ich was in a very dilapidated state, sure enough, with large holes
and long crevices, but grass grew there and leaves out of them
altogether, for the whole balcony outside, the yard, and the walls,
were overgrown with so much green stuff, that it looked like a garden;
but it was only a balcony. Here stood old flower-pots with faces and
asses' ears, and the flowers grew just as they liked. One of the pots
was quite overrun on all sides with pinks, that is to say, with the
green part; shoot stood by shoot, and it said quite distinctly, "The
air has cherished me, the sun has kissed me, and promised me a little
flower on Sunday!--a little flower on Sunday!"

And then they entered a chamber where the walls were covered, with
hog's leather, and printed with gold flowers.

"The gilding decays,
But hog's leather stays!"

said the walls.

And there stood easy chairs, with such high backs, and so carved out,
and with arms on both sides. "Sit down! sit down!" said they. "Ugh!
how I creak; now I shall certainly get the gout, like the old
clothes-press, ugh!"

And then the little boy came into the room where the projecting
windows were, and where the old man sat.

"I thank you for the pewter soldier, my little friend!" said the old
man, "and I thank you because you come over to me."

"Thankee! thankee!" or "cranky! cranky!" sounded from all the
furniture; there was so much of it, that each article stood in the
other's way, to get a look at the little boy.

In the middle of the wall hung a picture representing a beautiful
lady, so young, so glad, but dressed quite as in former times, with
clothes that stood quite stiff, and with powder in her hair; she
neither said "thankee, thankee!" nor "cranky, cranky!" but looked with
her mild eyes at the little boy, who directly asked the old man,
"Where did you get her?"

"Yonder, at the broker's," said the old man, "where there are so many
pictures hanging. No one knows or cares about them, for they are all
of them buried; but I knew her in by-gone days, and now she has been
dead and gone these fifty years!"

Under the picture, in a glazed frame, there hung a _bouquet_ of
withered flowers; they were almost fifty years old; they looked so
very old!

The pendulum of the great clock went to and fro, and the hands turned,
and every thing in the room became still older; but they did not
observe it.

"They say at home," said the little boy, "that you are so very, very
lonel