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"Each has its
own value," said the wagon; "we cannot all be noblemen; there must
be some to do the work."
The money-pig was the only one who received a written
invitation. He stood so high that they were afraid he would not accept
a verbal message. But in his reply, he said, if he had to take a part,
he must enjoy the sport from his own home; they were to arrange for
him to do so; and so they did. The little toy theatre was therefore
put up in such a way that the money-pig could look directly into it.
Some wanted to begin with a comedy, and afterwards to have a tea party
and a discussion for mental improvement, but they commenced with the
latter first. The rocking-horse spoke of training and races; the wagon
of railways and steam power, for these subjects belonged to each of
their professions, and it was right they should talk of them. The
clock talked politics- "tick, tick;" he professed to know what was the
time of day, but there was a whisper that he did not go correctly. The
bamboo cane stood by, looking stiff and proud: he was vain of his
brass ferrule and silver top, and on the sofa lay two worked cushions,
pretty but stupid.
The
bamboo cane stood by, looking stiff and proud: he was vain of his
brass ferrule and silver top, and on the sofa lay two worked cushions,
pretty but stupid. When the play at the little theatre began, the rest
sat and looked on; they were requested to applaud and stamp, or crack,
when they felt gratified with what they saw. But the riding-whip
said he never cracked for old people, only for the young who were
not yet married. "I crack for everybody," said the cracker.
"Yes, and a fine noise you make," thought the audience, as the
play went on.
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She certainly might have asked more sensible questions; but if she
had not been allowed to say just what she liked, would her daughter
have been there, leaning so gracefully on her shoulder, and looking
straight before her, with a smile that was almost mournful on her
face?
Mr. Alfred again spoke of Italy, and of the glorious colors in
Italian scenery; the purple hills, the deep blue of the Mediterranean,
the azure of southern skies, whose brightness and glory could only
be surpassed in the north by the deep-blue eyes of a maiden; and he
said this with a peculiar intonation; but she who should have
understood his meaning looked quite unconscious of it, which also
was charming.
"Beautiful Italy!" sighed some of the guests.
"Oh, to travel there!" exclaimed others.
"Charming! Charming!" echoed from every voice.
"I may perhaps win a hundred thousand dollars in the lottery,"
said the naval officer's widow; "and if I do, we will travel- I and my
daughter; and you, Mr. Alfred, must be our guide. We can all three
travel together, with one or two more of our good friends." And she
nodded in such a friendly way at the company, that each imagined
himself to be the favored person who was to accompany them to Italy.
Alfred, must be our guide. We can all three
travel together, with one or two more of our good friends." And she
nodded in such a friendly way at the company, that each imagined
himself to be the favored person who was to accompany them to Italy.
"Yes, we must go," she continued; "but not to those parts where
there are robbers. We will keep to Rome. In the public roads one is
always safe."
The daughter sighed very gently; and how much there may be in a
sigh, or attributed to it! The young man attributed a great deal of
meaning to this sigh.
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Nought was to be seen but the
green turfy mound, with the stones on which no Runic record has been
graven; but at the last sound of the harp there soared over the
hill, as though he had fluttered from the harp, a little bird, a
charming singing-bird, with ringing voice of the thrush, with the
moving voice pathos of the human heart, with a voice that told of
home, like the voice that is heard by the bird of passage. The
singing-bird soared away, over mountain and valley, over field and
wood- he was the Bird of Popular Song, who never dies.
We hear his song- we hear it now in the room while the white
bees are swarming without, and the storm clutches the windows. The
bird sings not alone the requiem of heroes; he sings also sweet gentle
songs of love, so many and so warm, of Northern fidelity and truth. He
has stories in words and in tones; he has proverbs and snatches of
proverbs; songs which, like Runes laid under a dead man's tongue,
force him to speak; and thus Popular Song tells of the land of his
birth.
In the old heathen days, in the times of the Vikings, the
popular speech was enshrined in the harp of the bard.
In the old heathen days, in the times of the Vikings, the
popular speech was enshrined in the harp of the bard.
In the days of knightly castles, when the strongest fist held
the scales of justice, when only might was right, and a peasant and
a dog were of equal importance, where did the Bird of Song find
shelter and protection? Neither violence nor stupidity gave him a
thought.
But in the gabled window of the knightly castle, the lady of the
castle sat with the parchment roll before her, and wrote down the
old recollections in song and legend, while near her stood the old
woman from the wood, and the travelling peddler who went wandering
through the country.
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