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the beech woods of Denmark are acknowledged by every one to be very beautiful， but more beautiful still in the eyes of old Anthony were the beech woods in the neighborhood of Wartburg. More grand and venerable to him seemed the old oaks around the proud baronial castle， where the creeping plants hung over the stony summits of the rocks； sweeter was the perfume there of the apple-blossom than in all the land of Denmark. How vividly were represented to him， in a glittering tear that rolled down his cheek， two children at play—a boy and a girl. The boy had rosy cheeks， golden ringlets， and clear， blue eyes； he was the son of Anthony， a rich merchant； it was himself. The little girl had brown eyes and black hair， and was clever and courageous； she was the mayor‘s daughter， Molly. The children were playing with an apple； they shook the apple， and heard the pips rattling in it. Then they cut it in two， and each of them took half. They also divided the pips and ate all but one， which the little girl proposed should be placed in the ground.
“You will see what will come out，” she said； “something you don‘t expect. A whole apple-tree will come out， but not directly.” then they got a flower-pot， filled it with earth， and were soon both very busy and eager about it. The boy made a hole in the earth with his finger， and the little girl placed the pip in the hole， and then they both covered it over with earth.
“Now you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has taken root，” said Molly； “no one ever should do that. I did so with my flowers， but only twice； I wanted to see if they were growing. I didn‘t know any better then， and the flowers all died.”
Little Anthony kept the flower-pot， and every morning during the whole winter he looked at it， but there was nothing to be seen but black earth. At last， however， the spring came， and the sun shone warm again， and then two little GREen leaves sprouted forth in the pot.
“they are Molly and me，” said the boy. “How wonderful they are， and so beautiful！”
Very soon a third leaf made its appearance.
“Who does that stand for？” thought he， and then came another and another. Day after day， and week after week， till the plant became quite a tree. And all this about the two children was mirrored to old Anthony in a single tear， which could soon be wiped away and disappear， but might come again from its source in the heart of the old man.
In the neighborhood of Eisenach stretches a ridge of stony mountains， one of which has a rounded outline， and shows itself above the rest without tree， bush， or grass on its barren summits. It is called the “Venus Mountain，” and the story goes that the “Lady Venus，” one of the heathen goddesses， keeps house there. She is also called “Lady Halle，” as every child round Eisenach well knows. She it was who enticed the noble knight， Tannhauser， the minstrel， from the circle of singers at Wartburg into her mountain.
Little Molly and Anthony often stood by this mountain， and one day Molly said， “Do you dare to knock and say， ‘Lady Halle， Lady Halle， open the door： Tannhauser is here！’” But Anthony did not dare. Molly， however， did， though she only said the words， “Lady Halle， Lady Halle，” loudly and distinctly； the rest she muttered so much under her breath that Anthony felt certain she had really said nothing； and yet she looked quite bold and saucy， just as she did sometimes when she was in the garden with a number of other little girls； they would all stand round him together， and want to kiss him， because he did not like to be kissed， and pushed them away. Then Molly was the only one who dared to resist him. “I may kiss him，” she would say proudly， as she threw her arms round his neck； she was vain of her power over Anthony， for he would submit quietly and think nothing of it. Molly was very charming， but rather bold； and how she did tease！
they said Lady Halle was beautiful， but her beauty was that of a tempting fiend. Saint Elizabeth， the tutelar saint of the land， the pious princess of Thuringia， whose good deeds have been immortalized in so many places through stories and legends， had GREater beauty and more real grace. Her picture hung in the chapel， surrounded by silver lamps； but it did not in the least resemble Molly.
the apple-tree， which the two children had planted， GREw year after year， till it became so large that it had to be transplanted into the garden， where the dew fell and the sun shone warmly. And there it increased in strength so much as to be able to withstand the cold of winter； and after passing through the severe weather， it seemed to put forth its blossoms in spring for very joy that the cold season had gone. In autumn it produced two apples， one for Molly and one for Anthony； it could not well do less. The tree after this grew very rapidly， and Molly grew with the tree. She was as fresh as an apple-blossom， but Anthony was not to behold this flower for long. All things change； Molly‘s father left his old home， and Molly went with him far away. In our time， it would be only a journey of a few hours， but then it took more than a day and a night to travel so far eastward from Eisenbach to a town still called Weimar， on the borders of Thuringia. And Molly and Anthony both wept， but these tears all flowed together into one tear which had the rosy shimmer of joy. Molly had told him that she loved him—loved him more than all the splendors of Weimar.
