The architect had planted it on the
grave of Thorwaldsen, where it continued to bloom, the image of _the
beautiful_, scattering its fragrant, rosy leaves to be gathered and
carried away into distant lands in memory of the spot on which they
fell. "Have you obtained a situation in town?" then asked the sparrows of the
roses. The roses nodded. They recognized their little brown neighbors and were
rejoiced to see them again. "It is very delightful," said the roses, "to live here and to blossom,
to meet old friends, and to see cheerful faces every day. It is as if
each day were a holiday." "Tweet," said the sparrows to each other. "Yes, these really are our old
neighbors. We remember their origin near the pond. Tweet! how they have
risen, to be sure. Some people seem to get on while they are asleep. Ah! there's a withered leaf. I can see it quite plainly." And they pecked at the leaf till it fell, but the rosebush continued
fresher and greener than ever. The roses bloomed in the sunshine on
Thorwaldsen's grave and thus became linked with his immortal name. [Illustration]




THE OLD HOUSE


A VERY old house once stood in a street with several others that were
quite new and clean. One could read the date of its erection, which had
been carved on one of the beams and surrounded by scrolls formed of
tulips and hop tendrils; by this date it could be seen that the old
house was nearly three hundred years old. Entire verses too were written
over the windows in old-fashioned letters, and grotesque faces,
curiously carved, grinned at you from under the cornices. One story
projected a long way over the other, and under the roof ran a leaden
gutter with a dragon's head at the end. The rain was intended to pour
out at the dragon's mouth, but it ran out of his body instead, for there
was a hole in the gutter. All the other houses in the street were new and well built, with large
windowpanes and smooth walls. Any one might see they had nothing to do
with the old house. Perhaps they thought: "How long will that heap of
rubbish remain here, to be a disgrace to the whole street? The parapet
projects so far forward that no one can see out of our windows what is
going on in that direction. The stairs are as broad as the staircase of
a castle and as steep as if they led to a church tower. The iron railing
looks like the gate of a cemetery, and there are brass knobs upon it. It
is really too ridiculous." Opposite to the old house were more nice new houses, which had just the
same opinion as their neighbors. At the window of one of them sat a little boy with fresh, rosy cheeks
and clear, sparkling eyes, who was very fond of the old house in
sunshine or in moonlight. He would sit and look at the wall, from which
the plaster had in some places fallen off, and fancy all sorts of scenes
which had been in former times--how the street must have looked when the
houses had all gable roofs, open staircases, and gutters with dragons
at the spout. He could even see soldiers walking about with halberds. Certainly it was a very good house to look at for amusement. An old man lived in it who wore knee breeches, a coat with large brass
buttons, and a wig which any one could see was a real one. Every morning
there came an old man to clean the rooms and to wait upon him, otherwise
the old man in the knee breeches would have been quite alone in the
house. Sometimes he came to one of the windows and looked out; then the
little boy nodded to him, and the old man nodded back again, till they
became acquainted, and were friends, although they had never spoken to
each other; but that was of no consequence. The little boy one day heard his parents say, "The old man is very well
off, but he must be terribly lonely." So the next Sunday morning the
little boy wrapped something in a paper, and took it to the door of the
old house, and said to the attendant who waited upon the old man: "Will
you please to give this from me to the gentleman who lives here? I have
two tin soldiers, and this is one of them, and he shall have it,
because I know he is terribly lonely." The old attendant nodded and looked very much pleased, and then he
carried the tin soldier into the house. Afterwards he was sent over to ask the little boy if he would not like
to pay a visit himself. His parents gave him permission, and so it was
that he gained admission to the old house. The brass knobs on the railings shone more brightly than ever, as if
they had been polished on account of his visit; and on the doors were
carved trumpeters standing in tulips, and it seemed as if they were
blowing with all their might, their cheeks were so puffed out:
"Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is coming. Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is
coming." Then the door opened. All round the hall hung old portraits of knights
in armor and ladies in silk gowns; and the armor rattled, and the silk
dresses rustled. Then came a staircase which went up a long way, and
then came down a little way and led to a balcony which was in a very
ruinous state. There were large holes and long cracks, out of which
grew grass and leaves; indeed the whole balcony, the courtyard, and the
walls were so overgrown with green that they looked like a garden. In the balcony stood flowerpots on which were heads having asses' ears,
but the flowers in them grew just as they pleased. In one pot, pinks
were growing all over the sides,--at least the green leaves
were,--shooting forth stalk and stem and saying as plainly as they could
speak, "The air has fanned me, the sun has kissed me, and I am promised
a little flower for next Sunday--really for next Sunday!" Then they entered a room in which the walls were covered with leather,
and the leather had golden flowers stamped upon it. "Gilding wears out with time and bad weather,
           But leather endures; there's nothing like leather,"

said the walls. Chairs handsomely carved, with elbows on each side and
with very high backs, stood in the room; and as they creaked they seemed
to say: "Sit down. Oh dear! how I am creaking; I shall certainly have
the gout like the old cupboard. Gout in my back, ugh!" And then the little boy entered the room where the old man sat. "Thank you for the tin soldier, my little friend," said the old man,
"and thank you also for coming to see me." "Thanks, thanks"--or "Creak, creak"--said all the furniture. There was so much furniture that the pieces stood in each other's way to
get a sight of the little boy. On the wall near the center of the room
hung the picture of a beautiful lady, young and gay, dressed in the
fashion of the olden times, with powdered hair and a full, stiff skirt. She said neither "thanks" nor "creak," but she looked down upon the
little boy with her mild eyes, and he said to the old man,

"Where did you get that picture?" "From the shop opposite," he replied. "Many portraits hang there. No one
seems to know any of them or to trouble himself about them.