The Old Bachelor's Nightcap Page #2

								

something to do; and so Anthony found it. There were not always things
to be packed or unpacked, nor paper bags to be made, nor the scales to
be polished. So Anthony invented employment; he mended his clothes and
patched his boots, and when he at last went to bed,--his nightcap,
which he had worn from habit, still remained on his head; he had
only to pull it down a little farther over his forehead. Very soon,
however, it would be pushed up again to see if the light was
properly put out; he would touch it, press the wick together, and at
last pull his nightcap over his eyes and lie down again on the other
side. But often there would arise in his mind a doubt as to whether
every coal had been quite put out in the little fire-pan in the shop
below. If even a tiny spark had remained it might set fire to
something, and cause great damage. Then he would rise from his bed,
creep down the ladder--for it could scarcely be called a flight of
stairs--and when he reached the fire-pan not a spark could be seen; so
he had just to go back again to bed. But often, when he had got half
way back, he would fancy the iron shutters of the door were not
properly fastened, and his thin legs would carry him down again. And
when at last he crept into bed, he would be so cold that his teeth
chattered in his head. He would draw the coverlet closer round him,
pull his nightcap over his eyes, and try to turn his thoughts from
trade, and from the labors of the day, to olden times. But this was
scarcely an agreeable entertainment; for thoughts of olden memories
raise the curtains from the past, and sometimes pierce the heart
with painful recollections till the agony brings tears to the waking
eyes. And so it was with Anthony; often the scalding tears, like
pearly drops, would fall from his eyes to the coverlet and roll on the
floor with a sound as if one of his heartstrings had broken.
Sometimes, with a lurid flame, memory would light up a picture of life
which had never faded from his heart. If he dried his eyes with his
nightcap, then the tear and the picture would be crushed; but the
source of the tears remained and welled up again in his heart. The
pictures did not follow one another in order, as the circumstances
they represented had occurred; very often the most painful would
come together, and when those came which were most full of joy, they
had always the deepest shadow thrown upon them.

The beech woods of Denmark are acknowledged by every one to be
very beautiful, but more beautiful still in the eyes of old Anthony
were the beech woods in the neighborhood of Wartburg. More grand and
venerable to him seemed the old oaks around the proud baronial castle,
where the creeping plants hung over the stony summits of the rocks;
sweeter was the perfume there of the apple-blossom than in all the
land of Denmark. How vividly were represented to him, in a
glittering tear that rolled down his cheek, two children at play--a
boy and a girl. The boy had rosy cheeks, golden ringlets, and clear,
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