theMail-CoachPassengersbyHansChristianAndersen（1861） ITwasbitterlycold，theskyglitteredwithstars，andnotabreezestirred. “Bump”—anoldpotwasthrownataneighborsdoor；and“bang，bang，”wenttheguns；fortheywereGREetingtheNewYear.ItwasNewYearsEve，andthechurchclockwasstrikingtwelve. “Tan-ta-ra-ra，tan-ta-ra-ra，”soundedthehorn，andthemail-coachcamelumberingup.Theclumsyvehiclestoppedatthegateofthetown；alltheplaceshadbeentaken，forthereweretwelvepassengersinthecoach. “Hurrah！hurrah！”criedthepeopleinthetown；forineveryhousetheNewYearwasbeingwelcomed；andastheclockstruck，theystoodup，thefullglassesintheirhands，todrinksuccesstothenewcomer. “AhappyNewYear，”wasthecry； “aprettywife，plentyofmoney，andnosorroworcare.” thewishpassedround，andtheglassesclashedtogethertilltheyrangagain；whilebeforethetown-gatethemailcoachstoppedwiththetwelvestrangepassengers.Andwhowerethesestrangers？Eachofthemhadhispassportandhisluggagewithhim；theyevenbroughtpresentsforme，andforyou，andforallthepeopleinthetown. “Whowerethey？whatdidtheywant？andwhatdidtheybringwiththem？” “Good-morning，”theycriedtothesentryatthetown-gate. “Good-morning，”repliedthesentry；fortheclockhadstrucktwelve. “Yournameandprofession？”askedthesentryoftheonewhoalightedfirstfromthecarriage. “Seeforyourselfinthepassport，”hereplied. “Iammyself；”andafamousfellowhelooked，arrayedinbear-skinandfurboots. “Iamthemanonwhommanypersonsfixtheirhopes.Cometometo-morrow，andIllgiveyouaNewYearspresent.Ithrowshillingsandpenceamongthepeople；Igiveballs，nolessthanthirty-one；indeed，thatisthehighestnumberIcanspareforballs.Myshipsareoftenfrozenin，butinmyofficesitiswarmandcomfortable.MynameisJANUARY.Imamerchant，andIgenerallybringmyaccountswithme.” thenthesecondalighted.Heseemedamerryfellow.Hewasadirectorofatheatre，amanagerofmaskedballs，andaleaderofalltheamusementswecanimagine.HisluggageconsistedofaGREatcask. “Welldancethebungoutofthecaskatcarnivaltime，”saidhe； “Illprepareamerrytuneforyouandformyselftoo.UnfortunatelyIhavenotlongtolive—theshortesttime，infact，ofmywholefamily—onlytwenty-eightdays.Sometimestheypopmeinadayextra；butItroublemyselfverylittleaboutthat.Hurrah！” “Youmustnotshoutso，”saidthesentry. “CertainlyImayshout，”retortedtheman； “ImPrinceCarnival，travellingunderthenameofFEBRUARY.” thethirdnowgotout.Helookedapersonificationoffasting；buthecarriedhisnoseveryhigh，forhewasrelatedtothe“forty（k）nights，”andwasaweatherprophet.Butthatisnotaverylucrativeoffice，andthereforehepraisedfasting.Inhisbutton-holehecarriedalittlebunchofviolets，buttheywereverysmall. “MARCH，March，”thefourthcalledafterhim，slappinghimontheshoulder， “dontyousmellsomething？Makehasteintotheguardroom；theyredrinkingpunchthere；thatsyourfavoritedrink.Icansmellitoutherealready.Forward，MasterMarch.”Butitwasnottrue；thespeakeronlywantedtoremindhimofhisname，andtomakeanAPRILfoolofhim；forwiththatfunthefourthgenerallybeganhiscareer.Helookedveryjovial，didlittlework，andhadthemoreholidays. “Iftheworldwereonlyalittlemoresettled，”saidhe： “butsometimesImobligedtobeinagoodhumor，andsometimesabadone，accordingtocircumstances；nowrain，nowsunshine.Imkindofahouseagent，1alsoamanageroffunerals.Icanlaughorcry，accordingtocircumstances.Ihavemysummerwardrobeinthisboxhere，butitwouldbeveryfoolishtoputitonnow.HereIam.OnSundaysIgooutwalkinginshoesandwhitesilkstockings，andamuff.”After him， a lady stepped out of the coach. She called herself Miss MAY. She wore a summer dress and overshoes； her dress was a light GREen， and she wore anemones in her hair. She was so scented with wild-thyme， that it made the sentry sneeze. “Your health， and God bless you，” was her salutation to him. How pretty she was！ and such a singer！ not a theatre singer， nor a ballad singer； no， but a singer of the woods； for she wandered through the gay GREen forest， and had a concert there for her own amusement. “Now comes the young lady，” said those in the carriage； and out stepped a young dame， delicate， proud， and pretty. It was Mistress JUNE， in whose service people become lazy and fond of sleeping for hours. She gives a feast on the longest day of the year， that there may be time for her guests to partake of the numerous dishes at her table. Indeed， she keeps her own carriage； but still she travelled by the mail， with the rest， because she wished to show that she was not high-minded. But she was not without a protector； her you。
