The Opelousas courier. [volume] (Opelousas, La.) 1852-1910, 1869-06-12

nearly the whole remainder of his long
NE, and more than realized his own wild
aspirations for fame. But the prophecy
OF poor Amalie was literally fulfilled y
ne never more beheld his parents or his
/ first true love- =
Nearly half century had elapsed and
the scene was Copenhagen. The streets
! were densely crowded with eager, sor-
rowing spectators. and every window Of
/ every house was filled with sadly expec-
tant faces. At length cry, "Thcy
! come - was echoed from group to croun.
, and the crowd swayed to and fro, under
the sympathetic swell of common emo
! ton.
! y wlthered old woman was seated at
the upper window of a house, and when
the cry was taken she raised her wrin-
klcd countenance and passed her hand
over her eyes, as if to clear away the
! mist of more than seventy winters An
immense procession drew near. Appro-
pirate military music preceded, the
being conveyed to its last earthly abid-
ing place The king of the land, TIE
royal family, the nobility, the clergy,
the learned, the brave, the gifted, the re
nowned walked after it. The banners
OF mourning were waved, the trlImpcts
walled, and thousands OF sohS broke
| alike from the stern and gentle breasts.
| and tears from the eyes of warriors us
well is lovely women, showeretl like rain.
1t was tho funeral of Bertel Thorwals-
den, with the Danish nation for nour-
ners! And shc-thc old woman who
gazed at it as it slowly wound by--she
was Amalie his first love Thorwalsden
! had never married, neither had she.
"Ah, Himlen !" murmurcd the old
woman wiping away the tears from i.
scource which for many years had been
1pary, chow marvellous is the will of G od .
To think that l should live to behold
this sight Poor, poor Bcrtel! All that
| predicted came to pass but, ah me,
who knows whether you might have Ell
joyed a happier life after all, had you
stayed with your old father and mother
and married me ? All, Hinlen, there's
only One can tell Poor, poor Bertcl ~
-Four more years sped by. and one fine
Sabbath morning an aged and decrcpid
female painfully dragged her weary
limbs through the crowded rooms of that
wondrous building known as Thorwals
denis museum. She paused not to
glance at the matchless works of sculp.
tura, but crept to an open doorway lead.
ing into the inner quadrangle in the
centre of which low. tomb of gray mar.
bic inclosed the mortal remains of him
whose hand created the works which fill
the edifice. Step by step she drew close
to the tomb, and sank on the pavement
by its side. Then she laid down hel
crutch and pressed her bony hands tight
over her skinny brow. "Ja, ja," muir
INJURED she; they told me to lie here
and prayed God to grant me strength
to crawl. to the spot, and he has hearG
me. All, Himlen can die happy now =
She then withdrew her hands ant
peered at the simple hut all -comprehen
sive inscription of "Bertel Thorwals
den,' deeply cut ON the side of the tomb
Then she raised her forefnger, and ear
nestly traced with it every letter to th'
end. Smiling feebly, she let fall he
hand, while an evanescent CLEAN of sub
tie emotion lighted up her lineaments
'"Tis true he moulders here. Poor Ber
tel. we shall meet again-in heaven |"
Her eyes closed and her head slowl,
sank upon her breast, in which attitud'
she remained until one of the officers 0
the museum, who had noticed her singu
: lar behavior, came up. -:
"Gammel kone.n 2ld wife) said he
"what are you doing A:re I"
n She answered not, and he slight,
touched her shoulder, thinking she wa
asleep. Her bod gentiy Slid to tn
ground at the toucs,1 and then he 90,
, that she slept the gsr~-eea.Ath.-C
bers' Edinburgh Jderciee daaI@