Jutland - Where the girls are shity?

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[2] 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 for ever—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?"