"Well, and that will do," said the woman. "Now look at the sloebush."
  "We have also some near relations in the home of the potatoes, buthigher towards the north than they grew," said the Sloes. "Therewere Northmen, from Norway, who steered westward through mist andstorm to an unknown land, where, behind ice and snow, they foundplants and green meadows, and bushes with blue-black grapes- sloebushes. The grapes were ripened by the frost just as we are. Andthey called the land 'wine-land,' that is, 'Groenland,' or'Sloeland.'"
  "That is quite a romantic story," said the young man.
  "Yes, certainly. But now come with me," said the wise woman, andshe led him to the bee-hive.
  He looked into it. What life and labor! There were bees standingin all the passages, waving their wings, so that a wholesome draughtof air might blow through the great manufactory; that was theirbusiness. Then there came in bees from without, who had been born withlittle baskets on their feet; they brought flower-dust, which waspoured out, sorted, and manufactured into honey and wax. They flewin and out. The queen-bee wanted to fly out, but then all the otherbees must have gone with her. It was not yet the time for that, butstill she wanted to fly out; so the others bit off her majesty'swings, and she had to stay where she was.
  "Now get upon the earth bank," said the wise woman. "Come and lookout over the highway, where you can see the people."
  "What a crowd it is!" said the young man. "One story afteranother. It whirls and whirls! It's quite a confusion before myeyes. I shall go out at the back."
  "No, go straight forward," said the woman. "Go straight into thecrowd of people; look at them in the right way. Have an ear to hearand the right heart to feel, and you will soon invent something.But, before you go away, you must give me my spectacles and myear-trumpet again."
  And so saying, she took both from him.
  "Now I do not see the smallest thing," said the young man, "andnow I don't hear anything more."
  "Why, then, you can't be a poet by Easter," said the wise woman.
  "But, by what time can I be one?" asked he.
  "Neither by Easter nor by Whitsuntide! You will not learn how toinvent anything."
  "What must I do to earn my bread by poetry?"
  "You can do that before Shrove Tuesday. Hunt the poets! Kill theirwritings and thus you will kill them. Don't be put out of countenance.Strike at them boldly, and you'll have carnival cake, on which you cansupport yourself and your wife too."
  "What one can invent!" cried the young man. And so he hit outboldly at every second poet, because he could not be a poet himself.
  We have it from the wise woman. She knows WHAT ONE CAN INVENT.
  THE END.
  1872
  FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
  WHAT THE MOON SAW
  by Hans Christian AndersenINTRODUCTION
  INTRODUCTION
  IT is a strange thing, when I feel most fervently and most deeply,my hands and my tongue seem alike tied, so that I cannot rightlydescribe or accurately portray the thoughts that are rising within me;and yet I am a painter; my eye tells me as much as that, and all myfriends who have seen my sketches and fancies say the same.
  I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes; butI do not want for light, as my room is high up in the house, with anextensive prospect over the neighbouring roofs. During the first fewdays I went to live in the town, I felt low-spirited and solitaryenough. Instead of the forest and the green hills of former days, Ihad here only a forest of chimney-pots to look out upon. And then Ihad not a single friend; not one familiar face greeted me.
  So one evening I sat at the window, in a desponding mood; andpresently I opened the casement and looked out. Oh, how my heartleaped up with joy!