Friday, 30 November 2018

Friday's Sung Word: "Esquina da Sorte" by Lamartine Babo and Hervé Cordovil (in Portuguese)


8083, 
50 mil réis,
8083

Na esquina da sorte
onde mora o meu amor
encontrei um bilhete
enrolado numa flor.

Um bilhete azulzinho
cinco abraços , dez beijos
e depois do carinho
um milhão de desejos
um encontro mais forte
outro encontro depois
e a ser nossa sorte nada
além de nós dois.

E no fim do bilhete
outro encontro marcado
um cinema, um sorvete
tudo bem combinado
umas frases amigas
e umas brigas depois
e a não ser nossas brigas
nada além de nós dois.

Zero, zero, zero , zero
pra que tanto zero ?
zero, zero, zero, zero





You can hear "Esquina da Sorte" sung by Lamartine Babo, Aracy de Almeida, and 
the  Diabos do Céu Band here.


Thursday, 29 November 2018

Thursday's Serials: "Dwellers in the Mirage" by A. E. Merritt (in English) - final chapter


CHAPTER XXIII - IN KHALK'RU'S TEMPLE
Twice I awakened. The first time it was the howling of the wolves that aroused me. It was as though they were beneath my window. I listened drowsily, and sank back to sleep.
                The second time I came wide awake from a troubled dream. Some sound in the chamber had roused me, of that I was sure. My hand dropped to my sword lying on the floor beside my bed. I had the feeling that there was someone in the room. I could see nothing in the green darkness that filled the chamber. I called, softly:
                "Evalie! Is that you?"
                There was no answer, no sound.
                I sat up in the bed, even thrust a leg out to rise. And then I remembered the guards at my door, and Dara and her soldiers beyond, and I told myself that it had been only my troubled dream that had awakened me. Yet for a time I lay awake listening, sword in hand. And then the silence lulled me back to sleep.
                There was a knocking upon my door, and I struggled out of that sleep. I saw that it was well after dawn. I went to the door softly so that I might not awaken Evalie. I opened it, and there with the guards was Sri. The little man had come well armed, with spear and sickle-sword and between his shoulders one of the small, surprisingly resonant talking drums. He looked at me in the friendliest fashion. I patted his hand and pointed to the curtains.
                "Evalie is there, Sri. Go waken her."
                He trotted past me. I gave greeting to the guards, and turned to follow Sri. He stood at the curtains, looking at me with eyes in which was now no friendliness at all. He said:
                "Evalie is not there."
                I stared at him, incredulously, brushed by him and into that chamber. It was empty. I crossed to the pile of silks and cushions on which Evalie had slept, touched them. There was no warmth. I went, Sri at my heels, into the next room. Dara and a half dozen of the women lay there, asleep. Evalie was not among them. I touched Dara on the shoulder. She sat up, yawning.
                "Dara - the girl is gone!"
                "Gone!" she stared at me as incredulously as I had at the golden pygmy. She leaped to her feet, ran to the empty room, then with me through the other chambers. There lay the soldier women, asleep, but not Evalie.
                I ran back to my own room, and to its door. A bitter rage began to possess me. Swiftly, harshly, I questioned the guards. They had seen no one. None had entered; none had gone forth. The golden pygmy listened, his eyes never leaving me.
                I turned toward Evalie's room. I passed the table on which I had thrown the locket. My hand fell on it, lifted it; it was curiously light... I opened it... The ring of Khalk'ru was not there! I glared at the empty locket - and like a torturing flame realization of what its emptiness and the vanishment of Evalie might signify came to me. I groaned, leaned against the table to keep from falling.
                "Drum, Sri! Call your people! Bid them come quickly! There may yet be time!"
                The golden pygmy hissed; his eyes became little pools of yellow fire. He could not have known all the horror of my thoughts - but he read enough. He leaped to the window, swung his drum and sent forth call upon call - peremptory, raging, vicious. At once he was answered – answered from Nansur, and then from all the river and beyond it the drums of the Little People roared out.
                Would Lur hear them? She could not help but hear them... but would she heed... would their threat stop her... it would tell her that I was awake and that the Little People knew of their betrayal... and Evalie's.
                God! If she did hear - was it in time to save Evalie?
                "Quick, Lord!" Dara called from the curtains. The dwarf and I ran through. She pointed to the side of the wall. There, where one of the carved stones jointed another, hung a strip of silk.
                "A door there, Dwayanu! That is how they took her. They went hurriedly. The cloth caught when the stone closed."
                I looked for something to batter at the stone. But Dara was pressing here and there. The stone swung open. Sri darted past and into the black passage it had masked. I stumbled after him, Dara at my heels, the others following. It was a narrow passage, and not long. Its end was a solid wall of stone. And here Dara pressed again until that wall opened.
                We burst into the chamber of the High-priest. The eyes of the Kraken stared at me and through me with their inscrutable malignancy. Yet it seemed to me that in them now was challenge.
                All my senseless fury, all blind threshing of my rage, fell from me. A cold deliberation, an ordered purpose that had in it nothing of haste took its place... Is it too late to save Evalie?... It is not too late to destroy you, my enemy...
                "Dara - get horses for us. Gather quickly as many as you can trust. Take only the strongest. Have them ready at the gate of the road to the temple... We go to end Khalk'ru. Tell them that."
                I spoke to the golden pygmy.
                "I do not know if I can help Evalie. But I go to put an end to Khalk'ru. Do you wait for your people - or do you go with me?"
                "I go with you."
                I knew where the Witch-woman dwelt in the black citadel, and it was not far away. I knew I would not find her there, but I must be sure. And she might have taken Evalie to the Lake of the Ghosts, I was thinking as I went on, past groups of silent, uneasy, perplexed and saluting soldiers. But deep in me I knew she had not. Deep within me I knew that it had been Lur who had awakened me in the night. Lur, who had stolen through the curtains to take the ring of Khalk'ru. And there was only one reason why she should have done that. No, she would not be at the Lake of the Ghosts.
                Yet, if she had come into my room - why had she not slain me? Or had she meant to do this, and had my awakening and calling out to Evalie stayed her? Had she feared to go further? Or had she deliberately spared me?
                I reached her rooms. She was not there. None of her women was there. The place was empty, not even soldiers on guard.
                I broke into a run. The golden pygmy followed me, shrilling, javelins in left hand, sickle-sword in right. We came to the gate to the temple road.
                There were three or four hundred soldiers awaiting me. Mounted – and every one a woman. I threw myself on a horse Dara held for me, swung Sri up on the saddle. We raced toward the temple.
                We were half-way there when out from the trees that bordered the temple road poured the white wolves. They sprang from the sides like a white torrent, threw themselves upon the riders. They checked our rush, our horses stumbled, falling over those the fangs of the wolves had dropped in that swift, unexpected ambuscade; soldiers falling with them, ripped and torn by the wolves before they could struggle to their feet. We milled among them - horses and men and wolves in a whirling, crimson-flecked ring.
                Straight at my throat leaped the great dog-wolf, leader of Lur's pack, green eyes naming. I had no time for sword thrust. I caught its throat in my left hand, lifted it and flung it over my back. Even so, its fangs had struck and gashed me.
                We were through the wolves. What was left of them came coursing behind us. But they had taken toll of my troop.
                I heard the clang of an anvil... thrice stricken... the anvil of Tubalka!
                God! It was true... Lur in the temple... and Evalie... and Khalk'ru!
                We swept up to the door of the temple. I heard voices raised in the ancient chant. The entrance swarmed... It bristled with swords of the nobles, women and men.
                "Ride through them, Dara! Ride them down!"
                We swept through them like a ram. Sword against sword, hammers and battleaxes beating at them, horses trampling them.
                The shrill song of Sri never ceased. His javelin thrust, his sickle-sword slashed.
                We burst into Khalk'ru's temple. The chanting stopped. The chanters arose against us; they struck with sword and axe and hammer at us; they stabbed and hacked our horses; pulled us down. The amphitheatre was a raging cauldron of death...
                The lip of the platform was before me. I spurred my horse to it, stood upon its back and leaped upon the platform. Close to my right was the anvil of Tubalka; beside it, hammer raised to smite, was Ouarda. I heard the roll of drums, the drums of Khalk'ru's evocation. The backs of the priests were bent over them.
                In front of the priests, the ring of Khalk'ru raised high, stood Lur.
                And between her and the bubble ocean of yellow stone that was the gate of Khalk'ru, fettered dwarfs swung two by two in the golden girdles...
                Within the warrior's ring - Evalie!
                The Witch-woman never looked at me; she never looked behind her at the roaring cauldron of the amphitheatre where the soldiers and nobles battled.
                She launched into the ritual!
                Shouting, I rushed on Ouarda. I wrested the great sledge from her hands. I hurled it straight at the yellow screen... straight at the head of Khalk'ru. With every ounce of my strength I hurled that great hammer.
                The screen cracked! The hammer was thrown back from it... fell.
                The Witch-woman's voice went on... and on... never faltering.
                There was a wavering in the cracked screen. The Kraken floating in the bubble ocean seemed to draw back... to thrust forward...
                I ran toward it... to the hammer.
                An instant I halted beside Evalie. I thrust my hands through the golden girdle, broke it as though it had been wood. I dropped my sword at her feet.
                "Guard yourself, Evalie!"
                I picked up the hammer. I raised it. The eyes of Khalk'ru moved...  they glared at me, were aware of me... the tentacles stirred! And the paralysing cold began to creep round me... I threw all my will against it.
                I smashed the sledge of Tubalka against the yellow stone... again... and again -
                The tentacles of Khalk'ru stretched toward me!
                There was a crystalline crashing, like a lightning bolt striking close. The yellow stone of the screen shattered. It rained round me like sleet driven by an icy hurricane. There was an earthquake trembling. The temple rocked. My arms fell, paralysed. The hammer of Tubalka dropped from hands that could no longer feel it. The icy cold swirled about me ... higher... higher... there was a shrill and dreadful shrieking...
                For an instant the shape of the Kraken hovered where the screen had been. Then it shrank. It seemed to be sucked away into immeasurable distances. It vanished.
                And life rushed back into me!
                There were jagged streamers of the yellow stone upon the rocky floor... black of the Kraken within them... I beat them into dust...
                "Leif!"
                Evalie's voice, shrill, agonized. I swung round. Lur was rushing upon me, sword raised. Before I could move Evalie had darted between us, flung herself in front of the Witch-woman, struck at her with my own sword.
                The blade of Lur parried the stroke, swept in... bit deep... and Evalie fell... Lur leaped toward me... I watched her come, not moving, not caring... there was blood upon her sword... Evalie's blood...
                Something like a flash of light touched her breast. She halted as though a hand had thrust her back. Slowly, she dropped to her knees. She sank to the rock.
                Over the rim of the platform leaped the dog-wolf, howling as it ran. It hurled itself straight at me. There was another flash of light. The dog-wolf somersaulted and fell - in mid-leap.
                I saw Sri, crouching. One of his javelins was in Lur's breast, the mate to it in the dog-wolf's throat... I saw the golden pygmy running to Evalie... saw her rise, holding a hand to a shoulder from which streamed blood...
                I walked toward Lur, stiffly, like an automaton. The white wolf tried to stagger to its feet, then crawled to the Witch-woman, dragging itself on its belly. It reached her before I did. It dropped its head upon her breast. It turned its head, and lay glaring at me, dying.
                The Witch-woman looked up at me. Her eyes were soft and her mouth had lost all cruelty. It was tender. She smiled at me.
                "I wish you had never come here, Yellow-hair!"
                And then -
                "Ai - and - Ai! My Lake of the Ghosts!"
                Her hand crept up, and dropped on the head of the dying wolf, caressingly. She sighed -
                The Witch-woman was dead.
                I looked into the awed faces of Evalie and Dara. "Evalie - your wound -”
                "Not deep, Leif... Soon it will heal... it does not matter...”
                Dara said:
                "Hail - Dwayanu! It is a great thing you have done this day!"
                She dropped on her knees, kissed my hand. And now I saw that those of mine who had survived the battle in the temple had come up on the platform, and were kneeling - to me. And that Ouarda lay beside Tubalka's anvil, and that Sri too was on his knees, staring at me, eyes filled with worship.
                I heard the tumult of the drums of the Little People... no longer on Nanbu's far side... in Karak... and closer.
                Dara spoke again:
                "Let us be going back to Karak, Lord. It is now all yours to rule."
                I said to Sri:
                "Sound your drum, Sri. Tell them that Evalie lives. That Lur is dead. That the gate of Khalk'ru is closed forever. Let there be no more killing."
                Sri answered:
                "What you have done has wiped out all war between my people and Karak. Evalie and you we will obey. I will tell them what you have done."
                He swung the little drum, raised his hands to beat it I stopped him.
                "Wait, Sri, I shall not be here to obey."
                Dara cried: "Dwayanu - you will not leave us!"
                "Yes, Dara... I go now to that place whence I came... I do not return to Karak. I am done with the Little People, Sri."
                Evalie spoke, breathlessly:
                "What of me - Leif?"
                I put my hands on her shoulders, looked into her eyes:
                "Last night you whispered that you would go with me, Evalie. I release you from that promise... I am thinking you would be happier here with your small folk...”
                She said, steadily:
                "I know where happiness lies for me. I hold to my promise... unless you do not want me...”
                "I do want you - dark girl!"
                She turned to Sri: "Carry my love to my people, Sri. I shall not see them again."
                The little man clung to her, cast himself down before her, wailed and wept while she talked to him. At last he squatted on his haunches, and stared long at the shattered gate of the Kraken. I saw the secret knowledge touch him. He came to me, held up his arms for me to lift him. He raised my lids and looked deep into my eyes. He thrust his hand in my breast, and placed his head on my breast, and listened to the beating of my heart. He dropped, bent Evalie's head to his, whispering.
                Dara said: "Dwayanu's will is our will. Yet it is hard to understand why he will not stay with us."
                "Sri knows... more than I do. I cannot, Dara."
                Evalie came to me. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
                "Sri says we must go now, Leif... quickly. My people must - not see me. He will tell them a tale upon his drum... there will be no fighting... and henceforth there will be peace."
                The golden pygmy began to beat the talking drum. At the first strokes the hosts of other drums were silent. When he had ended they began again... jubilant, triumphant... until in them crept a note of questioning. Once more he beat a message... the answer came - angry, peremptory - in some queer fashion, incredulous.
                Sri said to me: "Haste! Haste!"
                Dara said: "We stay with you, Dwayanu, until the last."
                I nodded, and looked at Lur. Upon her hand the ring of Khalk'ru sent out a sudden gleam. I went to her, lifted the dead hand and took from it the ring. I smashed it on the anvil of Tubalka as I had the ring of Yodin.
                Evalie said: "Sri knows a way that will lead us out into your world, Leif. It lies at the head of Nanbu. He will take us."
                "Is the way past the Lake of Ghosts, Evalie?"
                "I will ask him... yes, it passes there."
                "That is good. We go into a country where the clothing I wear would be hardly fitting. And some provision must be made for you."
                We rode from the temple with Sri on my saddle, and Evalie and Dara on either side. The drums were very close. They were muted when we emerged from the forest upon the road. We went swiftly. It was mid-afternoon when we reached the Lake of the Ghosts. The drawbridge was down. There was no one in the garrison. The Witch-woman's castle was empty. I searched, and found my roll of clothes; I stripped the finery of Dwayanu from me. I took a battle-ax, thrust a short sword in my belt, picked javelins for Evalie and myself. They would help us win through, would be all we had to depend upon to get us food later on. We took food with us from Lur's castle, and skins to clothe Evalie when she passed from the Mirage.
                I did not go up into the chamber of the Witch-woman. I heard the whispering of the waterfall - and did not dare to look upon it.
                All the rest of that afternoon we galloped along the white river's banks. The drums of the Little People followed us... searching... questioning... calling...”Ev-ah-lee... Ev-ah-lee... Ev-ah-lee...”
                By nightfall we had come to the cliffs at the far end of the valley. Here Nanbu poured forth in a mighty torrent from some subterranean source. We picked our way across. Sri led us far into a ravine running steeply upward, and here we camped.
                And that night I sat thinking long of what Evalie must meet in that new world awaiting her beyond the Mirage - the world of sun and stars and wind and cold. I thought long of what must be done to shield her until she could adjust herself to that world. And I listened to the drums of the Little People calling her, and I watched her while she slept, and wept and smiled in dream.
                She must be taught to breathe. I knew that when she emerged from this atmosphere in which she had lived since babyhood, she would cease instantly to breathe - deprivation of the accustomed stimulus of the carbon-dioxide would bring that about at once. She must will herself to breathe until the reflexes again became automatic and she need give them no conscious thought. And at night, when she slept, this would be trebly difficult. I would have to remain awake, watch beside her.
                And she must enter this new world with eyes bandaged, blind, until the nerves accustomed to the green luminosity of the Mirage could endure the stronger light. Warm clothing we could contrive from the skins and furs. But the food - what was it Jim had said in the long and long ago - that those who had eaten the food of the Little People would die if they ate other. Well, that was true in part. Yet, only in part - it could be managed.
                With dawn came a sudden memory - the pack I had hidden on Nanbu's bank when we had plunged into the white river with the wolves at our heels. If that could be found, it would help solve the problem of Evalie's clothing at least. I told Dara about it. And she and Sri set out to find it. And while they were gone the soldier-women foraged for food and I instructed Evalie upon what she must do to cross in safety that bridge which lay, perilous, between her world and mine.
                Two days they were gone - but they had found the pack. They brought word of peace between the Ayjir and the Little People. As for me -
                Dwayanu the Deliverer had come even as the prophecy had promised... had come and freed them from the ancient doom... and had gone back as was his right to that place from which, answering the prophecy, he had come... and had taken with him Evalie as was also his right. Sri had spread the tale.
                And next morning when the light showed that the sun had risen over the peaks that girdled the Valley of the Mirage, we set forth - Evalie like a slim boy beside me.
                We climbed until we were within the green mists. And here we bade farewell, Sri clinging to Evalie, kissing her hands and feet, weeping. And Dara clasped my shoulders:
                "You will come back to us, Dwayanu? We will be waiting!"
                It was like the echo of the Uighur captain's voice - long and long ago...
                I turned and began to climb, Evalie following. I thought that so might Euridice have followed her lover up from the Land of Shades in another long and long ago.
                The figures of Sri and the watching women became dim. They were hidden under the green mists...
                I felt the bitter cold touch my face. I caught Evalie up in my arms – and climbed up and on - and staggered at last out into the sun-lit warmth of the slopes beyond the pit of the precipices.
                The day dawned when we had won the long, hard fight for Evalie's life. Not easily was the grip of the Mirage loosed. We turned our faces to the South and set our feet upon the Southward trail.
                And yet...
                Ai! Lur - Witch-woman! I see you lying there, smiling with lips grown tender - the - white wolf's head upon your breast! And Dwayanu still lives within me!



THE  END

Wednesday, 28 November 2018

Good Readings: “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” by Hans Christian Andersen (translated into English by Mrs. Henry H. B. Paull)


There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered arms and looked straight before them, and wore a splendid uniform, red and blue. The first thing in the world they ever heard were the words, “Tin soldiers!” uttered by a little boy, who clapped his hands with delight when the lid of the box, in which they lay, was taken off. They were given him for a birthday present, and he stood at the table to set them up. The soldiers were all exactly alike, excepting one, who had only one leg; he had been left to the last, and then there was not enough of the melted tin to finish him, so they made him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused him to be very remarkable.
The table on which the tin soldiers stood, was covered with other playthings, but the most attractive to the eye was a pretty little paper castle. Through the small windows the rooms could be seen. In front of the castle a number of little trees surrounded a piece of looking-glass, which was intended to represent a transparent lake. Swans, made of wax, swam on the lake, and were reflected in it. All this was very pretty, but the prettiest of all was a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle; she, also, was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin, with a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders just like a scarf. In front of these was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her whole face. The little lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both her arms, and raised one of her legs so high, that the tin soldier could not see it at all, and he thought that she, like himself, had only one leg. “That is the wife for me,” he thought; “but she is too grand, and lives in a castle, while I have only a box to live in, five-and-twenty of us altogether, that is no place for her. Still I must try and make her acquaintance.” Then he laid himself at full length on the table behind a snuff-box that stood upon it, so that he could peep at the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then the playthings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, to have sham fights, and to give balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their box; they wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they could not open the lid. The nutcrackers played at leap-frog, and the pencil jumped about the table. There was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to talk, and in poetry too. Only the tin soldier and the dancer remained in their places. She stood on tiptoe, with her legs stretched out, as firmly as he did on his one leg. He never took his eyes from her for even a moment. The clock struck twelve, and, with a bounce, up sprang the lid of the snuff-box; but, instead of snuff, there jumped up a little black goblin; for the snuff-box was a toy puzzle.
            “Tin soldier,” said the goblin, “don’t wish for what does not belong to you.”
            But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.
            “Very well; wait till to-morrow, then,” said the goblin.
            When the children came in the next morning, they placed the tin soldier in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it, or the draught, is not known, but the window flew open, and out fell the tin soldier, heels over head, from the third story, into the street beneath. It was a terrible fall; for he came head downwards, his helmet and his bayonet stuck in between the flagstones, and his one leg up in the air. The servant maid and the little boy went down stairs directly to look for him; but he was nowhere to be seen, although once they nearly trod upon him. If he had called out, “Here I am,” it would have been all right, but he was too proud to cry out for help while he wore a uniform.
            Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and faster, till there was a heavy shower. When it was over, two boys happened to pass by, and one of them said, “Look, there is a tin soldier. He ought to have a boat to sail in.”
            So they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldier in it, and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran by the side of it, and clapped their hands. Good gracious, what large waves arose in that gutter! and how fast the stream rolled on! for the rain had been very heavy. The paper boat rocked up and down, and turned itself round sometimes so quickly that the tin soldier trembled; yet he remained firm; his countenance did not change; he looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket. Suddenly the boat shot under a bridge which formed a part of a drain, and then it was as dark as the tin soldier’s box.
            “Where am I going now?” thought he. “This is the black goblin’s fault, I am sure. Ah, well, if the little lady were only here with me in the boat, I should not care for any darkness.”
            Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain.
            “Have you a passport?“ asked the rat, “give it to me at once.” But the tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever. The boat sailed on and the rat followed it. How he did gnash his teeth and cry out to the bits of wood and straw, “Stop him, stop him; he has not paid toll, and has not shown his pass.“ But the stream rushed on stronger and stronger. The tin soldier could already see daylight shining where the arch ended. Then he heard a roaring sound quite terrible enough to frighten the bravest man. At the end of the tunnel the drain fell into a large canal over a steep place, which made it as dangerous for him as a waterfall would be to us. He was too close to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the poor tin soldier could only hold himself as stiffly as possible, without moving an eyelid, to show that he was not afraid. The boat whirled round three or four times, and then filled with water to the very edge; nothing could save it from sinking. He now stood up to his neck in water, while deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft and loose with the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier’s head. He thought of the elegant little dancer whom he should never see again, and the words of the song sounded in his ears—

    “Farewell, warrior! ever brave,
    Drifting onward to thy grave.”

Then the paper boat fell to pieces, and the soldier sank into the water and immediately afterwards was swallowed up by a great fish. Oh how dark it was inside the fish! A great deal darker than in the tunnel, and narrower too, but the tin soldier continued firm, and lay at full length shouldering his musket. The fish swam to and fro, making the most wonderful movements, but at last he became quite still. After a while, a flash of lightning seemed to pass through him, and then the daylight approached, and a voice cried out, “I declare here is the tin soldier.” The fish had been caught, taken to the market and sold to the cook, who took him into the kitchen and cut him open with a large knife. She picked up the soldier and held him by the waist between her finger and thumb, and carried him into the room. They were all anxious to see this wonderful soldier who had travelled about inside a fish; but he was not at all proud. They placed him on the table, and—how many curious things do happen in the world!—there he was in the very same room from the window of which he had fallen, there were the same children, the same playthings, standing on the table, and the pretty castle with the elegant little dancer at the door; she still balanced herself on one leg, and held up the other, so she was as firm as himself. It touched the tin soldier so much to see her that he almost wept tin tears, but he kept them back. He only looked at her and they both remained silent. Presently one of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and threw him into the stove. He had no reason for doing so, therefore it must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the snuff-box. The flames lighted up the tin soldier, as he stood, the heat was very terrible, but whether it proceeded from the real fire or from the fire of love he could not tell. Then he could see that the bright colors were faded from his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during his journey or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say. He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him. He felt himself melting away, but he still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder. Suddenly the door of the room flew open and the draught of air caught up the little dancer, she fluttered like a sylph right into the stove by the side of the tin soldier, and was instantly in flames and was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a lump, and the next morning, when the maid servant took the ashes out of the stove, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the little dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, which was burnt black as a cinder.