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The Nürnberg Stove   By: (1839-1908)

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First Page:

THE NÜRNBERG STOVE

EIGHTH EDITION

[Illustration: FOR WHAT HE SAW WAS NOTHING LESS THAN ALL THE BRIC À BRAC IN MOTION Page 64 ]

THE NÜRNBERG STOVE

BY LOUISA DE LA RAMÉ (OUIDA)

ILLUSTRATED IN COLOR BY

MARIA L. KIRK

[Illustration]

PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS PHILADELPHIA. U. S. A.

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

FOR WHAT HE SAW WAS NOTHING LESS THAN ALL THE BRIC À BRAC IN MOTION Frontispiece

HE WENT ON THROUGH THE STREETS, PAST THE STONE MAN AT ARMS OF THE GUARD HOUSE 9

"IT IS A SIN, IT IS A THEFT, IT IS AN INFAMY," HE SAID 34

AUGUST OPENED THE WINDOW, CRAMMED THE SNOW INTO HIS MOUTH AGAIN AND AGAIN 55

THE NÜRNBERG STOVE

I

August lived in a little town called Hall. Hall is a favorite name for several towns in Austria and in Germany; but this one especial little Hall, in the Upper Innthal, is one of the most charming Old World places that I know, and August for his part did not know any other. It has the green meadows and the great mountains all about it, and the gray green glacier fed water rushes by it. It has paved streets and enchanting little shops that have all latticed panes and iron gratings to them; it has a very grand old Gothic church, that has the noblest blendings of light and shadow, and marble tombs of dead knights, and a look of infinite strength and repose as a church should have. Then there is the Muntze Tower, black and white, rising out of greenery and looking down on a long wooden bridge and the broad rapid river; and there is an old schloss which has been made into a guard house, with battlements and frescos and heraldic devices in gold and colors, and a man at arms carved in stone standing life size in his niche and bearing his date 1530. A little farther on, but close at hand, is a cloister with beautiful marble columns and tombs, and a colossal wood carved Calvary, and beside that a small and very rich chapel: indeed, so full is the little town of the undisturbed past, that to walk in it is like opening a missal of the Middle Ages, all emblazoned and illuminated with saints and warriors, and it is so clean, and so still, and so noble, by reason of its monuments and its historic color, that I marvel much no one has ever cared to sing its praises. The old pious heroic life of an age at once more restful and more brave than ours still leaves its spirit there, and then there is the girdle of the mountains all around, and that alone means strength, peace, majesty.

In this little town a few years ago August Strehla lived with his people in the stone paved irregular square where the grand church stands.

He was a small boy of nine years at that time, a chubby faced little man with rosy cheeks, big hazel eyes, and clusters of curls the brown of ripe nuts. His mother was dead, his father was poor, and there were many mouths at home to feed. In this country the winters are long and very cold, the whole land lies wrapped in snow for many months, and this night that he was trotting home, with a jug of beer in his numb red hands, was terribly cold and dreary... Continue reading book >>




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