They hadalso a language of their own. No one could have expected the soul ofthe watchman to understand it, and yet he did understand it, for oursouls have much greater capabilities then we are inclined tobelieve. Do we not, in our dreams, show a wonderful dramatic talent?each of our acquaintance appears to us then in his own character,and with his own voice; no man could thus imitate them in his wakinghours. How clearly, too, we are reminded of persons whom we have notseen for many years; they start up suddenly to the mind's eye with alltheir peculiarities as living realities. In fact, this memory of thesoul is a fearful thing; every sin, every sinful thought it canbring back, and we may well ask how we are to give account of "everyidle word" that may have been whispered in the heart or uttered withthe lips. The spirit of the watchman therefore understood very wellthe language of the inhabitants of the moon. They were disputing aboutour earth, and doubted whether it could be inhabited. Theatmosphere, they asserted, must be too dense for any inhabitants ofthe moon to exist there. They maintained that the moon alone wasinhabited, and was really the heavenly body in which the old worldpeople lived. They likewise talked politics.
  But now we will descend to East Street, and see what happened tothe watchman's body. He sat lifeless on the steps. His staff hadfallen out of his hand, and his eyes stared at the moon, about whichhis honest soul was wandering.
  "What is it o'clock, watchman?" inquired a passenger. But therewas no answer from the watchman.
  The man then pulled his nose gently, which caused him to losehis balance. The body fell forward, and lay at full length on theground as one dead.
  All his comrades were very much frightened, for he seemed quitedead; still they allowed him to remain after they had given noticeof what had happened; and at dawn the body was carried to thehospital. We might imagine it to be no jesting matter if the soul ofthe man should chance to return to him, for most probably it wouldseek for the body in East Street without being able to find it. Wemight fancy the soul inquiring of the police, or at the addressoffice, or among the missing parcels, and then at length finding it atthe hospital. But we may comfort ourselves by the certainty that thesoul, when acting upon its own impulses, is wiser than we are; it isthe body that makes it stupid.
  As we have said, the watchman's body had been taken to thehospital, and here it was placed in a room to be washed. Naturally,the first thing done here was to take off the goloshes, upon which thesoul was instantly obliged to return, and it took the direct road tothe body at once, and in a few seconds the man's life returned to him.He declared, when he quite recovered himself, that this had been themost dreadful night he had ever passed; not for a hundred pounds wouldhe go through such feelings again. However, it was all over now.
  The same day he was allowed to leave, but the goloshes remained atthe hospital.
  THE EVENTFUL MOMENT - A MOST UNUSUAL JOURNEY
  Every inhabitant of Copenhagen knows what the entrance toFrederick's Hospital is like; but as most probably a few of thosewho read this little tale may not reside in Copenhagen, we will give ashort description of it.
  The hospital is separated from the street by an iron railing, inwhich the bars stand so wide apart that, it is said, some very slimpatients have squeezed through, and gone to pay little visits in thetown. The most difficult part of the body to get through was the head;and in this case, as it often happens in the world, the small headswere the most fortunate. This will serve as sufficient introduction toour tale. One of the young volunteers, of whom, physically speaking,it might be said that he had a great head, was on guard that eveningat the hospital. The rain was pouring down, yet, in spite of these twoobstacles, he wanted to go out just for a quarter of an hour; it wasnot worth while, he thought, to make a confidant of the porter, ashe could easily slip through the iron railings. There lay thegoloshes, which the watchman had forgotten. It never occurred to himthat these could be goloshes of Fortune. They would be veryserviceable to him in this rainy weather, so he drew them on. Now camethe question whether he could squeeze through the palings; hecertainly had never tried, so he stood looking at them. "I wish togoodness my head was through," said he, and instantly, though it wasso thick and large, it slipped through quite easily. The goloshesanswered that purpose very well, but his body had to follow, andthis was impossible. "I am too fat," he said; "I thought my head wouldbe the worst, but I cannot get my body through, that is certain." Thenhe tried to pull his head back again, but without success; he couldmove his neck about easily enough, and that was all. His first feelingwas one of anger, and then his spirits sank below zero. The goloshesof Fortune had placed him in this terrible position, and unfortunatelyit never occurred to him to wish himself free. No, instead ofwishing he kept twisting about, yet did not stir from the spot. Therain poured, and not a creature could be seen in the street. Theporter's bell he was unable to reach, and however was he to get loose!