I cannot bear it! said the pewter soldier. I have shed pewter <br/>tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and <br/>lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot <br/>bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from <br/>one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have <br/>had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant <br/>thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the <br/>drawers.
He looked at the little maiden, and she looked at him; and he felt that he was melting away, but he still managed to keep himself erect, shouldering his gun bravely. A door was suddenly opened, the draught caught the little dancer and she fluttered like a sylph, straight into the fire, to the soldier, blazed up and was gone! By this time the soldier was reduced to a mere lump, and when the maid took away the ashes next morning she found him, in the shape of a small tin heart. All that was left of the dancer was her spangle, and that was burnt as black as a coal.