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In this volume you will find 18 children’s stories by the master story-teller - Hans Christian Andersen. This present volume is the second of the selected stories from Hans Christian Andersen. John Ruskin, after whom Ruskin College, Oxford is named, considered "The Sandhills of Jutland" to be “the most perfect story” that he knew.
The 18 tales in this volume are:
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ByHans Christian Andersen
Translated byMrs. Bushby.
Originally Published By
Richard Bentley, London
[1860]
Resurrected ByAbela Publishing, London[2018]
The Sandhills of Jutland
Typographical arrangement of this edition
© Abela Publishing 2018
This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Abela Publishing,
London
United Kingdom
2018
ISBN-13: 978-X-XXXXXX-XX-X
Website
www.AbelaPublishing.com/
From: The Old Oak Tree’s Last Dream
The Following Tales Are Dedicated,
With The Highest Sentiments of
Esteem And Regard,
To
The Baron Charles Joachim Hambro,
By
Hans Christian Andersen.
The Publisher acknowledges the work that
Hans Andersen
did in writing and publishing
The Sandhills Of Jutland
in a time well before any electronic media was in use.
* * * * * * *
10% of the net from the sale from this book
will be donated to Charities.
THE SAND-HILLS OF JUTLAND
THE MUD-KING'S DAUGHTER
THE QUICKEST RUNNERS
THE BELL'S HOLLOW
SOUP MADE OF A SAUSAGE-STICK
THE NECK OF A BOTTLE
THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP
SOMETHING
THE OLD OAK TREE'S LAST DREAM
THE WIND RELATES THE STORY OF WALDEMAR DAAE
AND HIS DAUGHTERS
THE GIRL WHO TROD UPON BREAD
OLÉ, THE WATCHMAN OF THE TOWER
ANNE LISBETH; OR, THE APPARITION OF THE BEACH
CHILDREN'S PRATTLE
A ROW OF PEARLS
THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND
THE CHILD IN THE GRAVE
CHARMING
his is a story from the Jutland sand-hills, but it does not commence there; on the contrary, it commences far away towards the south, in Spain. The sea is the highway between the two countries. Fancy yourself there. The scenery is beautiful; the climate is warm. There blooms the scarlet pomegranate amidst the dark laurel trees; from the hills a refreshing breeze is wafted over the orange groves and the magnificent Moorish halls, with their gilded cupolas and their painted walls. Processions of children parade the streets with lights and waving banners; and, above these, clear and lofty rises the vault of heaven, studded with glittering stars. Songs and castanets are heard; youths and girls mingle in the dance under the blossoming acacias; whilst beggars sit upon the sculptured blocks of marble, and refresh themselves with the juicy water-melon. Life dozes here: it is all like a charming dream, and one indulges in it. Yes, thus did two young newly-married persons, who also possessed all the best gifts of earth—health, good humour, riches, and rank.
"Nothing could possibly exceed our happiness," they said in the fulness of their joyful hearts; yet there was one degree of still higher happiness to which they might attain, and that would be when God blessed them with a child—a son, to resemble them in features and in disposition.
That fortunate child would be hailed with rapture; would be loved and daintily cared for; would be the heir to all the advantages that wealth and high birth can bestow.
The days flew by as a continual festival to them.
"Life is a merciful gift of love—almost inconceivably great," said the young wife; "but the fulness of this happiness shall be tasted in that future life, when it will increase and exist to all eternity. The idea is incomprehensible to me."
"That is only an assumption among mankind," said her husband. "In reality, it is frightful pride and overweening arrogance to think that we shall live forever—become like God. These were the serpent's wily words, and he is the father of lies."
"You do not, however, doubt that there is a life after this one?" asked his wife; and for the first time a cloud seemed to pass over their sunny heaven of thought.
"Faith holds forth the promise of it, and the priests proclaim it," said the young man; "but, in the midst of all my happiness, I feel that it would be too craving, too presumptuous, to demand another life after this one—a happiness to be continual. Is there not so much granted in this existence that we might and ought to be content with it?"
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!