwill see their whole future, their entire humanlives. You will see what you were going to cutoff and ruin."And she looked into the well; and it was ajoy to see how one flower was a blessing to theworld, and to see what brightness and happinessit spread about it. And she saw the life of theother; and that was all pain and misery, suffer-ing and want.


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The Story of a AMother. 27" Both are God's will! " said Death." Which of them is the flower of misfortune,and which the blessed flower? " she asked." That I can't tell you," answered Death;" but this you shall learn from me, that one ofthe flowers was your own child. It was thedestiny of your child you saw-the fortune ofyour own dear child."Then shrieked the mother for very fear." Which of them is my child? tell me! Savemy innocent child! deliver him from all thissuffering. Take him rather; take him to God'sheaven. Forget my tears; forget my prayersand supplications, and all that I have done."" But I don't understand," said Death. " Willyou have your child back again, or shall I gowith him to that place which you cannotknow ?"The mother fell upon her knees and wrungher hands, and prayed to the dear God "Oh,hear me not, if I have prayed against Thy will,which ever is the best; oh, hear and answernot!"Her head fell upon her breast; and Deathwent with the child to the Unknown Land.


THE ANGEL." 1 HENEVER a good child dies, thereComes an angel of God down to earth,who takes the dead child in his arms, spreadshis great white wings, flies away over all theplaces which the child has loved, and picks awhole handful of flowers, which he takes up toGod, that they may bloom there better than onthe earth. The dear God presses all the flowersto His heart, but that flower which He lovesbest He kisses, and then it receives a voice, andcan join in the blessed strains of joy."Now all this is what an angel of God said, ashe took a dead child to heaven; and the childlistened as if dreaming. And they flew highover the houses, until they came to the homewhere the little one had played, and they passedthrough gardens filled with lovely flowers." Which shall we choose now, to take with usand plant in heaven ?" asked the angel.


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The Angel. 29Now there stood there a slender, beautifulrose-bush, but a cruel hand had broken the stalk,so that all the branches, filled full of great half-opened buds, hung down quite dried up." The poor rose-bush," said the child; " takeit, please, so that up there with God it willblossom."And the angel took it, kissed the child for it,and the little one half-opened his eyes. Theypicked many of the finest flowers, but did notforget the poor despised buttercup and the wildheart's-ease." Now we have the flowers!" said the child;and the angel nodded, but he didn't fly upto God quite yet. It was night, and very still.They lingered in the city, and hovered over oneof the narrow streets, where lay heaps of straw-and ashes and rubbish. It had been the over-seer's day; and there lay broken plates, bits ofplaster, rags, and old hats; and all this didn'tlook at all nice.And the angel pointed amid this confusion tosome pieces of a broken flower-pot, and to alump of earth which had fallen out, and washeld together by the roots of a great dry field3*


30 The Angel.flower, which was worth nothing, and so hadbeen thrown away." This we must take with us," said the angel:" I will tell you why as we fly along." And sothey flew, and the angel told as follows:-" Down there, in that dingy street, in a mis-erable cellar, lived a poor sick boy. Frominfancy he had been bed-ridden; when feelingmost well, he could walk up and down the littleroom once or twice on crutches, that was all.A few days in summer the sunbeams struggledin for a half hour, and danced about the cellarfloor; and when the poor child sat there and lethimself be shone upon by the warm sun, andsaw the red blood through the thin finger whichhe held before his face, then he called that goingout. 'Yes, to-day I have been out to walk!He knew the wood in its lovely spring beauty,only because the neighbour's son used to bringhim the first beech branch; and this he wouldhold over his head, and dream then that he wasunder the beech trees, where the sun shone andthe birds were singing. On one bright springday, the neighbour's son brought him also fieldflowers, and among them, by chance, was one


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The Angel. 31with the roots; and so this was planted in aflower-pot, and put in the window close by thebed. And the flower was planted by a favouredhand, for it grew, sent out new shoots, and everyyear bore blossoms. It became the sick child'sbrightest flower-garden his little treasure hereon earth. He watered and tended it, and saw toit that it should feel each ray of sun to the verylast that peeped down through that lonely win-dow. And the flower went on growing, even inhis dreams; for it blossomed all for him. Forhim it gave out all its fragrance, and rejoicedthe eye; and to the flower he turned himself indeath, when the dear God called him. A yearago the little boy went to be with God. Forthis while, the flower stood forgotten in thewindow, and grew parched and withered; andso at the overseer's visit it was thrown outwith the sweepings into the street. And this isthe flower,-the poor dried flower, which wehave taken with us in our nosegay, for this flowerhas made more happiness than the bravestblossom in a queen's garden.""But how do you know all this?" said tlechild, whom the angel was bearing to heaven.


32 The Angel." I know it," said the angel, " for I was myselfthe poor sick child who went on crutches! myown flower I know well! "And the child opened its eyes wide, andlooked into the angel's beautiful happy face, andat the same moment they found themselves upin God's heaven, where joy and gladness reigned.And God pressed the dead child to His heart,and then it got wings like the other angel, andflew hand in hand with him. And God pressedall the flowers to His heart; but the poor driedflower He kissed; and it took a voice and sangwith all the angels that hover round the throneof God, -some quite close to the throne, andothers a little further off; and so in wideningcircles to infinity: but all, all happy alike. Andall sang together, large and small, the goodand blessed child, and the poor field flowerwhich had lain there so lifeless, thrown out bythe overseer with the sweepings, into the mean,narrow street.


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ONLY ONE OTHER STORY.IN the garden all the apple-trees had blos-somed, they had hurried to get flowers beforethe leaves came; and in the yard all the littleducks were out of doors, and the cat too, shebasked in the sunshine,- yes, she licked herpaws in order; and, if you glanced over thefields, there stood the corn incomparably green,and there was a twittering and a trilling from allthe little birds, just as if it had been a greatfete-day; and one might very well say that itwas, for it was Sunday.The bells rang, and the people went in theirbest state to church, and all looked full of content.Yes, everything made everybody cheerful; it wasreally such a warm, lovely day, that one couldwell say, " The dear God is so unspeakably goodto us men !But in the church the preacher in the pulpitspoke loud and harshly; he said that menwere godless, and that God would punish them


34 Only One Oliher Story.for it, and that when they died the wicked wouldgo to hell; and he said that their worm wouldnever die, and their fire would never be put out;that they would never find rest and peace. Itwas fearful to listen; and he said it so positively.He described hell to them as a poisonous cave,where the filth of the whole world ran; therewas no cool spot in the ever-burning flames ofsulphur; and there was no ground or foothold -they sank and sank in an everlasting silence. Itwas horrible only to hear the description; butthe preacher spoke from a full heart, and all thepeople in the church were terrified. But outside,the little birds sang well pleased, and the sunshone so warm, it was as if each little flowersaid, " God is so infinitely good to us all." Yes,out there, it was not as the parson preached.In the evening, at bed-time, the preacher sawthat his wife sat still and thoughtful." What's the matter? " he asked her."Oh! what ails me?" she said. " What ailsme is that I can't well collect my thoughts.I can't quite understand what you say that thereare so many godless ones, and that they willburn forever and forever; oh, so long. I am


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Only One Olfer Story. 35but a sinful woman, but I couldn't find it in myheart to let the veriest sinner burn eternally;and how then can the dear God do it? He whois so infinitely good, and knows how the evilcomes from without and from within. No; Icannot quite think so, although you maintain it."It was autumn. The leaves fell from thetrees; the grave stern preacher sat beside thebed of a dying woman; a holy believer closedher eyes it was the preacher's wife." If anybody finds rest in the grave, andmercy with his God, then you will!" said thepreacher; and he folded her hands, and made aprayer over the dead body.And she was taken to her grave: two largetears rolled down the cheeks of the stern man;and in the parsonage it was still and empty.The sun of the house was put out; she wasgone home.It was night; a cold wind blew over thepreacher's head, and it was as if the moon wereshining in his room; but the moonlight was notthere. It was a form which stood before hisbed; he saw the spirit of his dead wife. Shelooked at him deeply distressed, as if she wouldsay something.


36 Only One Other Story.And the man half raised himself, and stretchedhis arms towards her. " And is not eternalpeace vouchsafed even to you? You too mustmust suffer ? You,- the best, the holiest ? "And the dead wife bowed her head for " Yes,"and laid her hand upon her breast." And can I get rest for you in the grave ? "" Yes," she said."And how?"" Give me a hair, only a single hair, from thehead of the sinner whose fire is never quenched;the sinner whom God has doomed to everlastingpains in hell."" Oh, yes! how easily you'll be released, youpure and holy one!" he answered." Then follow me," the ghost said. " This isallowed to us,- by my side you may glide where-ever your thoughts wish to go. Invisible to men,we will penetrate their secret hiding-places; butwith decided hand you must point out the mancondemned to everlasting torments, and beforethe first cock-crowing he must be found."And stealthily, as if borne in thought, theycame to the great city; and on the walls of thehouses were written in flaming characters the


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Only One Other Story. 37names of all the deadly sins Pride, Avarice,Anger, in short, the whole seven-coloured rain-bow of sin." There, just as I thought," said the preacher," are those condemned to everlasting fire."And they stood before a brilliantly lightedportal, where the wide staircase was spread withcarpets and with flowers, and through the lordlyhalls came sounds of festive music. The porterstood there in silk and velvet, with a great silver-mounted cane." Our ball compares well with the king's," hesaid; and turned himself towards the streetcrowd,--from crown to toe his thought wasplainly to be read,- " You rabble, staring in atthe door here; you are all a pack of beggarscompared with me! "" Pride " said the ghost; " do you see him ? "" That one ? " said the preacher; " but he isa stupid creature, only a fool; and will not becondemned to everlasting fire and punishment."" Only a fool,"--it echoed through the greathouse of Pride; for that they all were.And they flew within the bare four walls ofAvarice, where the old man, a bundle of bones,4


38 Only One Other Story.and chattering with cold, hungry and thirsty,clung to his money with all his mind and strength.They saw how he sprang from his miserable bed,as in a fever, and drew a loose stone from thewall, -there lay his gold coins in a stocking;he felt the ragged waistcoat where other moneyswere sewed, and his damp fingers trembled." He is ill; that is madness; a joyless madness,filled with anxiety and bad dreams."They hurried fast away, and were soon beforethe dungeons of the criminals, and saw where theyslept in long rows, side by side. One of themwoke from sleep uttering a dreadful cry like awild beast. He knocked his neighbour with hiselbow, who turned sleepily." Hold your tongue, you brute, and sleep ; it'snight."" Every night," answered the other, " yesevery night he comes, howls and torments me.In the heat of passion I have done first thisthing and then that. With an evil mind I wasborn, and that has brought me here the secondtime; but I have the punishment that I deserve.Only one thing I have not confessed. WhenI went out from here the first time, and passed


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Only One Other Sto/y. 39by my master's place, one thing and anotherboiled within me; I scratched a match upon thewall, which came too near to the straw thatch.Everything burned, everything caught fire, justas it goes on within me. I helped to save thecattle and the people. There was no life lost,except a flight of doves, which flew into the fire,and the watch dog, I didn't think of him. Youcould hear him howl. And this howling I hearall the time, when I want to sleep; and if I fallasleep, then the dog comes, so big and shaggy;he lies down on me, howls, oppresses me, andsuffocates me. So, listen to what I tell you.You can snore, snore all the night; and I can'tsleep a quarter of an hour." And the blood rushedinto the eyes of the passionate man; he threw.himself upon his companion, and hit him withhis doubled fist."Aha! the blockhead is crazy again!" theysaid on all sides. And the other criminalsseized him, wrestled with him, bent him double,so that his head came between his knees, andthen they bound him fast; the blood was almostbursting from his eyes, and all the pores." You are killing him, the miserable man!"


40 Only One Other Slory.said the preacher. And as he stretched hishand over the sinner's head, who must expiatehis crimes thus hardly here, the scene changed.They flew through rich halls, and throughsqualid rooms. Sloth, Envy, all the deadly sins,passed before them; a judging angel read thecrime of the sinner, and his defence. This was,indeed, but poor before God; but God knowsthe heart. He knows all; the evil that comesfrom within and from without. He, all mercyand all love. The hand of the preacher trembled;he ventured not to stretch it out, to pull a hairfrom the sinner's head; and tears streamed fromhis eyes, like waters of mercy and love, whichquench the everlasting fires of hell.The cock crowed." Oh! merciful God, Thou wilt give her restin the grave, for I am not able to ransom her."" I have rest now," the dead wife said. " Itwas your bitter words; your stern human judg-ment of God and of His creatures, which droveme to you. Learn to understand mankind; foreven in the wicked is a something of God asomething which may conquer and quench thefires of hell."


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Only One Olher Story. 41And a kiss was pressed upon the preacher'smouth; it was light about him. God's brightsun shone into the room, where his dear wife,alive, tender, and loving, waked him from adream, which God had sent to him.


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