Wenn ut de Böm de Blaeder fallt, So denk ik glik an di: So full so menni brawe Jung, Un du weerst mit derbi. Denn sett ik mi so truri hin, Un denk so vel an di, Ik et alleen min Abendbrot— Un du büst nich derbi. THE SOLDIER’S WIDOW. When ruddy clouds are driving past, ’Tis more than I can bear; Thus did the soldiers all march by, And thou, too, thou wert there. When leaves are falling on the ground, ’Tis more than I can bear; Thus fell full many a valiant lad, And thou, too, thou wert there. And now I sit so still and sad, ’Tis more than I can bear; My evening meal I eat alone, For thou, thou art not there. I wish I could add one of Klaus Groth’s tales (“Vertellen,” as he calls them), which give the most truthful description of all the minute details of life in Dithmarschen, and bring the peculiar character of the country and of its inhabitants vividly before the eyes of the reader. But, short as they are, even the shortest of them would fill more pages than could here be spared for Schleswig-Holstein. I shall, therefore, conclude this sketch with a tale which has no author,—a simple tale from one of the local Holstein newspapers. It came to me in a heap of other papers, fly-sheets, pamphlets, and books, but it shone like a diamond in a heap of rubbish; and, as the tale of “The Old Woman of Schleswig-Holstein,” it may help to give to many who have been unjust to the inhabitants of the Duchies some truer idea of the stuff there is in that strong and staunch and sterling race to which England owes its language, its best blood, and its honored name. “When the war against Denmark began again in the winter of 1863, offices were opened in the principal towns of Germany for collecting charitable contributions. At Hamburg, Messrs. L. and K. had set apart a large room for receiving lint, linen, and warm clothing, or small sums of money. One day, about Christmas, a poorly clad woman from the country stepped in and inquired, in the pure Holstein dialect, whether contributions were received here for Schleswig-Holstein. The clerk showed her to a table covered with linen rags and such like articles. But she turned away and pulled out an old leather purse, and, taking out pieces of money, began to count aloud on the counter: ‘One mark, two marks, three marks,’ till she had finished her ten marks. ‘That makes ten marks,’ she said, and shoved the little pile away. The clerk, who had watched the poor old woman while she was arranging her small copper and silver coins, asked her,—‘From whom does the money come?’ “ ‘From me,’ she said, and began counting again, ‘One mark, two marks, three marks.’ Thus she went on emptying her purse, till she had counted out ten small heaps of coin, of ten marks each. Then, counting each heap once over again, she said: ‘These are my hundred marks for Schleswig-Holstein; be so good as to send them to the soldiers.’