UC-NRLF 1 ■I $B MfiE n h^li M^i KjlTfti M P'^-:"i^^>''' '■ * j; •-i::^ P m%u¥ M^ ■^ '^^ l^*«« ^M ♦-• . ■^- Zui, RXELEY (M STRIFE AND PEACE: SCENES IN NORWAY. BY FREDERIKA BREMER, AUTMOKKSS OF ' THR NEIGHBOUKS,' *THE H — FAMtLV,' 'THE PRESIDENT'S DAfOHTKRS,' ETC» TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH ADVERTISEMENT. This Translation is from an American source : having been issued by Messrs. Munroe, the intelligent publishers of Boston. It will be immediately followed by the " H Family," « The President's Daughters," and " Nina :" when new Translations of ''The Neighbours," " The Home," and others will bo added, to complete the most delightful series of prose fictions in the foreign literature of modern Europe. These Translations, made from the original Swedish, and in which many passages suppressed in the German versions have been carefully restored, will be found in no respect, it is hoped, unworthy of the original. Should this expectation prove well-grounded, it is believed that the public will require no better reason, and certainly no apology, for their appearmice in this cheap form. The cheerful family pictures which are the charm of these books ; the healthy lessons of the world which are taught in them ; the beautiful Christian virtues, and, as a consequence of these, the calm suflScing pleasures, which they would make the earnest duty and happy reward of all conditions of life ;— seem in an especial manner to recommend them for circulation in those quarters, which books of the more expensive class, such as Mrs. Howitt's excellent translations, unhappily fail to reach. LOMDON, Oetoher Wh. im jjQ^ 3j;^aC STRIFE AND PEACE; OR, SCENES IN NORWAY. OLD NORWAY. Natnre has known no change, felt no decay. For untold ages in this ancient land ; Her dark woods wave, her rivers hold their way. Majestic a* when fresh from Nature's hand. Down the dread depths, as in the dawn of time. The raging cataracts their waters urge, And proudly now, as in their youthful prime. The gray cliffs offer battle to the surge. Before a song of joy or sorrow had been sent forth from the hills of Norway, before a wreath of smoke had risen from her quiet valleys, before a tree in her dark forests had fallen by the hand of man, before king Nor had given his name to the land he traversed in pursuit of his captive sister — yes, before a Norwegian existed — the lofty Dovre raised its snow-capped summits before the face of the Creator. This gigantic chain of mountains stretches itself to the west as far as Romsdahlshorn, whose foot is bathed by the western sea. To the south it forms that immense mountain region, which, under various names, occupies a space of one hundred and fifty square miles, and contains within itself all that is most grand, most terrible, or most beautiful in nature. Here still, as on the world's first day, stands the Fjall-stuga, the mountain- house, built by an invisible hand, whose walls and towers of ice only that hand can overthrow. Here still, as in the dawn of time, the morning and the evening twilight meet, in a fleeting embrace, at midsummer, on the snow-covered summits. Now, as then, rage the mountain torrents, as they dash headlong into the fearful depths. The ice mirrors still give back the same images, now enchanting, now terrible. Still unattempted by the foot of man, lie wide Alpine tracts, rivers, and woods, on which only the eagle and the summer sun look dov/n. Here is the old but ever young Norway. Here the gaze of the beholder is overpowered, but his heart expands ; he forgets his own sorrows, his own joys ; he forgets all that is mean and trifling, while a holy awe steals over him, and he feels that the shadow of God rests upon nature. This region lies in the heart of Norway. Is thy soul weary of the bustle of the world— the frivolities of daily life ? is it oppressed by the confined air of rooms — the dust of books 1 or is it worn by deep consuming passions 1 fly, fly, then, to the heart of Norway : alone with these grand, silent, yet so eloquent scenes, listen to the beatings of the mighty heart of Nature, and win for thyself new strength — a new life. Wilt thou look upon the great — the majestic? See Gausta raise itself upon its giant knees, and look down six thousand feet to the plain below. Behold the Titan forms of the Hurrunge, the Fan- narauke, the Magnafjeld ; see the wild streams, the Rjukan, the Vohring, the Vedal, foaming and thundering over the mountain, plunge into the abyss below. Wilt thou soothe thy soul with the delightful — the tender ? These, too, environed by these fearful scenes, dwell here in peaceful solitude. The herdsman's hut stands in the narrow valley ; herds of cattle feed in the green meadows ; the peasant maid, with her fresh bloom, blue eyes, and braids of yellow hair, tends them, and sings the while the simple, tenderly mournful melody of the land ; and in the midst of the valley, like a mirror for the charming picture, lies a small lake, deep, calm, and of that clear blue which belongs to the waters of the glacier regions. All here tells of pastoral tranquillity. But on other portions of this wide region, the doom of an eternal death seems to have been im- pressed, even in the morning hour of creation. The vast shadows of the dark mountains fall over the valleys where only moss grows — over seas whose still waters are bound by eternal ice. The stillness of death reigns in these valleys, broken only by the crackling of the glacier, and the thun- der of the avalanche. No bird moves its wings, or raises its song, in this mournful region — only the melodious sighs of the cuckoo are faintly borne hither by the midsummer wind. But wouldst thou see Nature in her pomp and stateliest magnificence 1 then see the embrace of summer and winter in old Norway. Descend to the plain of Swalem, look upon the valleys of Cla- maadt and Sillefjord, or the beautiful Westfjordale, through which the Maan glides quietly, embracing in its course little green islands overgrown with blue-bells and wood-lilies. See how the silver rivers, leaving the mountains, wind among clumps of trees and fertile fields. See how, behind the nearest mountain, with its leafy woods, the snow- B 2 385 STRIFE AND PEACE. capped summits rear their ancient heads, and look down like reverend patriai-chs upon the youthful of their race. Mark from these valleys the still shifting tints of the morning and evening hours, upon the heights— in the depths. See the fearful magnificence of the storm ; the calm beauty of the rainbow, which arches itself over the waterfall. Oppressed and care-worn man, behold this— receive it into thy soul, and breathe again ! From these beautiful scenes we turn now to more unknown regions ; to the wide valley where the Waldhorn raises itself even to the clouds ; where, between steep rocks, the clear Urunda flows, and the cataracts of the Djupadahl rush down not the less proudly, that the wondering eye of the traveller but seldom rests upon them. We descend now mto a region, whose name and place on the map we will not ask the reader to search for, and which we shall call HEIMDALE. Knowest thou the hidden vale ?— The still, the nameless — o'er whose silent meads Wander no grazinf^ herds ; on whose green turf The restless foot of man has worn no path. We shall give the name of Heimdale to a branch of the great valley of Hallingdale ; we shall place it in the parish of Aals, and leave it to the learned to be astonished at our boldness. Heimdale, like its mother valley, possesses no historical associa- tions. Of the ancient kings of the Hallingdalo, but few memorials remain to us. A few stones, remnants of buildings which have long since dis- appeared ; some mounds of earth, graves of the ancient, race, give dim intimations of the mighty who have passed away. It is true, that, from early time, this valley has been inhabited by a people remarkable for their wild warlike spirit, simplicity of manners, and contentment under hardships and privation ; but rest and strife have succeeded one another ; the peaceful and the warlike have fought, and built, and gone silently to their rest ; the fame of their deeds has never pas.sed beyond these lofty mountains, never pene- trated these pathless woods. A river — lokulen — flows through Heimdale. Bursting wildly through a narrow mountain pass, it finds in the valley a free couree, and flows clear and calm, between green banks, till its waters are once more imprisoned by the granite hills ; then again raging fiercely, it rushes forth in a wild tor- rent till it loses itself in the great Hallingdale river. Just there, where the river spreads itself out in the widest part of the valley, lies a large estate. A well-built, but somewhat dilapidated house, stretches out its arms to the depths of the valley. It commands a beautiful prospect, ex- tending far into the blue distance. Lower down the river rise hills, covered with wood ; and little huts, surrounded by low hedges and beautiful grass paths, lie scattered here and there, at the foot of the mountains. On the other side of the river, a quarter of a mile from the manor, a little chapel lifts its peaceful spires. Behind this chapel the valley gradually contracts itself. On a cool September evening guests arrived at the kjpg-deserted house. These were an elderly lady, in deep mourning, of noble but sorrowful aspect, and a young blooming girl. They were received by a young man who bore the title of steward. The door closed upon the mouraing lady, and for months long she was nowhere seen in the valley. She was distinguished there by the title of " the Oefwerstinna."* It was said that the fate of Fi'u Astrid Hjelm had been a sad and strange one, and many and various were the tales related of the events of her past life. She had not visited the estate of Semb, her paternal inheritance, since she left it as a bride. Now — a widow — she had returned to the home of her childhood. It was understood that her com- panion was a Swede, who had accompanied her from a Swedish watering-place, in order to superintend her household ; and it was reported that Susanna Bjork bore unlimited sway in the domestic economy ; directing, in the interior de- partment, the movements of Larina, the parlour- maid, Karina, the house-maid, and Petra, the cook ; and ruling not less absolutely the guardians of the farm-yard, Matthea and Budega, Goran the herdsman, and all the inferior tribe, both bipeds and quadrupeds. THE FEATHERED RACE — THE TROUBLED WATERS. First Coktkktion. " For Norway ! " " For Sweden ! " The morning was clear and fi-esh. The Sep- tember sun shone brightly in the valley ; smoke rose from the cottages. The lady-mantles, in whose channelled cups clear pearls trembled, the silver- weed, with its yellow flowers and silver-bright leaves, grew along a little foot-path which wound round the base of a moss-grown hill. It conducted to a spring of clearest water, which, after forming a little pond, led its slender stream dancing and murmuring to the river. On this beautiful morn- ing, Susanna Bjork approached the spring ; in her train came " cock, and hen, and chicken small." Before her waddled a troop of geese, gabbling, noisily ; all white but one — a gray one. The gray goose walked, with a timid, hesitating air, a little behind the others, compelled to retain this position by a tyrant in the white flock, who drove liim back, with outstretched neck and loud cry, when- ever he attempted to approach the rest. The poor gray always retreated before his white oppressor, but bare spots upon his head and neck proved that he had not fallen into this abject condition before he had convinced himself, by the severest proofs, of the inefficacy of all remonstrance. None of the other geese concerned themselves about their ill- used brother, on which account Susanna took him under her especial protection, and endeavoured, by dainty morsels and kind words, to console him for the injustice of his kind. After the geese came the demure but clumsy ducks, the petulant turkey-cock, with his awkward dames — one black and one white — last, came the turbulent race of chickens, with their stately, pugnacious cocks. The prettiest of all the party were a flock of pigeons, who timidly, yet confidently at the same time, now alighted on Susanna's shoulder and outstretched hand, now rose in the air and flew in shining circles round her head ; then dropping to the earth, tripped on their little fringed feet, to drink at the spring ; while the geese, with loud noise, plunged splashing into the river, and threw the water over the grass in a pearly shower. Here, * Colonel's wife. STRIFE AND PEACE. too, to Susanna's great vexation, was the gray goose compelled to bathe at a distance from the others. Susanna gazed upon the beautiful picture before her, upon the little creatures who played and enjoyed themselves about her, and a visible de- light beamed from her eyes, while, with elevated feeling, her hands clasped together, she softly murmured, " My God, how beautiful !" But she started suddenly, for, at this moment, close to her, a loud, clear voice sang, — <' How glorious is my father-land, The sea-crowned, brave old Norway !" And the steward, Harold Bergman, laughingly greeted Susanna, who exclaimed, angrily, " You scream so, that you frighten the pigeons, with your old Norway." " Yes," continued Harold, in the same tone of enthusiasm, — « Yes, glorious is my father-land, The ancient rock -bound clime. Whose granite cliffs like bulwarks stand, And brave the hand of time ! Hail to old Norway !" ** Old Norway," said Susanna, as before, "I think it is a real scandal to hear you talk about your old Norway, as if it wei'e older, and more eternal, than God himself." " And where, in the whole world," cried Harold, " will you find such a noble, high-minded people ; such glorious streams, and such high, high moun- tains?" " We have men and mountains in Sweden, too," said Susanna, " Oh, if you could but see them ! They are of quite another sort !" " Another sort ! what sort, then ? I will wager there is not a goose in Sweden to be compared to our excellent Norwegian geese." *' No, not one, but a thousand, and all larger and fatter than these. But in Sweden everything is larger and better than in Norway." " Larger ? the men are certainly much smaller and weaker." " Weaker ? smaller? You should see the people in Uddewalla, my native town 1" " How can anybody be born iii*Uddewalla ? Does any one really live in that place ? It is a shame to live in such a place. It is a shame only to pass through it. Why, it is so miserably small, that when the wheels of your carriage are at one end of the town, the horse is putting his head out of the other. Don't talk about Uddewalla." *< No, it is not worth while to talk to you about it. For you have never seen anything in your life but your Norwegian villages, and cannot form an idea of a real Swedish city." " I have no desire to see any such cities, God preserve me from it ! And then your Swedish lakes, what miserable puddles they are, compared to our great Norwegian sea." " Puddles ? our seas ! Large enough to drown all Norway in them." " Ha, ha, ha ! and all Sweden is no larger than my cap, compared to our Norwegian sea ; and this sea would rush down irresistibly upon Sweden if our Norway did not nobly defend it with her granite breast." " Sweden defends herself, and needs no other help ; Sweden is a noble land." " Not half so noble as Norway. Norway reaches to heaven with its mountains. Norway stands nearest to God." " Norway may be presumptuous, but God loves Sweden best." « Norway, I say !" " Sweden, I say !" "Norway! Norway, for ever! We will see! The one that throws the highest, wins for his country. For Norway, first and highest !" And Harold threw a stone high into the air. " Sweden, first and last !" cried Susanna, while she threw a stone with all her strength. Fate decreed the victory to neither party ; the stones met in the air, and then fell, with a loud noise, into the spring, about which the animals were assembled. The geese screamed ; hens and ducks fluttered, terrified, about ; the turkey- hens ran into the wood ; the turkey-cock, forgetting his dignity, followed them ; the pigeons vanished in an instant ; and with flushed cheeks, warmly con- tending which stone went the highest, Harold and Susanna stood beside the troubled waters. This moment is not perhaps the most favourable one we could choose — we will, however, avail ourselves of it — to give a slight sketch of the contending parties. Harold Bergman has marked and rather sharp features. His usual expression is that of deep seriousness; but this could give place, in a moment, to one of the most roguish playfulness. His dark hair fell in waves over a brow which might well be the abode of high, clear intellect. His figure was of fair proportions, and all his motions were un- constrained and graceful. He was brought up in a highly respectable family, had received a careful education, and was considered by his friends as a young man of un- common promise. He had just left the S. semi- nary, and was preparing to travel into foreign countries, in order to extend his knowledge of agriculture, when accident introduced him to the Oefwerstinna Hjelm, at the time when she re- turned, a widow, to her native land. In conse- quence of this he changed his plans. In a letter to his sister he writes thus : — " I cannot well express to you, Alette, the im- pression she made upon me. I might describe to you her high stature, her noble bearing, her countenance which, in spite of many wrinkles, and a pale complexion, still retains the traces of great beauty ; her high forehead, round which locks of mingled black and gray escape from beneath her simple cap ; I might tell you of her deep, earnest eyes; of her voice, whose tones are so sweet and yet so solemn — and still you could form no idea of what it is that makes her so unlike every one else. I have heard that her life has been as remarkable for its vu*tues, as for its sorrows. Virtue and sorrow have imparted to her a quiet nobleness; a nobleness never attained by the favourite of fortune, and which is stamped upon her whole being. She seemed to me as if all the littlenesses of the world passed by her unmarked. I felt for her an involuntary respect, such as I have never felt for any other human being, and with it a strong desire to come nearer to her, to be useful to her, to deserve and win her esteem : it seemed to me that I should, by this means, myself become nobler, or, at least, better. And when I learned that she wished for a skilful andr 6 STRIFE AND PEACE. experienced steward, to take charge of her long neglected estate, I offered myself, in all modesty, as such a one ; and when I was accepted, I felt an almost childish delight, and departed immediately for her estate, in order to make myself at home there, and prepare everything for her reception." Thus much of Harold ; now for Susanna. Barbara Susanna Bjork was not handsome ; she could not even be called pretty— she was too tall and stout for that— yet was her appearance not unpleasing. Her blue eyes looked out into the world so honestly and frankly; her face, round and full, told of health, a good heart, and high spirits ; and when Susanna was gay, when her fresh mouth opened in a merry laugh, it was enough to make one gay only to look upon her. But true it is, that she was often in an ill-humour, and then she was not quite so charming. She was a tall, well-formed girl, with feelings too strong to be altogether amiable; and her manners betrayed a certain want of refinement. Poor child ! how was she to have acquired this, in the abode of disorder, idleness, and poverty in which she had passed the greater part of her life ? Her mother died while Susanna was yet very young — then came an aunt into the house. She busied herself with housekeeping and gossiping, let her brother seek his pleasure at the club, and left the child to take care of herself. The educa- tion of Susanna consisted in this — she learned to read tolerably, and when she was naughty they said to her, " What, has Barbara come again ? Fie, for shame, Barbai'a ! Away with Barbara !" And when she was good again, " See, here is Sanna, again! Welcome, good little Sanna !" a method which certainly had some advantages, if it had only been more judiciously employed. But often was the little girl addressed as Barbara when it was not at all necessary ; and this had always the effect of calling in the said lady, imme- diately. In this manner, the child was accustomed to go out as Barbara, and to return as Sanna, and thus early formed an idea of the double nature which existed in her as it exists in every human being. This idea was afterwards fully and clearly developed by Susanna's religious instruction, the only education which the poor Sanna was destined to receive. Yet, how infinitely precious is this instniction to an ingenuous mind, if it be instilled by a kind and judicious teacher ! Susanna was fortunate enough to meet with such a one, and she now learned to know in Barbara the earthly demon who is to be subdued ; and in Sanna, the child of heaven, who is to be freed and glorified. From this time began an open war between Bar- bara and Sanna, which was carried on daily, and in which the latter had always the upper hand, when Susanna was not betrayed by her naturally proud and impetuous temper. When Susanna had attained her twelfth year, her father married for the second time, but became again a widower, after his wife had presented him with a daughter. Two months later, he too died. Near relations received the orphan children. In this new house Susanna learned— to endure hardships. For, as she was tall and stout, and at the same time obliging and khid-hearted, she was soon made the servant of the whole household. The daughters of the house said she was fit for nothing else, for ahe could learn nothing — and then her manners were so unformed — and, had she not been taken out of charity ? All this, and in the most ungentle manner, was she taught to feel ; and many were the tears which poor Susanna shed over her bitter lot. But there were lips that never spoke to her but in the tenderest accents of love — the lips of her little sister, the gold-haired Hulda. In Susanna's arms she had found'her cradle. Susanna's cares for her had been those of the tenderest mother ; for even from its birth Susanna had taken the little deserted one to herself, and never did young mother feel for her first-born child a deeper, tenderer love, than that with which Susanna cherished the little Huida, who grew up under her care into a most beautiful and lovely child ! And woe to him who should offer wrong to the little Hulda ! He must learn the full force of Susanna's strong-armed anger. For her sake, Susanna endured here many sorrowful years of service ; but as she could look forward to no end of these — could hardly dress herself and her little sister tolerably, and found, besides, that she was prevented, by her numerous occupations, from bestowing upon her sister the care that she required, she resolved, in her twen- tieth year, to quit a situation so full of hardship and suffering. From the windows of the confined dwelling where Susanna had passed so many weary days, she could see a tree which stood behind a fence, and whose branches extended over the street. Many a spring and summer evening, when the other inmates cf the house were absent on some excursion of plea- sure, Susanna sat by the little sleeping Hulda, in the small room which had been allotted to her, and looked from her window, with quiet sadness, upon the green tree, whose leaves and twigs waved and beckoned to her so invitingly. Gradually, the green leaves called forth in her thoughts and plans, which at last formed themselves into a distinct image, whose reahsation became to her, from this time, the darling object of her soul. This was the vision of a little farm which Susanna was to hire, cultivate, and make profitable by her industry and prudence. She planted potatoes, she milked cows and made butter, she sowed, she reaped, and toil was a pleasure to her ; for there, under the green, waving trees, sat the little Hulda, and played with flowers ; her blue eyes beamed with delight, and neither care nor want came near her. All Susanna's thoughts and endeavours were directed to the realisation of this dream. The first step was to obtain a good service, in which she might, by husbanding her wages, obtain a sufficient sum of money to carry her schemes into execu- tion. Susanna flattered herself that two years would accomplish this object, and therefore looked about for a suitable situation. Am.ong the guests who this year visited the baths of Gustafsberg, near Udde walla, was a Norwegian officer and his wife. He had been struck by para- lysis, and had lost his speech and the use of his hands. He was a tall, large man, of wild, stern aspect ; and though he continually demanded the attentions of his wife, and, indeed, would endure no one else near him, yet was this preference evi- dently not the effect of love ; and though the lady devoted herself untiringly to his service, yet was this devotion, too plainly, no effect of love, but the woi'king of some other deep, inward power. Her own health was visibly shaken ; violent spasms often STRIFE AND PEACE. seized upon her chest ; but, night or day, when- ever he wished to raise himself up, it was upon her bent-down, patient neck that his arm rested. She stood by his side and supported him in the cold shower-bath, which was to revive his enfeebled powers, while it destroyed hers. She was ever by him, always calm and efficient, seldom speaking, never complaining. Only by the lines of sorrow in her face, and by a habit she had of pressing her hand upon her heart, could it be known that she suffered. Susanna had an opportunity of observ- ing all this, and her heart was filled with admira- tion and compassion. She soon found an occasion to be useful to the noble lady, offering her strong youthful arm for her support, and watching by the invalid when the eyes of his patient wife closed with weariness. Happily the sick man suflFered her attendance. Susanna was present at the last fear- ful scene by the death-bed of the Oefwerste. He seemed to be struggling to speak, but could not. Then he made signs that he would write, but his fingers could no longer hold the pen. The deepest distress was painted on his convulsed features. His wife bent over him, clasped his hand with an expression of intense anxiety, and whispered, " Give me only a sign as an answer : say — say — does he yet live ?" The sick man fixed upon her a glassy gaze, and bowed his head. Was this an answer to her entreaty, or was it the hand of Death, which forbade an answer ? — The head was never I'aised again. This was its last motion. For many days succeeding this, the lady lay in convulsions, which rapidly succeeded one another, and appeared even to threaten her life. Susanna remained untiringly beside her, and felt herself happy in being able to watch over and serve her. She felt for her an almost passionate devotion, such as young girls often feel for elder women of supe- rior rank, to whom they look up as to their ideal of womanhood. And when the lady returned to Norway, Susanna kissed her little Hulda, weeping, yet happy in the prospect of following such a mistress, and of serving her in the seclusion to which she devoted herself. FRU ASTRED. Oh, ye high, cold, unsympathising stars ! Could you look down from your far, tranquil heaven. With s'lth a clear bright gaze, on this sad earth. If you had any feeling of the woes Your calm eyes rest on ? When Harold and Susanna turned away from the troubled waters, Susanna was in a very angry and excited mood, but as soon as she approached that part of the house which was occupied by Fru Astrid, she became calm. She looked up to her window, and discerned her noble but mournful features. Her head was bent down as if in gloomy thought. At this sight Susanna forgot all her ill- humour. «0h!" sighed she, "if I could but make her happier !" This was the daily subject of Susanna's medi- tations, but it became to her every day a darker riddle. Fru Astrid appeared indifferent to every- thing about her. She never gave an order about anything in the house, but left Susanna to govern all things as she would. Susanna supplied the table of her mistress with every delicacy which it was in her power to obtain. But to her despair the Oefwerstinna ate almost nothing, and never appeared to remark whether what was placed be- fore her was good or bad. Before Susanna entered the house, she gathered some of the most beautiful flowers that the autumn frosts had spared ; made them into a bouquet, and, with them in her hand, softly entered Fru Astrid's apartment. « Bowed down with sorrow," is the only expression which can give an idea of the Lady Astrid. The livid paleness of her complexion— her drooping eyelids — the heavy languor of her motions— the gloomy indifference which seemed to shroud her soul, as the dark mourning garments wrapped her outward form, while she sat for long hours — often without any occupation — her head sunk upon her breast ; all this indicated a soul long chained to heavy suffering. Suffering in the North has its peculiar character- istics. In the South it burns and consumes. In the North it chills, benumbs ; it kills slowly. From the earliest times has this difference been recognised. When our ancestors sought to embody all that they had known most terrible in life, then was shadowed forth the dark vision of the subterranean dwelling of Hela ; the terrors of the shore of corpses ; in a word, the Hell of the North, with its endless, pathless wastes ; its coN, darkness, mists ; its turbid rivers, and chill, trickling poisons. There is life and wild power in the fury dance of the Grecian Tartarus ; there is an intoxication in its delirium, which disturbs the feehng of intense misery. The soul shrinks not back before these glowing images of terror, as before the chill, dank, dripping horrors which the cold North engenders. When Susanna entered the chamber of the Oefwerstinna, she sat as usual, sunk in deep melan- choly. Before her, upon the table, lay pens and paper, and a book in which she appeared to have been reading. It was the Bible ; it was open at the book of Job, and the following passages were underlined : — " My soul is weary of my life, for my days are vanity." " Man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly up- ward." Fru Astrid's look was fixed upon this last pas- sage, as Susanna softly approached her, and with an affectionate " Will you be so kind 1 " offered her the bouquet of flowers. Fru Astrid looked up at the flowers, and an expression of pain passed over her face, as she turned her head away, and said, " They are beautiful ; — but keep them, Su- sanna ; they are painful to my eyes." She resumed her former position, and the dis- appointed Susanna drew back ; but after a short silence she again ventured to raise her voice, and said, " We have caught a splendid salmon- trout to-day. Will you have it for dinner, my lady, with egg-sauce ? And perhaps I might roast a duck or a chicken 1" " Do as you will, Susanna," said the lady, in a tone of indiffei-ence. But there was in this indifference something so mournful, that Susanna could not restrain herself from sink- ing down and clasping her knees, while she ex- claimed, " Ah ! if I could only do something to please you I" But Susanna's warm, beaming look met a gaze so stern, that she started back involuntarily. " Susanna," said Fru Astrid, with mournful seri- ousness, while she laid her hand on her shoulder, STRIFE AND PEACE. and pushed her gently away, " please me, then, by not attaching yourself to me. It will lead to no good. I have no affection to bestow — my heart is dead. Go, my child," she continued, more kindly, " and trouble not yourself about me. My wish — the only good left to me — is to be alone." Susanna went, her heart full of sorrowful feel- ings. " Not trouble myself about her ! " said she to herself, while she wiped away her tears ; *' not trouble myself about her — as if that were so easy !" When Susanna had left her, Fru Astrid cast a melancholy look upon the paper which lay before her. She took up the pen and laid it down again. She seemed to shudder at the thought of using it; but at last controlled herself and wrote the follow- ing letter : — " You wish that I should write to you. I write — but what — what shall I say to you ? Thanks for your letter, my friend, my father, teacher of my youth. Thanks, that you would raise and ele- vate my soul. But I am old, bowed down, wearied, soured. I have no more strength : the living Word dwells no more in my heart ; my friend, it is too late — too late ! " You would raise my look to heaven ; but what is the splendour of the sun to the eye that no longer sees ? What is the power of melody to the ear that hears no more ? What is all that is beautiful, all that is good upon the earth, to the heart that is dead — that is turned to stone by long, hard impri- sonment ! Oh, my friend, I am unworthy of your consolation, of your reviving words. My soul re- bels against them, and throws them from her, as * words, words, woi'ds,' which have sounded great and beautiful for a thousand years, while thousands of souls have been dumb in unconsoled misery. " Hope ? I have hoped so long — I have so long said to myself a better day will come. The path of duty leads to the heaven of peace and light, let the way be ever so thorny. Go only steadfastly on, weary pilgrim, go, go, and thou shalt reach the promised land. And I have gone on — have passed through the long weary days of more than thirty years. But the way lengthens itself out, farther and farther — one after another my hopes have withered — died away. I see now no goal before me, none — but the grave ! " Love, love 1 Oh ! if you knew what an inex- pressibly bitter feeling this word awakens in me ! Have I not loved, deeply loved ? And what fruit has my love borne ? It has broken my heart, and brought misery to those whom I loved. It is in vain you would contend with a belief which has taken deep root in my mind — I believe that there are those who are born predestined to misfortune ; whatever approaches them must share their mi- sery ; and I believe that I am one of these. Let me, then, fly from mankind— fly from every feeling that could bind me to them. Why should I cause more sorrow than I have already done ? « Why did you ask me to write 1 I would not pour my bitter feelings into another's heart, I would not give pain to another, and— what have I now done ? " There is a silent strife which, through all the world, is raging in the secret hearts of men— at times how fearfully ! It is the strife with bad and bitter thoughts— thoughts that sometimes demand an expression, and write themselves in characters of blood and fire. Then are they read and judged before the tribunal. But in many human breasts they rage silently through long years — then sink before them, health, temper, love, faith — faith in Ufe and in a good God — with this sinks all. « Could I believe that my constant, true devo- tion to the husband whom I once loved so entirely, for whose sake I endured, in the fortress which he commanded, a life compared to which that of the condemned criminal is happiness — whom I still followed when I loved him no longer, because he had need of me, because without me he would have been alone — abandoned to evil spirits — whom I followed because duty demanded it, because I had vowed it before God. Oh, could I believe this faithful well-doing had availed anything, that my labours had borne some fruit, I would not then ask, as now — why was I born ? Why have I lived ? But nothmg — nothing ! " Could I hope that on the other side the grave I should meet the kind, loving look of my only sister, then should I see the approach of death with joy. But how shall I answer her when she asks me for her child ? How will she look upon the faithless guardian ? " Oh, my friend ! my sorrow has nothing in common with that of romance ; it is not the deep shadow which serves to heighten the brilliant light. It is the long sombre twilight which never deepens into night — never brightens into dawn. And am I alone condemned to this dreary lot ? Open the pages of history, look round you in the present time, and you will see a thousand instances of suf- fering, unmerited suffering, which after long years of endurance become despair. But another, bet- ter life ! Only consolation, only hope, sole ray of light that pierces the gloom of this earthly life ! — No, no, I will not renounce thee ! I will believe in thee, and with this belief still the rising murmur against the Creator of the world. " I am ill, and believe I shall hardly live through this winter ; I breathe with difficulty ; this is per- haps owing to the inexpressible heaviness that weighs upon me. When in the long nights I sit sleepless upon my bed, and look into the night within and about me, dark, terrible phantoms throng around me, and often the dread comes over me, that a disordered imagination is overclouding my reason and bewildering my senses. " How can I wish to live ? When it is evening, I wish that it were morning, and when it is morn- ing I wish that the day were over and that it were evening. Every hour is a burden and a torture to me. Pray God for me then, my friend, that I may soon die ! Farewell ! Perhaps I shall write no more — but my last conscious thought will be of you. Forgive, forgive the impatience, the bitter- ness, of this letter. Pray for me, my friend and teacher, pray for me that I may become calm — may yet pray before I die." NEW DISPUTES. With earnest word and ready hand, Coblendiug for the Father-land. While we leave the Lady Astrid alone with her dark thoughts, we are led by certain discordant sounds to look about us in the STRIFE AND PEACE. BREWHOUSE. Harold had gone there to taste the new beer which Susanna had made ; but, after taking a deep draught, he said, with a terrible grimace, " It is good for nothing — absolutely good for nothing ! " Susanna answered somewhat angrily, " Do you mean to say, then, that Baroness Rosenhielm's receipt for brewing is good for nothing 1 '* " I say so, decidedly. Is not she a gossiping old lady ? A gossiping dame is always a bad housekeeper, and as the Baroness Rosenhielm is a gossip, so . . ." " I must tell you," exclaimed Susanna, inter- rupting him, indignantly, " that it is very inde- corous and profane in you to speak in this way of so excellent a lady and such an exalted person." " Exalted ! about how high is she, then ? " " Much higher than you are, or ever will be ; that I can assure you." " Higher than 1 1 then she must go upon stilts. Well, I must say, that is the last degree of refine- ment and super-elegance ! One might forgive a woman for having coifee- parties and dressing ex- travagantly, but to walk on stilts, in order to be higher than the rest of the world, and to see over other people's heads, that is a little too fine ! How could such an exalted person condescend to brew good beer ? But no Swedish woman ever brewed good beer yet, for . . ." *' No Swedish woman will ever brew a drop for you horrid Norwegians, for you have neither sense, nor judgment, nor taste, nor . . ." Out of the brew-house flew Susanna in highest wrath ; throwing down, as she went, a glass of beer, which, during the contention, Harold had poured out for himself, and which he would have received in a different manner from that he had intended, if he had not saved himself by a sudden spring. Towards evening, on the same day, the contend- ing parties met in THE GARRET. ** Are you still angry 1 " asked Harold, laugh- ingly, as he put his head in at the door of the gar- ret, where Susanna, with all the importance and dignity of a true empress of the store-room, sat upon a meal-chest, as upon a throne, bearing in her hand a sceptre of thyme, marjoram, and basi- lika, which she was dividing into small bundles, while her eyes were, at the same time, taking ac- count of the riches of her well-ordered kingdom. The chests of bread were more than full, for she had just been baking. Sausages and hams hung from the wall, in company with great bundles of dried fish. Bags of various kinds of pulse stood in their proper places. Harold, too, looked about him with the air of a connoisseur, arid said, although he had received no answer to his question, *' Certainly, I never saw a better ordered store- room." Susanna would allow no gleam of the pleasure which this commendation gave her to appear. " But," continued Harold, " you must allow that it requires no great skill to keep store-room and cellar well provided in a country so rich in all the goods of life as our Norway. * Beloved land ! with thy sky-reaching hills. Thy fertile vates and fish-abounding shores ! '" « We have fish in Sweden, too, thank God," answered Susanna. " Oh, but not to be compared to ours. Or will you seriously think of putting your perch and carp m comparison with our mackerel, herrings, had- docks, flounders, and all the innumerable host of our fishes?" « I would give all your Norwegian fishes for one good Swedish pike." "Pike? Are there really nothing but pike in Sweden ?" " In Sweden there are all kinds of fish that there are in Norway, and much larger and fatter." " Well, then, they are caught on your coasts. We take what we want of them, and let the rest swim down to Sweden, so that they may have some there too. But I forget that I am going out myself to fish, and will catch large fishes, and small fishes, and all sorts of fishes. Adieu, Miss Susanna, I will soon come back with fish." *' You had better stay with your Norwegian fishes," called Susanna after him. But Harold did not stay with the fishes, for the next morning we find him accompanying Susanna into the DAIRY. ** I see we are to have onion-milk for dinner to-day, one of our choicest national dishes." ** Uh ! It is enough to make one stupid and sleepy only to think of your national dishes. And still more horrible than your onion-milk is that shocking dish, barley soup, with little herrings !" " Barley soup with little herrings ! What ! the very best dish upon earth 1 a dish that I might call a truly Christian dish ! " ** And I should call it a heathenish dish, that no true Christian could eat." " It has been eaten, from time immemorial, by the free Norwegians, in the beautiful valleys of Norway." "That proves that your free Norwegians are still heathens." *' I can prove to you that the Norwegians were a Christian people before the Swedes." " You may prove it as much as you will, but I shall not believe it." " But I will show it to you in print." « Then I am certain it must be a misprint." Harold laughed, and said something about the impossibility of arguing with a Swedish woman. Should any one wish to know how it happens that Harold is so continually found in Susanna's company, in the brew-house, in the garret, in the milk-room, we can only say, that he must be a great lover of beer, flour, and milk, or of a certain seasoning, in the every-day soup of life, called teasing, Fru Astrid breakfasted always in her own room, but dined with Susanna and Harold, and saw them also for a short time in the evening. At dinner the strife between Norway and Sweden often broke out, for the smallest occasion was sufficient to make the Burgomaster's daughter throw herself blindly into the contest for her father-land ; and, strangely enough, it seemed at times to give Fru Astrid herself pleasure to animate the strife by such questions as, — ** I should like to know whether the cauliflower is best in Norway or in Sweden ?" or " I should STRIFE AND PEACE. like to know whether wheat grows best in Norway or in Sweden ?" " Certainly in Norway," would Harold say. " Most decidedly in Sweden," would Susanna exclaim ; and vegetables and fish, and coins, and weights and measures, were in this manner talked of and disputed about. Of the wheat in Norway, Susanna said, " I have not seen upon the whole estate a single sheaf to compare with those I have seen in Sweden." "That is, because," said Harold, "you never saw good wheat before you came here." Of the Norwegian weights Susanna said, " I never know what I am about, with your puzzling, troublesome Norwegian weights." " They are heavier than the Swedish," said Harold. When Susanna was most zealous and most angry — then — shocking to relate — Harold would laugh right heartily, and even the pale counte- nance of the lady Astrid was lighted for a moment by a faint smile, but it was like a beam of sunshine in a dark November sky, which breaks forth only to hide itself again behind the clouds. It never once occurred to Susanna, on these occasions, to curb the Barbara-spirit. She con- sidered it a holy duty thus to defend her father- land. But not always did the spirit of discord rule over Harold and Susanna. At times that of peace alighted near them, but always as a timid dove, ever ready to take flight. When Susanna spoke of that which lay nearest to her heart, of her love for her little sister, of her recollections of their former companionship, of the longing she felt to see her again, and to devote herself to her, as a mother to her child, then would Harold listen quietly and attentively. No mocking word or look disturbed these pure images in Susanna's soul. And how glowingly would Susanna describe the beauty of the little Hulda — the sweet, white, deli- cate child — her soft blue eyes, her little white teeth, the clear sunshine which, when she laughed, beamed over her whole face, and the golden locks which curled so beautifully round her forehead and neck ; the little delicate hands ; and then her dis- position, her heart, so gay, so good, so loving. Oh, she was, in truth, an angel of God ! She described to Harold the little room in which she had dwelt with her Hulda, and which she had transformed from an old lumber-room into a pretty chamber. She described to him the carpet — the work of her own hands— the bed of the little Hulda, hung with blue muslin curtains ; and how, in the morning, a ray of sunshine would steal into the room, rest upon the pillow, and kiss her little curly head. How roguish was the little one, when Susanna came in, late in the evening, and her first look fell on the bed of her darling ! She saw her not— for Hulda drew her little head under the covering, to conceal herself from her sister. Su- sanna would pretend to look for her, but she had only to say, in an anxious voice, " Where, oh where, is my little Hulda ?" to lure out the head of the little one, to see her outstretched arms, and hear her call, " Here I am, Sanna, here is your little Hulda ! " In thinking of these hours, Su- sanna's tears would often flow, and hindered her from seeing the moistened eyes with which Harold often listened to her relations. Harold, too, had his stories ; truly, not of so tender a nature, but still interesting enough to command Susanna's whole attention, and to merit that we should de- vote to them a new chapter. EVENING HOURS. ^nd on the heif^ht still stands the ancient stone. Where Sa^ra hovered like a sonj^ful lark. The Iti^ht of morning on hei sable down. Vblhavbn. Harold related willingly, and related well— a happy gift, which is met with among all classes in Norway, women as well as men, and which they appear to have inherited from their forefathers the Scalds ; — he was besides well versed in the won- ders and legends of the mountain regions. And it is from these mountain regions that the fairest flowers of poetry in Norway have sprung, as if from her heart. The times of the Sagas and of heathenism have left here their giant traces. River and mountain have their traditions of ghosts and transformations. The " great chauldrons " * rise over the graves of champions who have here met in combat and have fallen. From Hallingdale went forth the national dance, the Hallinger, and only the Hardanger-Fela (Hardanger violin) can rightly give out its wild, strange rhythm. Most beautiful are the flowers that have come down to us as mementos of the early Christian times ; and the eternal snow, on the summit of the loftiest mountain, is not more imperishable than these tender roses at its foot. So long as Gausta stands, and the Riukan sends forth its thunder-song, will the memory of Mari-Stien live, and its tales of joy and sorrow be related. So long as the ice sea guards its dark secrets, so long will the little island be green, whose turf has been watered by the tears of faithful love. When the work of the day was over, and Fru Astrid had retired to her chamber, it was a great pleasure to Harold to read or relate stories to Susanna, while she sat knitting, or her spinning- wheel hummed in gay rivalry with those of Larina and Karina ; while the flame of the fire danced on the hearth, and threw its warm, cheerful gleams over the group. It dehghted Harold to have Su- sanna for a listener — to hear her exclamations of childish terror and astonishment, or her hearty laugh ; or to see her tears, as she listened to his now merry, now sorrowful recitals. Susanna's feelings were deeply moved by the story of Mari-Stien, this path over the mountain on the brink of the precipice of the Riukan, which even at this day the traveller treads with fear, and which was discovered by a young maiden, strong in the courage of love. It was by this path that the beautiful Mary of Westfiordale went with light, fearless step to meet the friend of her childhood, Ej stein Halfoordsen. But the avarice of her father separated them, and Mary's tears and prayers prevailed upon her lover to fly, to escape the plot formed by a treacherous rival against his life. Years passed, and Mary was firm in her constancy. Her father died ; Ej stein had by his * The name given in many parts of Norway and Sweden to large stones, hollowed out, as some believe, by the hand of man, and used by the ancient Scandinavians in their sacrifices. Geologists, however, are of opinion, that they have been shaped by the action of the waters, which must once have covered the greater part of Scandinavia. STRIFE AND PEACE. 11 valour and nobleness made his former enemy his friend ; and after their long separation the lovers were to meet again, never more to be parted. Ej stein hastened by the shortest way, over the Mari-Stien, to meet his beloved. Long had she watched for him. She saw him coming, and his name burst from her with a joyful cry. He saw her — stretched his arms eagerly towards her, as his soul rushed to meet her, and forgot that he had not wings — he fell — and the Riukan whirled him into its foaming depths. For many years after this, a pale form, in whose beautiful eyes a quiet madness spoke, wandered daily on the Mari-Stien, and seemed to talk with some one in the abyss below. She ever returned from her wanderings v/ith a mournful pleasure in her eyes, and said, " I have spoken with him, and he begged me to come every day and tell him that I live. It were wrong to deny him this — he is so good, and loves me so truly." Thus she went till silver hair floated round her wrinkled cheeks ; thus she went till a merciful voice summoned her to joy and rest in the arms of her beloved. Less mournful, but not less charming to Susanna, was the old Saga of Halgrim. Stormannadauen (the Black Death) had raged through Norway, and swept away more than two- thirds of its inhabitants, desolating wide tracts of country and populous districts. In the valley of Ulwig, in Hardanger, a young peasant, named Halgrim, alone remained alive. He rose from the sick bed on which he lay, surrounded by the dead, and went forth to seek for living men. It was spring — the larks sang loudly in the clear blue air — the birch trees had clothed them- selves in fresTi green ; the river, with its melting Buow-reefs, wandered singing down the mountain — no plough furrowed the now loosened soil. No horn, calling the cattle home, was to be heard from the heights. All was still and dead in the dwellings of men. Halgrim went from valley to valley, from hut to hut. Death met him every- where ; everywhere he recognised the bodies of his former friends. Then he began to believe that he was alone upon earth ; despair seized his soul, and he resolved that he too would die. But as he was in the act of throwing himself from a rock, his faithful dog sprang up the cliff to his side, cxressed him and expressed his anguish by the most plaintive moans. Halgrim drew back from the brink of the precipice ; he embraced his dog, his tears flowed, and despair dwelt no longer in his heart. He began his wanderings anew. The memory of love led him to the parish of Gravers, where he had first seen Hildegunda and won her love. It was evening, and the sun was going down, when Halgrim descended into the valley, where all was still and dead, as in those through which he had already passed. Dark stood the pine-trees in the black shadow of the wall of rock, and silently the river glided by its deserted banks. On the other side of the river a little wooded point of land ran out into the blue waves, and the last rays of the sun rested on the green tops of the birch trees. Suddenly it seemed to Halgrim that a faint wreath of smoke rose over the thicket. But he dared not trust his eyes. He stood fixed and breathless — it was only for a moment — a blue pillar of smoke rose slowly in the calm evening air. With a cry of joy Halgrun rushed forward, waded through the stream, and soon stood on the opposite bank. Barking and whining, the dog ran before him to the hut from which the smoke was rising. On the hearth burned a clear fire, and at the door stood a young maiden — one cry of inexpressifele joy, and Halgrim and Hildegunda were in each other's arms. Hildegunda too was the only one alive in her valley after the fearful visit of the Black Death. On the following day they went to the church to be united, but there was no priest to marry them — no one to witness the plighting of their faith ; they stood together before the altar of God, and gave one another their hands, while Halgrim said, in a solemn voice, " In the name of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost !" And God blessed the union entered upon in his name. From this fortunate pair sprang a race who repeopled the desolated region, and to this day, the names of Halgrim and Hildegunda are in use among the inhabitants of these valleys. By Harold was Susanna also made acquainted with the ancient kings of Norway ; with the deeds of Olof Haraldsen, the Blood- baptizer, with those of the heroic Olof Tryggvason, and heard with admiration of king Sverre, with the little body, and the great kingly soul. It gratified also her womanly pride to see women acting so distinguished a part in the ancient history of Norway. She heard with de- light of the proud Gida, whose ambition sent forth to conquest the fair-haired Harold, the first mon- arch who held all Norway under his sway. And though the deeds of Gunilda, " the king's mother," excited her horror, yet it gave her pleasure loo, to see a woman, by the supremacy of her mind, governing seven kings, and influencing the desti- nies of a nation. The civil wars offered still darker pictures, when blood-storm after blood- storm hurried through the land, and, at length, bore down her freedom in their frantic rage. Now the wild strawberry blooms among the wrecks of former cities, and over the blood- drenched fields wave golden harvests. A milder race now treads the soil of Eric the Bloody, look- ing forward to a bright and hopeful future, yet still listening delighted in its peaceful valleys to the strange, wild traditions of the olden time. A constant subject of discussion and dispute between Harold and Susanna was their lady, the pale Fru Astrid. Whenever the conversation was of her, Harold's face assumed a very serious ex- pression, and to Susanna's urgent entreaties, that he would tell what he knew of her, he would only reply, " She must have known many misfortunes." But when Susanna overwhelmed him with ques- tions in regard to these misfortunes, in what they consisted, whether there were any way in which one could help her — to do this Susanna would have traversed the whole earth — then Harold began to relate a story. Tales of women, who have been distinguished and powerful in their valleys, are not uncommon in Norway. We read of a lady of Hallingdale, who was so magnificent, that she was drawn by elks. We hear, too, of the rich Lady Belju, also of Hallingdale, who built the church of Naes, and had the rock of Beja split by means of fire and 12 STRIFE AND PEACE. butter, 80 that a road might be made over it. This road is called, to this day, that of the Butter Rock. We hear of the ladies of Skolberg and Skoendale — of their dispute concerning a pig — and of the false oath which one of them took in the lawsuit that followed. Of all these dames the Saga asserts, that the preacher did not venture to ring the church bells until the powerful lady had arrived. We read, too, the story of Eldhjerna, who, in grief for the crimes of her seven sons, renounced the world, and retired to a lonely valley, where she endeavoured, by alms and fasting, to expiate the crimes of her children. But for the story that Harold related to Susanna concerning the Lady Astrid, its like had never been heard in the valleys of Norway. It con- tained so many strange and terrible events, that the credulous Susanna, becoming every moment paler and paler, was chilled with horror ; but just at the most terrible part of the catastrophe, a sudden suspicion woul^ cross her mind, that her terrors were wasted upon a mere fiction. And when she expressed her suspicion, and Harold's face and hearty laugh confirmed it, she would start up, and leave him, with the assurance that she would never ask him another question — would never believe another word he said. This lasted — till — the next time. Then, if Harold promised to tell the truth — the exact pure truth, then would Susanna allow herself to be again deceived, would again listen, turn pale and weep, till the increasing wonders of the story once more awakened her distrust, which she would again express, and again Barbara would start up, scold, threaten, shut the door violently behind her, and Harold again — would laugh. On one point, however, Harold and Susanna were entirely united — both served their lady with the warmest zeal — and this, without their being themselves conscious of it, made them daily esteem each other the more ; but this increased esteem had no effect in allaying the fierceness of the war which they waged in behalf of their respective countries. Thus with continual changes from strife to peace, passed away, unmarked, the months of autumn, with their darkening days and their in- creasing cold ; and the time arrived when im- portant cares occupy the time of the women in the highest as well as the humblest dwellings. The time of light, of pies, of dance, sports, and chil- dren's pleasure — in one word, CHRISTMAS. The sun will ynrm and illumine the whole earth, therefore does the earth rejoice in his coming. God be praised for the sun ! So many friends, so many pleasures desert us in our wanderings through this earthly life — but the sun remains ever true to us, and lightens and warms us from the cradle to the grave. It is the sun that unites Christians and heathens in a common worship, whUe it lifts the hearts of both to Him by whom the sun was created. The highest festivals, both of Christianity and of Northern heathenism, take place at that time of the year when the sun is newly born for the earth, and Nature revives under his power. This festival time is celebrated with great zeal and many interesting observances in the Scandinavian countries. Not in the houses of the rich alone does the fire glow and the mirth of children resound ; from the meanest hut issue sounds of joy, light visits even the prisons, and the poorest taste of plenty. In the country the doors stand open ; the hearth and the table are free to every wanderer. In many parts of Norway, no traveller is allowed to pay for food or lodging at the inns. At this season, earth seems to feel the truth of the heavenly words, " It is more blessed to give than to receive." Not to man alone, but to animals also, does Christmas bring pleasure. All the inhabitants of the farmyard, all the house animals, share in its festivities ; and the birds of heaven rejoice, too, for on every shed are raised high poles, on the top of which, rich sheaves of oats invite them to the feast. Even the poorest day labourer, who has himself no corn, asks and re- ceives a bundle of grain from the farmers, and raises it on high, that the bu'ds may hold festival over his empty shed. Susanna had a great deal to do in Christmas week, and was often kept up very late at night, partly by her household occupations, and partly by some Christmas gifts which she was preparing, in the hope of occasioning some pleasant little surprises. And this was perhaps the reason, that the morning of the day before Christmas she over- slept herself. She was awakened by the loud singing of a bird under her window, and her con- science reproached her, that, in the cares of the preceding day, she had forgotten the birds, for whom she used to throw grains of corn and crumbs of bread upon the snow ; and now they had come to remind her of it. Ah, were all such admoni- tions like the song of birds ! With sincere regret for her forgetfulness, Susanna hastened to dress, and to draw aside the window-curtain. But see — before her window stood a tall, slender fir-tree, on whose green top, cut into the form of a wreath, stood a large bunch of golden oat sheaves, and round it fluttered, pecking and chirping, a host of sparrows and bulfinches. Susanna blushed, and thought, "Harold." The servants of the house laughingly answered to Susanna's questions about the fir-tree, that it was indeed the steward who had planted it. But the steward himself pre- tended to know nothing of the matter — was very much surprised by the sight of the tree with the oaten tuft, and could not imagine how it came there. " It must," said he, "have sprung up of itself in the night, and this can only proceed from the strength of the excellent Norwegian soil — every bit of it is pulverised primary rock. Only such a soil could bring forth such wonders." In the forenoon Harold went with Susanna to the farmyard, where, with her own hands, she distri- buted oats to the cows, bread to the sheep, and to the pQultry corn, in fullest measure. In the com- munity of the chickens a great variety of character might be observed. Some seized greedily upon the corn, while they drove the rest forcibly back ; others remained at a modest distance, and picked up contentedly the grains that fortune sent them. Some of them seemed more anxious to provide for others than for themselves. Of this noble nature was a young cock, with a high crest and brilliant plumage, and of a peculiarly proud and lofty bear- ing ; he yielded his share to the hens, hardly reserving to himself a single grain of corn, but looking down with an air of majesty upon the crowd STRIFE AND PEACE. 13 that pecked and cackled at his feet. On account of this noble behaviour, Susanna had called him the Knight, and this name he always retained. Among the geese she saw with vexation, that the poor gray was still more oppressed than ever by his white tyrant. Harold proposed to have the gray goose killed, but Susanna insisted, warmly, that if either of the rivals were to be sacrificed, it should be the white one. In a house where there are no children, where neither family nor friends assemble, where the mistress of the mansion sits in darkness with her sorrow, can Christmas-eve bring but little joy. But Susanna had made her preparations to diffuse happiness. She had rejoiced in this thought the whole week through, in the midst of her many occupations ; and the more, that her life would have been gloomy indeed, if the hope of giving pleasure to some one had not always glimmered, like a little star, over her path. Larina, Karina, and Petro were this day to taste the fruits of Susanna's night-watching ; and- when the evening came, and Susanna had spread the Christmas table, and had seen it set out with lutfisk,* roast meats, chickens, plates of butter, tarts, and apples, and lighted with many candles ; when the people of the farm assembled round the table with eyes that glistened with delight and appetite ; when the oldest of the company began a song of thanksgiving, and all the others joined in it with folded hands and solemn voice ; then did Susanna feel that she was no longer in a strange land. She joined in their song, and seated herself at the table, a cheerful hospitable hostess ; animated the strong to the performance of prodigies, and placed the most delicate dishes before the weak and timid. Fru Astrid had told Susanna she wished this evening to remain alone in her room, and would take only a glass of milk. But Susanna was resolved to surprise her into pleasure, and to this end had laid a little plot against her peace. At the time when the glass of milk was to be carried to her, a beautiful boy, dressed to represent Susanna's idea of an angel, and with a crown of light upon his head, was to enter her door softly and beckon her forth. The lady could not surely resist so beautiful a messenger, and he was to conduct her to the principal room, where, in a grove of fir-trees, a table was to be spread with the choicest productions of Susanna's skill ; and be- hind the fir-trees the people of the house were to be assembled, and sing, to the well known melody of the country, a song in praise of their lady, and full of good wishes for her future happiness. Harold, to whom Susanna had communicated her plan, shook his head doubtfully at first ; but afterwards agreed to it, and even lent his aid in its execution, by procuring the fir-trees and assisting at the toilet of the angel. Susanna was delighted with her beautiful little messenger, and follovved him softly, as, with some anxiety for his head and his brilliant crown, he tripped lightly towards Fru Astrid 's apartment. Harold opened the door softly for the boy. Within, they saw the lady seated in an arm-chair, her head bent down upon her hands. The lamp upon * Codfish, which has been soaked in lye for several weeks. This is a common Christmas dish in Norway and Sweden the table threw a dull light upon her mourning dress. Roused by the openmg of the door, she looked up and gazed with a wild look upon the apparition. Then she rose hastily, pressed her hands upon her breast, uttered a faint cry of terror, and sank lifeless to the ground. Susanna pushed her angel hastily aside, and rushed to her lady, raised her in her arms, with a feeling of indescrib- able anguish, and bore her to the bed. Harold, on his part, occupied himself with the poor angel, whose crown having lost its balance, the hot tallow was streaming over his forehead and cheeks, while he uttered the most piteous cries. Susanna soon succeeded in bringing her lady back to life ; but for some time her senses seemed bewildered, and she uttered confused and discon- nected sentences, among which Susanna could only distinguish the words " apparition — unhappy child — dead." Susanna inferred that her pre- tended angel had terrified her, and cried out in a voice broken by sobs, « Ah ! it was only John Guttormsen's little son, whom T had dressed up as an angel to give you pleasure." Susanna saw now but too well how unfortunate this idea had been ; but Fru Astrid listened with eager interest to Susanna's explanation of the appearance which had thus shaken her. At last her convulsive state yielded to a flood of tears. Susanna, beside herself with grief, that, instead of joy, she had been the cause of sorrow to her lady, kissed, weeping, her dress, her hands, her feet, with earnest entreaties for forgiveness. Fru Astrid answered in a gentle but reproving tone, " You meant it well, Susanna ; you could not know what sorrow you would cause me. But never think again — never attempt again to give me pleasure — I can never more be cheerful — never more be happy — a stone lies upon my breast that can never be lifted from it, till the stone is placed over my grave But go now, Susanna, I must be alone — I shall soon be well again." Susanna begged that she might bring her a glass of milk, and Lady Astrid consented ; but when she had brought it, she must again depart — her heart full of sorrow. When she rejoined Harold, she poured out to him all her grief for the unfor- tunate issue of her project, and described to him the violent agitation, and repeated the gloomy, despairing words of the Oefwerstinna. Harold became pale and thoughtful, and, seeing this, Susanna was still more depressed. She had yet another little mine of pleasure still unsprung, and from its explosion she had promised herself great delight — but now this too failed of its effect. It is true, Harold laughed, when he drew the waist- coat from the loaf of wheaten bread — it is true, he thanked Susanna, and pressed her hand, but he had plainly so little pleasure in his Christmas gift, his thoughts were so evidently occupied with something else, that every gleam of Christmas joy now vanished for Susanna. As she sat alone at her window, and saw light streaming from every cottage in the valley ; when she thought of the happy family groups within, old people, children, brothers and sisters, friends, all assembled round the Christmas hearth, then she felt painfully that she was alone in a strange land ; and when she remembered how happy she used to make her Hulda on this evening — how well all her little plots to give pleasure had then succeeded— she 14 STRIFE AND PEACE. drew forth a handkerchief, which had once covered the neck of that dear sister, and covered it with hot tears and kisses. She passed a great portion of the night on the threshold of her lady's door, while she listened anxiously to the unceasing foot- steps within. But though she heard many deep- drawn sighs, Susanna heard no expression of pain which could justify her in intruding upon the solitude of her lady. We will now turn to a more cheerful picture. •There exists in Norway a pleasant custom, calle " tura-jul ;" Christmas rounds. That is, in Christmas week, visits are exchanged, and in the hospitable houses there is music, dancing, and feasting. This custom has reached even the remote and secluded Heimdale. The clergyman of the parish, the kind and hospitable pastor Mid- delberg, had invited his friends and acquaintances in the neighbourhood, to an entertainment on the second day of Christmas week ; in this invitation the inmates of Serab were included. Fru Astrid excused herself, but desired Harold and Susanna to go. It had snowed within a few days, so that the sleighing was excellent ; and Harold, whose cheerfulness was now restored, seemed to take great delight in the prospect of driving Susanna, in a little sleigh with jingling bells, to the parsonage. The Oefwerstinna, too, had recovered her usual appearance and manner ; so that Susanna was consoled for the misfortunes of Christmas-eve, and could give herself up, with unclouded spirits, to the delights of her winter ride, and these were many and great to the fresh, open heart of Susanna, whose life had known so few pleasures of any kind. The air was so clear, the snow so dazzling, the woods and mountains so magnificent, the horse so spirited, and Harold drove so wonderfully well — Susanna was con- tinually exclaiming, " Oh, how beautiful ! how splendid ! " Harold, too, was remarkably pleasant and en- tertaining ; very careful that Susanna should sit comfortably, and that her feet should be warm. He pointed out to her all the wonders and beauties of the region through which they passed ; he re- lated to her many interesting facts regarding the roads, the mountains, and the different kinds of stone ; he talked of primary rocks, of transition strata, of what had existed before the flood, and what had been formed since the flood, till Susanna was lost in astonishment at the extent of his know- ledge, and felt herself impressed with a feeling of reverence for the possessor of so much learning. It is true, she forgot this, a little time after, when a dispute arose between them in regard to the sun, which, according to Harold, shone much brighter in Norway than in Sweden, an assertion which Susanna warmly opposed, and affirmed exactly the contrary. But on the whole, the ride passed QflF very harmoniously, and very creditably for Harold. When they were witnin a mile of the parsonage, they saw little sleighs coming forth on all sides from the passes, and hastening in the same direc- tion with themselves over the field of snow. Smoke came from the nostrils of the panting horses, and merrily jingled the bells in the clear air. Susanna was enraptured. Nor was she less delighted with the kindness with which she was received by her hosts at the parsonage. She, the stranger serving-maiden, and they, such rich, dis- tinguished people ! Susanna was besides very curious to know how things looked and went on in a respectable parsonage-house in Norway, and she was therefore well pleased when the kind Madame Middelberg invited her to go over the house, and Thea Middelberg, the eldest daughter, carried her everywhere, from the cellar to the garret. Susanna formed a very high opinion of the arrangements of the parsonage-house ; she found many things to learn, but many too that she thought might have been done better in her Swedish method. When Susanna returned to the company, she found much to observe and reflect upon. She was in a state of delighted excitement. It seemed to her as if the picture of happiness and social intercourse, of which she had sometimes dreamed, were now suddenly realised. She thought that among such kindly natures, such simple manners, life must be beautiful indeed. The intercourse between parents and children, between masters and servants, was so affectionate, so patriarchal. She heard the servants of the house call the pastor and his wife father and mother ; she saw the eldest daughter assist them in waiting on the guests, and so readily and gaily, that it was plain her heart was in the service ; she saw frank good-will in all faces ; simplicity, and freedom from restraint, in the manners of all, and her heart felt light and happy, while pleasant tears sprang to her eyes. " Do you love flowers ? " asked the kind Thea Middelbex'g ; and when Susanna said "yes," she broke off" the prettiest rose that was blooming in the window, and gave it to her. But Susanna found the greatest pleasure in the two youngest children ; she thought the sweet *' mora mi " (my mama) the most melo- dious sound she had ever heard ; and Susanna was right ; for never were lovelier words heard upon the earth than these, " mora mi," spoken by the caressing voice of childhood. The little Mina, a child about Hulda's age, was especially dear to Susanna, who only wished that the wild little creature would sit longer upon her lap. Susanna herself won unexpectedly the favour of her hosts, by rising from the table at a critical juncture, and arresting, with quick firm hand, a threatened downfall. She afterward continued to lend her efficient aid wherever it could be useful. This pleased greatly, and the young Swede was re- garded with ever-increasing kindness. She was sensible of this, and found still greater pleasure in a company so kindly disposed towards her. Towards the end of the plentiful repast, healths were drunk, and songs sung. Susanna must touch glasses right and left, before and beside her, and inspired by the universal spirit, joined in the popular song of " the sea-girt, brave old Norway," and seemed to have forgotten all her spirit of hos- tility against Norway and the Norwegians. And how heartily did she join in the last toast, which the host proposed with beaming and tearful eyes, "to all that is dear to us." Susanna thought of her little Hulda. But we pass now to the circumstance that made this day a memorable one for Susanna. After dinner and coffee were over, the company divided, as is usual in Norway. The women seated them- selves on the sofas, and in the arm-chairs, and talked of the events that had happened lately in STRIFE AND PEACE. 15 the neighbourhood, of their domestic affairs, of their Christmas preparations, now happily con- cluded, or whatever else might happen to interest them. The young girls formed groups at the win- dows, and laughed and chatted gaily. In the next room the men were assembled, with pipes and politics. Susanna sat near the open door of the room which was occupied by the men, and taking little interest in the conversation of those near her, she could not avoid listening to what was passing in the next room, where she heard a loud coarse voice abusing Sweden and the Swedes in the most injurious manner. Susanna's blood boiled, and her hand was clenched involuntarily. " Ah, my God," thought she, " why am I not a man ? " The pa- triotic burgomaster's daughter longed to rush upon him who had dared thus to defame her country. As she could not hear all this coolly, and almost dreaded her own anger, she was in the act of ris- ing to find another seat, when she was arrested by a clear manly voice, which was raised in defence of the calumniated land, and truly delightful was it to Susanna, to hear her country thus defended, with as much intelligence as zeal. She heard the accusations of the rough voice repelled by the less noisy, but more powerful voice of his adversary ; and her delight was at its height when she heard this clear sweet voice, now master of the field, recite these verses, addressed to the country of Gustavus Adolphus, on the occasion of his death : — " Bowed are the honours of thy stately head ; Dimmed is thy light ; withered thy garlands lie ; Yet weep not hopelessly o'er thy brave dead. Thou mourning mother ! Glory cannot die ; Thy hero passed to no ignoble grave, He fell not ere a deathless fame was won ; And earth shall count among her true and brave The warrior-king, Gustavus, Sweden's son ! " Yes, this was indeed a happy moment for Su- sanna ; but this voice that spoke so well —the voice that defended Sweden — it was this voice that affected her more than all the rest, for it was Harold's. Susanna could hardly trust her ears, she must have the evidence of her eyes too ; and when she could no longer doubt that the noble defender of her father-land was Harold, she was so surprised and so happy, that, in the overflowing of her feelings, she might have committed some folly, if, just at this moment, one of the elder ladies of the party had not led her to a more quiet corner of the room, in order to question the Swedish stranger at her ease, about everything that she wanted to know. This lady belonged to that class known in every p'art of the world, which bears a resemblance to the pai-asitical plants, that draw their nourishment from the trees round which they twine themselves. As this lady wore a brown dress, and brown rib- bands on her cap, we will give her the name of Madame Brown. Susanna must now render ac- count to Madame Brown of her family, her home, why she came to Norway, how she liked living there, &c. &c. To all this Susanna answered very openly ; but when the conversation turned upon her present situation, and her lady, she became rather more reserved. But on this subject, Madame Brown was more desirous of giving than of receiv- ing information. "I knew the Oefwerstinna," said she, " when she was young ; she was a beau- tiful young lady, but always rather proud ; I did not mind this myself, we were always very good friends ; I have been told I ought to pay her a visit at Semb, but I don't know, I have not seen her since she has become so strange. How can you live with her, my dear child I She must be so dreadfully gloomy ! " Susanna answered with warm praise of her lady, and said that she was very sad, and she feared had been very unfortunate ; but that this only boimd her to her the more strongly. "Unfortunate ;" began Madame Brown, again — " yes, if that were all, — but ! " Susanna, astonished, asked what she meant. Madame Brown answered, " I do not say or be- lieve any harm of her, and always defend her, but there is something very strange about her, at any rate. Would you believe that there are people ma- licious enough to talk of — to suspect — a murder?" Susanna could neither speak nor think ; she stared at the speaker. *' Yes, yes," continued Madame Brown, " so they say ; it is true, that the Oefwerste, who was a vio- lent man, was most guilty in the affair ; but then she must have known of it — so they say. You must know she had a boy with her — the son of her sister. The mother died after she had given the boy to the care of her sister and brother-in-law. What happens, then l One day the boy disappears and is never heard of again ; no one knows what became of him ; but his cloak was found upon a rock, near the sea, and some drops of blood upon the stones. The boy had disappeared ; and his property was very convenient to his relations, for the Oefwerste Hjelm had spent everything that he and his wife possessed. But God, in his jus- tice, punished the Oefwerste ; for ' he remained five years lame and dumb, and his wife has not known a happy hour from that time." Susanna turned pale, and as zealously as she had before defended the honour of her country, did she now maintain the innocence of her lady. But she was interrupted by the friendly host, who invited her to join the rest of the young people in playing and dancing. Susanna was so much agi- tated by what she had heard, and longed so anxi- ously to return home to her lady, whom she loved more than ever, now that she had heard her so cruelly calumniated, that she begged to be excused from taking part in the Christmas games, and an- nounced her intention of returning home. She would not, however, take Harold away ; and de- termined, fearlessly, to return home alone. " She could drive, and she could easily find the way." But no sooner did Harold perceive her intention, than he prepared to accompany her ; and it was of no use for Susanna to say anything against it. Host and hostess, in their hospitality, opposed their departure warmly, and threatened them with the " Aasgaardsreja," which would meet them on the way, and carry them off, if they persisted in their unwise resolution. But they did so ; aj^ were accompanied by the hostess even to theii^leigh. Susanna thanked her warmly for her kindness, promised the amiable Thea that they would often see one another, and kissed tenderly the little Mina who hung upon her neck. No sooner was Susanna in the sleigh, among the hills and woods, than she relieved her heart by 16 STRIFE AND PEACE. repeating to Harold the story that she had just heard ; and equal to the horror she had felt, was Harold's anger at these shameful calumnies, and the baseness of her who propagated these vile creations of her own black heart. He fell into such a passion with old Madame Brown, and made 80 many threatening demonstrations, and the horse therewith made so many springs and plunges, that Susanna was glad to turn the con- versation upon some other subject. She asked him, therefore, what the Aasgaardsreja was, and why their hostess had thought to frighten them with it ? Harold now resumed his usual manner, and de- clared that this was no matter of jesting. The Aasgaardsreja, said he, " consists of those spirits that are not good enough to deserve heaven, and yet not bad enough to be sent to hell. In this troop ride those addicted to intemperance, to polite falsehood, or to any of the milder forms of sin. In expiation of their ofiences, they must wander about till the end of the world. At the head of the troop rides Reisa-Rova, who is to be known by her long train. She is followed by a numerous band of both sexes. The horses are coal-black, and their eyes shine in the dark like fire ; they are guided by bridles of red-hot iron ; and, as they rush over land and water, the wild halloo of the riders, the snorting of the horses, the rattling of the iron bits, is heard to a great distance. Where they throw a saddle upon the roof, there must a man die ; and where they know there will be vio- lence or murder, there they enter, seat themselves on the door-posts, and laugh, and knock, and rattle upon the doors. When one hears the Aasgaards- reja coming, he must immediately throw himself on the ground, and pretend to be asleep ; otherwise, he will be borne along with the troop, and thrown down at some place at a distance from that where he was taken up. Those who are thus carried ofiF, remain sick and melancholy for the rest of their lives. But he who, on the approach of the train, throws himself down in this way, will suffer no injury, unless some of the company should spit upon him as they pass ; in this case he has only to spit again, after the troop has gone by, and no harm will come of it. Harold added, that this troop was usually out on Christmas night, and that nothing was more possible than that they might meet it themselves that night. In this case, Susanna had nothing to do but to spring quickly from the sleigh, throw herself upon the ground, and hide her face in the snow till the wild band had gone by. Susanna declared she did not believe in the story; but Harold said so seriously, that she would one day be convinced of its truth, and Susanna was naturally so well inclined to believe in the marvel- lous, that she often, particularly in the narrow passes, cast a look upwards, half fearing, half hoping, that the black horses with their fiery eyes and glowing bridles might show themselves. But only the bright stars looked down upon her, now and lH^ dimmed by the northern lights, that waved their shining fleeting veils over the vault of heaven. Arrived at Semb, they saw the usual faint gleam of light from the lady's window. Susanna's heart was moved, and with a deep sigh she said, " Ah, what a wicked world this is ! To add to the heavy burden, and make misfortune a crime ! What, what can we do for her, to defend her from the attacks of malice 1" " Madame Brown, at least, shall not spread her lies any further," said Harold, " I will go to her to-morrow morning, and compel her to swallow her own words, and frighten her from ever letting them pass her lips again." "Ah, that is good!" cried Susanna, enraptured. ** If an accident happens to a child," cried Harold, passionately, " immediately to suppose a wilful murder ! could anything be baser or more absurd ? No, these snakes shall not hiss about the unhappy lady ! It shall be my care to crush them ! " And Harold pressed Susanna's hand in parting, and left her. *' And it shall be my care," thought Susanna, with tearful eyes, "to love her, and to serve her truly. Perhaps when order and comfort are spread about her, and one little pleasure after another is added to her life, who can say 1 perhaps she may even become reconciled to life." QUIET WEEKS. "When o'er the sullen face of heaven Dark clouds are by the north wind driven, When woods put on their mourning weeds. And the bright stream no longer leads Its dimpled waters through the plain. And earth submits to winter's chain; Then brijfhter for the cold without The cheerful fires within shine out; More closely bind the jjentle ties Of love and kindly sympathies — And though stem Winter rules the earth. Spring dawns beside tb« social hearth. Vflhavbn. Hast thou heard, in deep caverns, the falling of the water-drop, as with its heavy, unceasing, wasting fall, it wears away the ground ? Hast thou heard the murmuring of the brook, that flows gaily between gi*een banks, while nodding flowers and the bright lights of heaven are mirrored in its waves 1 Then hast thou seen the images of the two kinds of quiet life, which are as different from one another as heaven from hell. Both are lived upon this earth, and both were lived at Semb, in Heim- dale during the following month, the first by Fru Astrid, the second by Susanna ; but at times the wearing drops were blown aside by a transient breeze, and at times the waters of the dancing brook were somewhat turbid. January passed away with its increasing sun- shine, and its wintry magnificence. The brinks of the waterfalls were planted with flowers, palms, vines, and fruit-trees of ice. The finches with their scarlet breasts shone like dancing flames upon the white snow. Woods and plains were brilliant with dazzling crystals — the freshness of the air, the song of the thrush, the blinding splendour of the snow-fields— all announced the reign of Winter. There was felling of wood in the forest, whence songs from Tegndr's Frithiof resounded — there was riding in sledges in the valley, there was walk- ing in snow-shoes on the mountains. Everywhere was the fresh stirring life of winter. The strife at Semb, between Sweden and Norway, had lost much of its vigour since Christmas. It is true, Harold made several attacks upon Swedish ice and Swedish woods ; but Susanna did not seem to think them made in earnest, and would not allow herself to be drawn into a contest , and the last attempt upon the Swedish wind failed so entirely STRIFE AND PEACE. 17 that Harold resolved to give the matter up, and looked about for some other object of contention to keep himself warm through the winter. February and March came on. This is the severest part of a Northern winter. In January he was still young ; but now he is grown old, and gray, and burdensome, particularly in the huts of the improvident. The stores in the cottage and the cow-yard are nearly spent. It is hard for hungry children to draW'home wood from the forest, when it is to cook for them only miserable water-gruel, and perhaps not always even that, April came : — this is called a month of spring ; and the larks sing among the clouds. But often in the deep valleys, the greatest want and suffering prevails. Then the poor peasant often scatters ashes and sand upon the snow that covers his acres, that it may melt the sooner, and that he may plough up his ground between the snow- walls that fence it in. Susanna was during this month well known in the cottages of the valley, and found abundant employment for her sympathy and ready kindness. Harold, not to lose so good an opportunity of inspiring Susanna with horror of himself, and his character, appeared quite unmoved by the accounts she gave of the suffering which she had witnessed, and rejected, with a decided " No ! " all her pro- jects for its relief. He talked much of severity, of wholesome lectures, &c,, and Susanna was not slow in calling him " the most cruel, unchristian man — a perfect misanthrope — wolves and bears had more heart ! " Never would she ask him for anything again. She might as well talk to stocks and stones ! And Susanna would go away and weep bitter tears. But when she found that want was quietly relieved by the hand of the misan- thrope ; when she found that in many cases her own plans were followed ; then would she weep in- deed, but her tears were tears of pleasure ; and all her resolutions of unfriendly reserve were for- gotten in a njoment. By degrees Harold forgot his harshness. The interest of the subject was too great to allow him to maintain it ; and before they were aware of it, both were heartily engaged in promoting the same objects, but with some dif- ference in the manner. Susanna had begun by giving away everything she possessed. As she had now nothing more to give, she began to listen to Harold's views of the subject. He thought that in general, for the poor about them, alms were less necessary than prudent counsel and friendly sympathy, that should give life to the desponding heart, and strength to the weary hands that were ready to sink, and encourage to hope and to labour again. Among the class of people who work for their daily bread, are some who can help themselves, othei's whom no one can help ; but by far the greatest number are those who by wise counsel and assistance may be taught to help themselves, and attain to comfort and independence. Harold thought it very important to turn the attention of the people more exclusively to the raising of cattle, for he was convinced this was the only means by which these regions could become prosperous. And as soon as the snow melted, and the ground was free from ice, he went out with the servants and labourers, and occupied himself busily in clearing the fields of the stones with which these regions are thickly sown. He laid out new pastures, in order to provide better food for the cattle, and Susanna's heart beat with pleasure when she saw his perseverance, and how he put his own hand to the work, and animated all by his example and cheerful spirits. Harold had now often his favourite dishes for dinner ; and even Susanna her- self began to find some of them very palatable ; and among these may be mentioned barley-soup and little herrings.* Harold was so busy, in the spring, with his works and his workmen, that he had very little time to pass with Susanna, either in peace or dis- cord. But as it occurred to him that he might possibly in time have weak lungs, he visited the dairy every morning to receive a glass of new milk from her hand. He would present her in return with a fresh spring flower, or sometimes, by way of variety, with a thistle (which was always thrown indignantly into a corner), and then observed at- tentively the arrangements of the dairy, and Su- sanna's motions as she strained the milk from the pails into the milk-pans, and then placed them on the shelf. During this contemplation, he lost him- self in the following soliloquy : — " Well, that is what one may call handiness ! How well she looks when she is at work, and with such a cheerful, pleasant air ; everything she touches looks pretty ; everything thrives under her care ; if she were only not quite so passionate and violent in her temper ! But it does not come from her heart, for there never was a better heart. Men and animals love her, and feel themselves happy near her. Ah, fortunate will be the man — who — ." Shall we not take a look into Susanna's heart, too ? There, matters stand thus. Harold had — partly by his teasing and mischief, partly by his kindness, his stories, and the real worth which Susanna could not but acknowledge — so wound himself into all her thoughts and feelings, that she could not possibly banish him from them. In anger or in gratitude, in blame or in approval, she must be always thinking of him. Many an evening she lay down wishing that she might never see him again, but rose in the morning longing to meet him. Her feelings were like April weather. A MAY DAY. Fairer the first faint blushes of the dawn. Than the full splendour of the noonday liffht ; Dearer the first pale flowers in early spring-time born, Than all that summer boasts of fair and bright. It was in the beginning of the month of May ; a heavy shower of rain had just ceased. The wind came from the south, was fresh and mild, and drove white fleecy clouds before it over the bright blue sky. In the yard, at Semb, which had been deserted during the shower, all was now life and motion. The ducks were plashing in the puddles, bathing, and washing their soiled plumage. " The knight" scratched in the earth, and then began to call aloud, to make it known that he had something good to give away ; and when two small * This dish, with which in Norway every dinner be- gins, is thus served :— every guest has a plate of soup and a little dish of herrings placed before him, and takes in turn a bit of herring and a spoonful of broth. c 18 STRIFE AND PEACE. speckled hens obeyed the summons, he let one grain of com after another fall from his beak- which the hens accepted, without further ceremony or compliment. The turkey-cock was in a great embarrassment. His white dames, supposing the invitation of the cock t<» be general, ran upon their long legs as fast as they could, and thrust their heads in between the two hens, intending to take their share in the entertainment. The knightly cock drew back in some surprise, and i-ather haughtily, but was too much of a gentleman to affront the forward dames; but the two speckled hens turned their backs upon them. The deserted turkey-cock gabbled despe- rately, and swelling with rage approacWfed his black helpmate, who was silent, and looked up piteously to heaven. Under the kitchen windows, a black cat and her family were diverting themselves with a thousand gambols ; while over them the mice peeped down curiously from the gutter, drank the rain-water, snuffed the fresh air, and then crept quietly back under the tiles. The flies stretched their legs and began to pro- menade in the sunshine. In the yard stood a high ash-tree, from whose top swung a magpie's nest. A crowd of magpies, competitors for the air-palace, assembled about it, fluttering and screaming, each endeavouring to take possession and to drive the rest away. At last, two remained conquerors in the nest. There they laughed and caressed each other, rocked by the south wind. The expelled magpies consoled themselves by flying down to the feeding-trough of the. house-dog, and eating from it, while the proud Alfiero, sitting in front of his kennel, observed tliem with haughty composure. The melodious whistle of the starlings was heard from the roof where they had grouped themselves. The grasses shook the rain-drops from them in the wind, and the star-flower, so dear to the singing- birds, raised again its little head to the sun, and was greeted by the song of the lark. The geese waddled cackling over the grass-plot, biting off the young green shoots. It appeared that a change had taken place in their society; the tyrant, the white gander, had, by accident, become lame, and had lost his power and his consequence. Now had the gray an opportunity to show his noble character, his generous spirit ? But, no ; the gray goose showed nothing of all this. Whatever the white one had formerly inflicted upon him, the gray now retaliated in full ; he stretched out his neck, and screamed at him, and kept him at a dis- tance with cries and violence ; and the lady geese still gave themselves no trouble about the matter ; and the white gander must submit to see his rival rule in the assembly, while he himself must limp behind, helpless and despised. Susanna, who saw this, lost all her preference for the gray gander, while at the same time, she felt no great sympathy with the white one. She found that one was no better than the other. Susanna had just returned from a visit that she had made to a cottage, where she had before assisted the housewife in setting up a web, and now helped her to take it down. Her face glowed with pleasure, at the recollection of the scene which she had just witnessed at the cottage. The cow had that morning calved, and the milk flowed free and plentifully, to the inexpressible delight of four pale boys. Their pleasure was divided be- tween their delight in the milk, and their astonish- ment at the little active, black and white calf ; this astonishment was, in the youngest, mingled with some fear. The weaving, too, had succeeded beyond expectation. Susanna helped the mother to cut out the clothes in the best manner, and her cheerful words and hearty sympathy were the cream of the milk breakfast. Thinking on this pleasant scene, Susanna entei'ed the yard at Semb, and was greeted by Alfiero, and all the poultry, with sounds of jubilee. Just then, cries and notes of distress w:ere heard among the birds, and she hastened to the garden. Here she saw a pair of starlings, who with loud cries fluttered round the lowest branches of an oak. Something moved in the grass with a faint hopping, and Susanna saw that it was a young starling, who had ventured too soon from the nest, and had fallen. It uttered a faint cry to its parents, who seemed to wish, by their fluttering, to keep off a gray cat who glared at them from under a cherry-tree, with greedy eyes. Susanna drove away the cat, took up the little bird, and warmed it in her bosom. But the parent birds were by no means well pleased : on the contrary, their disquiet appeared to increase. Susanna would gladly have satisfied them ; but when she looked up and saw the starling's nest high up in the trunk of the tree, many yards above her head, she felt quite helpless. Then the dinner-bell rang, Alfiero howled dismally, and Harold, at the head of his work-people, returned from the field. Susanna hastened to acquaint him with her dilemma, and showed him the bird. " Give it to me," said Harold, '* I will wring his neck, and we shall have a nice little roast for dinner." " No ! can you be so cruel 1" cried Susanna. Harold laughed, without answering ; looked up into the oak to see where the starling's nest was, and then swung himself up into the ti'ee, with great agility, and, standing upon one of the lower branches, bent down to Susanna, and said, *' Give it to me ; I will take care of it," and Susanna gave him the bird without further remark. Harold sprang lightly from branch to branch, holding the bird in his left hand, and accompanied by the parent starlings, who made a terrible racket about his head. It was, certainly, a surprise to them, to see the young one replaced, unhurt, in the nest ; but it was no longer one to Susanna, and when Harold sprang lightly from the tree, he was received with kindest looks and warmest thanks. At this moment, some travelling merchants en- tered the yard, with their wagon loaded with wares. Harold said he had some purchases to make, and wanted Susanna's advice. Susanna was a woman ; and women are very ready to give advice ; always good, of course. For some time, Harold had been making various pur- chases, and always consulted Susanna, by which she felt extremely flattered, but could not avoid sometimes thinking, " But he must be very selfish. He thinks only of himself, and buys only for him- self, and never for his sister, whom he talks so much about, and seems to love so well. But these Norwegian men ! they care more for themselves than for anybody else." This idea was fully confirmed on the present STRIFE AND PEACE. 19 occasion. It was really dreadful to see how much Harold thought about himself, and how every thing was wanted for this dear self. This damask he would have for his table, this muslin for his curtains, &c,, &c. Susanna could not forbear trying him, by ex- claiming at sight of a beautiful stuff for dresses, " How pretty this is ! how well it would suit your sister !" •'* What ? my sister !" exclaimed Harold angrily. " No, she must buy her own clothes. I want this very stuff, for my sofa. Charity begins at home, one must take a little care of one's self." " Take care of yourself, then, I have no time for it," cried Susanna, and turning her back upon him and his wares, she left him abruptly. SPRING INFLUENCES. Heavens ends, upon the winds of sprins. Fresh thoughts into the hearts of flowers; And oft a gentle whispering Is audible at twilight hours, 'Mid the young leaves in quiet sylvan bowers. Vkuhavbn. May was passing away, and June approached. From their nests in their airy, leaf-covered grot- toes that nature had formed for them, the starlings sent forth their low pleasant whistle, and their lovely warbling. The woods of Norway were filled with song and fragrance. The peasant maiden leads her herds to the Saeter valleys, singing gaily as she goes. The labours of the spring were now ended. The harvest was trusted to the care of Heaven. Harold had now more leisure, and devoted much of it to Susanna. He taught her the names and proper- ties of the plants in the valley, and was as much delighted by the way in whicli she mangled the Latin names, as by the quickness with which she learned and applied their useful and medicinal qualities. The valley and its beauties became every day more familiar and dearer to her. She now went again, in the early mornings, to the spring where the lady-mantles and the silver- weed grew so luxuriantly, and let her feathered flock bathe and enjoy themselves. On Sundays, she sometimes wandered into a thicket of young oaks and wild rose-bushes, which grew at the foot of a mountain called the Crystal-hill, which shone with wonderful brilliancy in the light of the setting sun. Sometimes she was accompanied by Harold, who would relate many wonderful tales of Huldran, who lived in the mountain — of the dwarf who cut the brilliant crystals, on which account they are called dwarf jewels ; of the wonders of the subterranean world, such as the rich fancy of the old time created it, and as it still dimly lives in the faith of the Northern people. Susanna's lively fancy was captivated by these wild tales. She dreamed her- self into the crystal halls of the mountain, fancied the song of the water-spirit in the flowing of the river, and trees and flowers became more beauti- ful and more living to her, when she thought she heard elves and cobolds speaking from out them. Out of the dull prose of her life and labours, sprang a flower of poetry, half reality, half fable, which spread a beauty and grace over her soul. Susanna was not the only one at Semb, to whom this spring brought improvement. The pale Fru Astrid seemed'to rise from her gloomy depression, and to breathe in new life with the fresh spring air. She went out sometimes, when the sun shone warmly, and she might be seen sitting for hours together, upon a moss-covered stone at the foot of the Crystal mountain. When Susanna observed that she seemed to love this place, she brought from the wood clods of earth, with blooming linnea and sweet-scented pyroJa, and planted them, so that the south wind should carry their fragrance to the spot where Fru Astrid sat ; she felt a sor- rowful pleasure in the thought, that this balmy air would bear witness to her lady of the devotion which she dared not express in any other manner. Susanna would have been richly r^'arded if she could have looked into her lady's heart, or if she could have read a letter which she wrote about this time, from which we make the following extract : — "to bishop s «*Love is never weary !' Thus did I exclaim to-day, when your letter reached me, and I was filled with the sense of your goodness — your heavenly patience. No, you are not troublesome to her, who has almost become troublesome to herself. And still the same spring of hope, the same firm, beautiful faith I Ah ! why do I not better deserve your friendship ? But I have to- day a pleasant word to say to you, and I will not withhold it from you. " You would know how it is with me. Better. For some time I have breathed more freely. Quiet days have passed over me ; mild stars have looked down upon me ; the stream has lulled me with its cradle song ; the spring has shed its beneficent influence over me. Everything about me is so glorious — so rich in life and beauty — I sometimes forget myself in admiration. It is more than thirty years since I have hved in this country ! " At times, feelings arise in me like the fresh breezes of spring. Then I feel a certain con- fidence in the thought, that through my long sorrows, I have ever striven to do right — to endure patiently unto the end. At times, some- thing that is like a mild ray of hope, descends to me from the blue, spring heavens. Yet perhaps these hopes are but spring flowers, that are to pass away with the spring. " 1 sometimes go out into the open air. I sit in a beautiful little oak wood in the valley, and there mild, soothing feelings come over me. The wind bears to me odours inexpressibly sweet. These reveal to me the world of healing, strengthening powers that are at work about me, yet so quietly, so unobtrusively, disclosing themselves only by their perfume and their calm beauty. I sat there this evening at the foot of the mountain. The sun was going down, but it was still warm in the little wood. Near me some sheep were feeding with their tender lambs. They regarded me with sur- prised but fearless looks ; a little bell rang clear and low, as they wandered here and there on the green turf. It was so still and calm that I heard the little insects, that hummed in the grass at ray feet ; and I know not what of pleasure, of delight, came over me. At this moment I felt a pleasure in existence, like the lambs, the insects. I can then still enjoy — kind, bountiful nature ! On thy c 2 STRIFE AND PEACE. heart might mine perhaps - - But that pale bleeding l)oy stands before me — the murderer stands there, stands ever between me and the peace of my soul ! Could I sometimes hear your voice, could I see your clear hope-inspiring look, then might I perhaps again learn — to look up. But I ask you not to come to me. Ah, I wish no one to approach me ! But be no longer so anxious for me, my friend. I am better: I have good people about me who provide for the comfort of my outward life. Let your loving thoughts rest upon me as hitherto — perhaps, one day, Ught may beam into my heart." MAN AND WIFE. A NEW CONTENTION. " I will show yon what Bort of fellow I am." SiFUl. SiFADDA. We have seen that Harold had as little liking for a life that flowed smooth as oil, as Griselda's husband, of blessed memory. Perhaps he thought his intercourse with Susanna began to partake a little too much of this placidity, and, since he could no longer excite her horror as a misanthrope, he resolved to appear before her in the character of a tyrant to women. *' I expect my sister here in a few days," said he to Susanna, one evening in an indifferent tone. " I want her here, for she will sew for me, and put my things in order. Alette is a good-natured, handy girl, and I think of keeping her with me till I am married and have a wife to wait on me." " Have a wife to wait upon you !" cried Susanna, one may imagine in what tone. " Certainly. Woman is made to be subject to man, and I have no idea of teaching my wife any- thing else ; I will be master in my own house." « The Norwegian men must be despots, tyrants, real heathens, Turks." " Every morning, at six o'clock exactly, my wife shall get up and make my coffee." " But suppose she will not ?" « Will not ? I shall teach her to will. And if she does not do it willingly, she shall do it un- willingly. I shall suffer no disobedience, and shall let her understand that, in good earnest. And, if she does not want to be taught it, I advise her to get up at six o'clock, and make my coffee, and bring it to my bedside." *• Well, I never heard anything like .that ! You are the most God be merciful to women in this dreadful country." " And she shall get me a good dinner every day, otherwise — I shall not take it very well. She shall not give me a dinner of odds and ends more than once a month , on Saturday ; and then the cooking must be very rich." " If you want rich cooking, you must provide richly." " I shall not trouble myself about that, that will be my wife's business. She must provide the stores for the house-keeping as she can." " I hope you will never have a wife, or that she will be a perfect Xantippe." ** I shall know how to provide against that. And for this purpose she shall, from the first, pull ofiF my boots every evening. All depends upon a man's taking his stand in time, for women are by nature terribly fond of power." " Because men are such tyrants." " And so trifling too." " Because men have taken possession of all important things." " And full of whims." " Because men are stuffed full of obstinacy." " And changeable." ** Because men are not worthy of constancy." *' And wilful and passionate." " Because men are so unreasonable." « But I," continued Harold, « will have no wil- ful, passionate, and imperious wife. It is the men that spoil women, they are too patient, too yielding, too good. But in my house it will be quite another thing. I shall not spoil my wife. On the con- trary, she must show herself patient, yielding, and attentive to me. It is on this account that I have sent for my sister ; she will not expect me to give her my seat, she will not " At this moment, a carriage was heard to enter the court-yard and stop before the door. Harold looked from the window, uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure, and went like an arrow from the room. Susanna looked eagerly from the window, and watched Harold, as he lifted a young lady from the carriage, pressed her long and closely in his arms, and only left her to load him- self with the bundles and bandboxes which she had brought with her. "This is his tyranny then, is it?" thought Susanna — and satisfied that it was Harold's sister whom he had thus received, she went into the kitchen to make preparations for the evening meal. When she returned to the sitting-room, she found the brother and sister there. With beaming eyes, Harold presented his sister to Susanna, and then began to dance with her, laughing and singing. Susanna had never seen him so gay. At supper, Harold had eyes only for his sister, whom he waited upon attentively. It is true, that now and then he would play her some trick, for which she would scold him, but this seemed only to heighten his spirits. Fru Astrid did not, this evening, leave her room, and Harold could devote his attention entirely to Alette. After supper he seated himself near her upon a sofa, and while he held her hand in his, reminded her of their childish days, and how they used to quarrel with each other. " You were intolerably provoking," said Alette. " And you intolerably discreet and wise. Do you remember how we used to quarrel at break- fast-time, that is, how I quarrelled, for you said wonderfully little, and carried yourself disdain- fully and sagely, because you were a Uttle taller than I." " I remember, too, how you would sometimes quit the field and leave your breakfast, that you might complain to our mother that you could not endure my consequential airs." *• Yes, and how little I used to get by it ! I was only obliged to hear, * Alette is much wiser than you — Alette knows much more than you do.' This tasted rather sour, so I had to eat up your sweetmeats " " Yes, naughty boy, that you did, and wanted to persuade me that a mouse had done it." STRIFE AND PEACE. 21 " Yes, I was a naughty boy ; mischievous, saucy, unbearable." " And I an insufferably conceited, moralising girl. For every trick you played upon me, I gave you a dish of morality." " No, not one, sister, but seven or more," cried Harold, laughing, and kissing Alette's hand. " But," he continued, " they were well deserved. But, I, wretch ! how glad I was when I left you to go to the University." " And I was not very much grieved at it, for I could then have my sewing, and my little affairs in peace. But when you came home three years after, then we turned over a new leaf ; then, in- deed, was I proud of my brother." " And I of my sister. Do you know. Alette, you must break with Lexow — I really cannot lose you. Stay with me, instead of going to that inhospitable, cold Nordland, which, I am sure, you cannot bear." « We musk ask Lexow about that, brother." Thus did the conversation long continue, but became by degrees more serious and more quiet. The brother and sister seemed to be speaking of their future, and this is always a serious subject. But now and then a hearty laugh disturbed the quiet of their consultations. Susanna had with- drawn to the next room, in order to leave the brother and sister more at liberty. Her heart was agitated by unaccustomed, mournful feelings. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the windows, looked out into the beautiful summer evening, and listened to the low, confiding voices within. The twilight spread its thin veil over the valley, and wood and field, mountain and valley, heaven and earth, seemed to be united in a gentle sympathy. In the grass the flowers nodded to each other as they slept, and from the leaves that moved softly from side to side, Susanna thought she heard softly whispered *' Brother ! Sister !" With a nameless longing she opened her arms, as if she would embrace some one, and when they closed empty upon her breast, sorrowful tears flowed down her cheeks, while she whispered, "Little Hulda !" Little Hulda ! All honour to thy loveliness, to thy golden curls ! But I believe Susanna's tears flowed not for thee alone I Mirrored in the gay beauty of thine eyes, I see the flickering rays the tapers fling; But oft a soft, clear radiance in them lies. Like light reflected from an angel's wing. Velhaven. When Susanna went the next morning to Alette, to inquire how she had slept, she found Harold already with his sister, and round her were spread out all the stuffs, handkerchiefs, table-covers, &c., which Harold had told Susanna he was buying for himself ; they had been, in truth, designed as presents to his sister on the occasion of her ap- proaching marriage. She had no sooner entered the room, than, to her great surprise, the brother and sister both begged her to accept the pretty dress which Harold had, by her advice, bought for his sister. Susanna bluslied and declined it, but could not resist Harold's earnestness, and took the gift with thanks ; but it did not give her pleasure. Tears filled her eyes ; and she felt herself poor in more than one regard. When Harold had gone out. Alette poured forth a warm eulogium upon him, concluding with these words : " Yes, one may be angry with him ten times a day before one knows him well ; but this is certain, that where he wishes to be loved no one can help loving him." Susanna listened silently to Alette's words, and her heart beat with emotions sweet and painful at the same time. Breakfast was announced, and the conversation was inter- rupted. Alette was about twenty years old, and had the fine form, the clear complexion, the delicate features with which Nature seems to have especially endowed her Norwegian daughters. There was something delicate and transparent in her whole appearance, and her body seemed only a light veil to the living soul. Her manners and conversation were very fascinating, and discovered fine natural powers and much cultivation. She was betrothed to a rich merchant in the North, to whom she was to be married in the autumn, and had now come to pass a little time with her brother, and some other near relations, in Hallingdale. Susanna felt somewhat embarrassed in Alette's company. Beside this delicate, almost ethereal being, she felt for the first time an unpleasant misgiving, that she was stout and clumsy. A change had taken place at Semb from the hour of Alette's arrival. Her pleasant manners, and her talents for society, had made her the cen- tral point to which all were attracted. Even Fru Astrid felt her influence, and took part in the conversations which Alette knew how to make interesting to her. The Oefwerstinna herself did not contribute less to the pleasure of the society, whenever, in the interest of the conversation, she forgot her sorrows ; and then her words disclosed a deeply feeling heart, and thoughtful mind. Su- sanna regarded her, at these times, with delight and admiration. But often some painful thought would recall the lady from this happy forgetfulness, some dark remembrance would glide in like a ghost between her and pleasure — the words would die upon her pale lips — her hand was carried to her heart — and she no longer heard or remarked what was passing about her, till the interest of the con- versation could again chain her attention. They often read aloud. Alette had in this a peculiar talent, and it was a pleasure to hear from her lips the poems of Velhaven and Vergeland, two young men, who, though personally unfriendly, have united in sincere love for their country, and in rich offerings to her literature. Susanna, in the meanwhile, found herself every day less happy. Harold now no longer sought her society ; he seemed when near Alette almost to have forgotten her. In the conversations to which she now often listened there was much that moved her feelings, much that awakened in her inquiry and conjecture. But when she wished to give ex- pression to her thoughts and emotions, when she wished to take her share in the conversation, and show that she too could think and speak, her words were so ill chosen, her thoughts were so in- distinct, that she drew back, mortified and abashed ; and the more, that she saw Harold's eyes cast down, and Alette's turned upon her in some astonishment. Then she would inwardly resolve never again to open her lips upon subjects that she did not understand. But all this grieved her deeply; and in her 22 STRIFE AND PEACE. dejection she bitterly lamented that she had not received a more careful education. "Ah," she would sigh from the depths of her heart, « if I only knew a little more ! If I possessed but one single talent V* AN EVENING IN THE EVERYDAY ROOM. When the faint morning a&wna, the day must follow, Fur light mutt ever triumph. It was a beautiful summer evening. The soft air came in at the open window, bearing with it the fragrance of the new-mown hay. At one table, Susanna was making the steaming tea, of which the Norwegians are almost as fond as the English : at the other, sat Fru Astrid, with Harold and Alette, occupied with a beautiful work which had just appeared, *' Snorro Sturlason's Stories of Nor- wegian Kings, translated from the Icelandic, by I. Aal." He had just been reading aloud Aal's interesting introduction to the Saga of Erik Rode, and Erik Karlefsne, and now continued to read both these histories, which contain the account of the first discovery of America, and of which we here make a short abstract. "At the end of the tenth century, when Northern Vikings were conducting their piratical expeditions against the South, and Christianity with the gospel of peace was advancing to the North, there lived in Iceland a man of note, named Herjulf. His sou was called Bjarne, and was a bold young man, who showed an early love of adventure and foreign travel. He soon possessed a ship of his own, and gladly left the land. As he, one summer, returned to his native island, he found that his father had gone to Greenland, and established himself there. Then Bjarne put to sea again ; he would, he said, make winter cheer with his father, according to the old custom, and so steered for Greenland. " After he had sailed three days, a strong north- east wind arose, together with a thick fog, so that Bjarne and his crew no longer knew where they were. This lasted many days. At last the sun appeared again, and they could discover the * cor- ners of heaven.' Then they saw before them a country overgrown with wood, and covered with little hills. Bjarne wished not to land here, because this could not be Greenland, where he knew the mountains were high, and covered with snow. So they sailed on with a south-west wind till they came to another country, which was mountainous and had high snow- covered hills. But Bjarne thought this also was not Greenland, and sailed further till he came to the land which he sought, and found the habitation of his father. " During a visit to Eric Tarl, in Norway, Bjarne spoke of his voyage, and of the strange lands he had seen. Leif, son of Eric the Red, was filled with longing to visit these unknown regions, bought a ship, which he manned with fifty-three men, and put to sea to seek for the new land. At first he came to a country full of snow and moun- tains, which appeared to him ' not at all beautiful.' Then they perceived a wooded land, whose shore was covered with white sand. They sailed still further west, and came to a noble country, where they found grape-vines and Indian corn, and the beautiful tree * Masur.' « They called this land Yinland, buiJt houses, and passed the winter there, which was so mild that the grass hardly withex'ed. The length of the days and nights was more equal than in Iceland and Greenland. And Lief was a strong man, of noble, manly aspect, and wise and prudent in all things. After this expedition he grew in wealth and importance, and was everywhere called the Fortunate. " Of the voyages to the new land which fol- lowed that of Lief, that of Karlefsnes is the most remarkable ; but whether because heavy maladies visited the young colony, or whether it was that a longing for home drev/ the Northmen from the country of vines back to their snow-covered land, certain it is that they made no abiding settlement in the new world." Many Icelandic historians prove that in every age, from the discovery of Lief down to the time of Columbus, America was visited by the North- men. We have proofs and memorials of these voy- ages not merely in these relations, but also in that remarkable stone now called " Dighton Writing- rock," on the bank of the Taunton river, in Mas- sachusetts, whose hieroglyphics, recently copied by American antiquaries, confirm the truth of these narrations. Harold now commented upon these figures with great zeal, observing that similar inscriptions were still to be found in Norway engraved upon old walls, grave-stones, &c. " Do you see, Alette," cried he, " this represents a woman with a little child, probably Karlefsne's wife, who bore a son during her residence in Vinland ; and this must be an ox : mention is made in the Saga of Kar- lefsne of an ox who terrified the natives by his bellowing. These figures on the right represent the natives of the country. This is a shield, and these Runic letters." " A very good imagination is needful for all this," laughingly interrupted Alette, who was not quite so patriotic as her brother : " but grant that this is sufficient proof of the discovery of America by our forefathers, what then 1 Of what advantage has it been to the world 1 Is it not sad to know that such important discoveries have been made only to be lost ? Had not Columbus many centuries later braved, at the same time, the bigotry of man, and the terrors of the unknown seas, we might at this day have known nothing of America, or of this stone, the vestige of our fore- fathers in the new world." " But, my dear Alette," cried Harold, " is it not clear as sunlight, that but for these voyages of the Northmen, Columbus would never have conceived the idea of seeking a land beyond the great sea ? At the time in which Columbus lived, the little ships of the Northmen visited all the coasts of Europe. They made voyages to Spain, and the fame of their Vinland discoveries went with them. Besides, and this is worthy of note, Columbus himself, a few years before he undertook his great voyage of discovery, visited Iceland, rather, as Robertson says, to extend his knowledge of naval affairs than to increase his wealth." « But," said Alette, " Washington Irving, in his Life of Columbus, speaks, it is true, of this visit to Iceland, but denies that he received there the first idea of his great discovery." "That L<4 incredible, after what we see and STRIFE AND PEACE. 23 hear ; hear now what Aal says of the time when Colun.bus staid in Iceland : — "'The ancient chronicles were held in great honour in Iceland at this time : difterent copies of the various Sagas passed from hand to hand, and served to beguile the long winter evenings. These ancient tales certainly threw a light over his dim conjectures ; and how great must have been their effect upon him, now treading the very ground from which the expedition had been sent forth, and hearing the history of these bold adven- turers from the lips of their descendants !' Is not this perfectly natural and probable ? Can you any longer doubt, Alette ? Be converted, I beg of you ; leave Irving for Aal." " 1 am inclined to be on Harold's side," said Fru Astrid, with earnestness of look and voice. ** Great and important discoveries are seldom made without long preparation ; they have often lain smouldering through quiet ages till the breath of mind, or perhaps of chance, has fanned the glimmering fire into a flame that has given light to the universe. When we look upon a flower, we can go back to the stem, the root, buried in the ground, and to the seed, which contained the future plant in its dark bosom. And shall not all things in the earth tend to a like unfolding 1 In the obscure voyages of the Northmen, I see the seed borne by the wind, which afterward sent out its roots from the soil of Vinland, till a powerful genius was led by them to complete the work, and discover the new world to the old." Harold was delighted with these thoughts, which were as a fresh breeze to his sails, and expressed all the admiration with which his bosom glowed for the ancient heroes of the North, "It was for these ftien," he said, " these men of few words and mighty deeds, to whom danger was sport, and the rushing of the storm, music — it was for them only to discover new worlds, and regard it as no mighty achievement. Great deeds were to them matters of e very-day occurrence." Alette shook her pretty head at this enthusiasm for the old time. She would not deny that this time had a certain greatness, but yet to her it was not truly great. She spoke of the revenge, the oppression, the base cruelty, with which the annals of these times were stained. *' But," replied Harold, " the contempt of suffer- ing and death, this noble contempt, so universal among the men of that time, took off the edge of cruelty. Our weak race has hardly an idea of the power which men of that time displayed in the endurance of suffering ; they excited their brave spirits to the highest pitch of heroism, feeling in such moments that they were more than mortal. Thus, the heroes sing in the pangs of death ; thus, the Swede Hjelmar dies in the arms of his friend, the Norwegian Odd, while he greets the eagles who are hovering over him, eager to drink his blood ; thus dies Ragnar Lodbrog in the cave of serpents ; while the hissing snakes drive their fangs into his heart, he recounts his victories, and closes with the words, — « Finished are now the hours of life. Then laughing let me die.' How noble and admirable is this strength in tor- ture, in death ! Who could die thus 1 " The wildest savages of North America," said Alette, « know and practise this kind of heroism. My idea of nobleness, both in life and death, is far different from this. The strong spirit of the an- cient time, which you, my brother, prize so much, could not support old age, sickness, or the still sorrows that form so large a part of the lot of man. I prize that spirit which can exalt all conditions of humanity, which inspires the dying hero to praise God — not himself — while he expires ; which gives to the simple man, whose obscure life conducts him to an unnoticed grave, a strength which ena- bles him to triumph over all the powers of dark- ness. Ah, I who feel deeply that I am one of the weak of the earth ; I, who have no drop of hero blood in my veins, I rejoice that without this stern courage, one may yet live and die nobly. Do you remember, my brother, * the old poet ' of Rein ? This poem expresses fully the frame of mind in which I would meet my last hour." Harold had only an indistinct recollection of "the old poet," and the Oefwerstinna joined him in begging Alette to make them better acquainted with liim. Alette could not remember the whole poem, but repeated the passages which had best pleased her, introducing them with the necessary explanations. " It is Spring ; the aged poet wanders through wood and meadow, in the regions where he had formei'ly sung ; where he had once been happy, among those whom he had made happy. Now his voice is broken, his strength, his fire — gone. The shadow of what he has been, he wanders through the young world fresh with new life. The birds of the Spring gather about him, bid him welcome, and entreat him to take his harp, and sing the new-born year, the laughing Spring : he answers, • Oh, ye loved birds, no longer as of yore. The minstrel's harp shall answer to your strain ; Unstrung the harp — its silver chords no more Send forth their melodies to wood and plain, Yet not in gloom and silence will I part ; Heaven's music lingers round the mmstrel's heart.' " He wanders on through wood and meadow. The brook, murmuring between green banks, whis- pers to him its delight in its liberty, and hails the Bard as the messenger of Spring and of freedom. He wanders on — dryads flit about him in the dance; the flowers offer him garlands, and beg him to ce- lebrate their feast ; the zephyrs who were used to play among the chords of his harp seek it among the bushes, ask if he have forgotten it, seek again, but in vain. — They are then departing, but he entreats : < Leave me not yet, dear friends ; in brighter hours, Together we have hailed the dawning Spring ; Bloom yet along my pathway, gentle flowers. Though the voice fail, that would your praises sing. Play round me, zephyrs, as in days gone by, • Though the old bard no more may share your mirth, Powerless is now his hand and dim his eye ; His spring renews itself no more on eai-tb. Yet not in darkness shall his spirit part. Heaven's simshine rests upon the poet's heart." " He wanders further and seeks out every be- loved spot. The youth of the land assemble round the old minstrel, * the friend of joy and of youth.' They beg him to enliven their feasts with his songs ; the old man answers, • My lays no more will aid the sparkling wine, Youth and its wild delights for me are o'er, 24 STRIFE AND PEACE. No mere shall festive wreaths my brows entwine, A paler garland will become them more. Yet, nniling, let me from the world depai-t, The peace of heaven fills the old man's heart' *' And now he calls upon the birds of the wood, the flowers, youth — all that is beautiful in nature — to join with him in rejoicing over life, and in praising the Creator ; then, thankful and happy, adoring and singing praises, he sinks quietly into the lap of nature." Alette was silent. As she pronounced these last words, a gentle emotion trembled in her voice, and beamed from her sweet countenance. Fru Astrid's tears flowed, her hands were clasped convulsively, while she exclaimed, " Oh, to look forward to death thus ! To feel thus in dying ! " She drew Alette to her with a kind of passion, kissed her, and wept quietly, leaning upon her shoulder. Harold, too, was moved, but seemed to restrain his feelings, and regarded the group before him with earnest, tear- ful eyes. Quietly and unobserved Susanna left the room ; she felt a stab in her heart ; a snake was writhing in her bosom ; driven by a nameless, tormenting disquiet, she hurried into the open air, and, almost unconsciously, went up the little foot-path to the hill, from which she had so often, in calmer hours, admired the beauty of the landscape. During the conversation she had just heard, great and beautiful scenes had risen before her — she felt herself so insignificant, so poor, beside them. Ah, she could never speak of the great and beautiful ; she felt so warmly, yet her enthusiasm could never warm another heart. The fortunate Alette won without trouble, perhaps without px'iz- ing it, a preference, a praise which Susanna would have died to gain. The Barbara spirit awoke in her ; and she said, casting a reproachful look towards heaven, " Am I never, in my whole life, to be anything but a poor despised servant ? " Mild, but mournfully, the heavens looked down upon the young girl ; light rain-drops fell upon her forehead ; all nature was silent around her, as if in grief. This mournful quiet was to Susanna like the tenderly reproachful look of a kind mother. She looked into her heart and found there pride and envy — she felt horror at herself — she looked down into the river, which was rushing below, and thought with longing, " Oh, might I plunge deep, deep, into these cool cleansing waters, and come back, my soul refreshed and purified ! " But the wish alone had been as the flowing of pure waters over Susanna's soul, and she felt light, cheerful thoughts rising in her heart. A poor servant ! she repeated, and why should that be so despised a lot 1 Has not the Most High served upon the earth — served all — the meanest— yes, even me \ " Oh," and her spirit became ever calmer and more exalted, « let me, then, be a true servant ! let me desire no other praise ! Beauty and the gifts of genius are not mine, — but I may still love and serve ; and this will I do with my whole heart, and with all my strength ; and though man may despise me, God will never abandon the humble, faithful servant ! " As Susanna turned her tearful eyes to the ground, they fell upon a little moss plant, one of those neg- lected childi-en of Nature, which quietly and unno- ticed pass through the changes of their peacefu life. The little plant was of a vivid green, it was hung with rain-drops that glistened in the suu which had just burst from behind a cloud. Susanna looked at the moss, and as she gazed, it seemed to say to her, See ! though 1 appear so in- significant, yet do the dews of heaven and the sun- shine descend upon me, as upon the roses and lilies of the garden. Susanna understood the language of the little flower, and, grateful and calm, she re- peated many times to herself with a quiet delight, " A humble faithful servant ! " When Susanna returned to the house, she found the Oefwerstinna ill. She had been much agitated, and there was reason to fear a recurrence of her spasms. Susanna earnestly begged, and at last obtained permission, to watch this night by her bed, at least until she should be asleep ; Fru Astrid had, it is true, another servant with her, but she was old and dull, and Susanna placed no great confidence in her. The Oefwerstinna went to bed — Susanna seated herself on a low stool near the window, busied with her thoughts and her knitting. The window had been open during the day, and many gnats had come into the room. The Oefwerstinna was an- noyed by them, and complained that they pre- vented her from sleeping. Susanna quietly bared her white shoulders, her arms, her neck ; and as the gnats lighted upon her in swarms, and left her lady undisturbed, Susanna sat still and let the gnats enjoy themselves, finding herself a higher pleasure than one can well imagine. HOPES AND FEARS. True delicacy discovers itself most plainly in little thinf^^s ; though, indeed, what we commonly call trifles are not always so insignificant. J. E. Lows. It is with our faults as with the charlock ; where it has once taken root, it is almost impos- sible to extirpate it; and nothing is more dis- couraging to the farmer, than, while he sees the weeds that he has torn up yet lying about him, to find new shoots springing from the roots that are still concealed in the ground. Well may he wax impatient with the weedy soil ! and when this soil is the dear /, the only pleasure we can know is in travelling as fast and as far as possible from our- selves. Susanna often experienced this feeling, while she daily laboured to repress the emotions which were excited in her at this time. But the thoughts and resolutions that awoke in her heart on that evening in the mountains, had taken too strong a hold easily to give way ; and, bearing the motto, '* a humble, a faithful servant," she struggled on through the dangers and snares of the day. Her manner became calmer ; she quietly abstained from taking part in conversation which was above her powers ; she endeavoured to renounce the desire of receiving attention and regard from others, and strove only to provide for the comfort and pleasure of all ; to fulfil their wishes, if pos- sible to anticipate them. And this active goodness has more effect than one might think, upon the happiness of every -day life. A loving heart can give life and soul to dead and senseless things. But hard to those who serve is this life of labour and care for others, when no kind acknowledge- STRIFE AND PEACE. 25 ment, no sunbeam of love, cheers the long labo- rious day. In the beginning of August, Harold left them, to return in about a fortnight with Alf Lexow, the lover of Alette. During his absence Alette was to make a visit to her uncle in Hallingdale ; but, in compliance with Fru Astrid's wishes, she remained another week at Semb. During these days, Alette and Susanna were more together ; for Alette was involuntarily touched by the kind offices which Susanna performed so unweariedly, and so unostentatiously. She found in her, too, such an open heart, such warm sympathy, that she could not deny herself the pleasure of sharing with her the many feelings that throng the heart of a happy bride. Happy, yes ! Alette was so, indeed ; for she had loved Alf Lexow long and well, and she was in a short time to be united to him for ever. And yet a shade of sadness would pass over her beautiful features, when she spoke of this marriage, and of her journey to Nordland. Susanna had several times asked her the cause, but she had laughingly parried her questions ; but, one evening, when they had been conversing more confidentially than usual. Alette said, " It is a strange feeling, to be preparing everything for one's marriage, with the feeling that one is not long to survive it. This removal to the North will cause my death, I am sure of it. No, do not look so shocked ! It is nothing so fearful. I have long felt that I was destined to an early death ; — I ought, therefore, to be reconciled to the thought ! " " Ah ! " exclaimed Susanna, " the happy — those who love and are loved — should never die ! But whence this strange foreboding ?" " I do not myself know," replied Alette, " but it has followed me from my earliest youth. My mother was born under the beautiful sky of Pro- vence, and passed the greater part of her youth in that sunny land. Her love for my father made her regard our Norway as another father-land, and here she passed the rest of her life, but could never endure the cold climate ; she longed in secret for her own warm land, and in this longing, died. I have inherited these feelings ; and though I have never seen the orange groves, the warm blue sky of which she spoke to me so often, yet have I loved them from my childhood. I have inherited, too, the sensitiveness to cold, from which my mother suffered. My lungs are not strong, and the long, dark, northern winter, a residence on the sea-shore, in a climate far colder than that to which I have been accustomed, the sea-fogs, and the storms, ah ! I cannot withstand them long. But, Susanna, you must promise me never to utter before Harold, or Lexow, a word of what I have confided to you." *' But if they knew it," said Susanna, " you would surely have no need to go there ? yo.ur hus- band would, for your sake, seek a milder climate." " And feel himself an alien there, and die of longing for his beloved Nordland ! No, no, Susanna ! I know his love for his home, and I know that this wintry climate, which I so much dread, is life and health to him. Alf is heart and soul a Nordlander. He has identified himself with the region where his fathers have dwelt, and the chief aim of his exertions, the dajling project of his heart, is to elevate the character of the people, to increase their prosperity. No, no ! he shall not, for my sake, be torn from his home, from the field of his noble kbours. Rather will I, if it must be so, find in his Nordland an early grave." At Susanna's request. Alette now related to her many particulars with regard to this land, which she thought so terrible, and we will now, with them, cast A GLANCE UPON NORDLAND. All here is cold and hard. Blomb. Yet the spirit of God re»t« upon the Northland. For many months of the year the inhabitants of Nordland are deprived of the light of the sun, and the difficulties and dangers of the roads shut them out from all intercourse with the more southern world. The spirit of the north pole rules sternly over this region, and if, in the still nights of August, he send his breath over more southern Norway, then the grim face of hunger glares upon crowds of wretched men, whose industry cannot shield them from his terrors. The sea breaks, on these coasts, against palisades of rocks, round which the polar birds swarm with loud cries, and hootings. Storms alternate with thick fogs. The cliffs along this shore assume strange forms. Now they rise into towers, now are they like animals, and now they represent the profiles of gigantic men. It is no marvel that the superstition of the people should see in them monsters and giants, transformed into stone; or that our ancestors should have placed their Jotunheim in this desolate wil- derness. And even to this day some dark remnants of the ancient superstition linger round these regions. It is frozen into the minds of men ; it is petrified in the fearful forms from which it first received its life. In vain has the light of the gospel sought to scatter the shadows of a thousand years. An- cient Night still holds her empire. In vain does the holy cross rise from every clifi^. A belief in sorcery and witchcraft is universal among the people. The old witch sits, full of maUce, in her cave, and raises the storm that is to overwhelm the mariner; and the ghost Stallo, a tall figure clothed in black, with a staff in his hand, wanders through the wilds, and challenges the lonely tra- veller to combat for Ufe or death. Along the coast, among the rocks, and upon the hundred islands which lie along the shore, live a race of fishermen, who skim over the sea, rivalling the sea-gulls. Day and night, summer and winter, their boats swarm upon the waves ; through the raging storm, over the foaming breakers, they glide fearlessly with their light sails, to win from the sea its treasure of silver herrings. Many of these adventurous seamen are every year engulfed in the waves ; yet, still, the greater number con- tend with the elements, and conquer. In this constant struggle, great power is developed, many heroic deeds are performed. The people are hardened against all fear of dangei', or death ; but they are hardened, too, to all the softer charms of existence. Upon the borders of Nordland and Finland lies the city of Tromsoe, the " pride of the North." It was here that Alette was in future to live ; it was hex*e that love was preparing for her a warm, peaceful dwelling ; and, as Alette had before 26 STRIFE AND PEACE. described to Susanna all that made her shrink from a residence in the North, she now confided to her all that drew her thither, with such gentle, but powerful attraction ; and Susanna understood this well when Alette had read to her the following letter :— " Tromsoe, May 28th. « If you were but here, my Alette ! I miss you every moment, while I am preparing my dwelling to receive you. I am continually wishing to ask you * How will you have this, Alette ?' Ah, my own beloved, that you were here at this moment ! You would be enraptured with this * land of ice and bears,' at the thought of which I know you inwardly shudder. The country is not here wild and gloomy, as in Heligoland. The rocky shores of our island are crowned with woods, and the waves of the sea play round them in quiet gulfs and havens. Our well-built town lies pleasantly on the southern side of the island, only separated from the continent by a small arm of the sea. My house stands upon the bay-road which runs along the large, convenient harbour. At this moment twenty boats lie here at anchor, and the flags of many nations are flut- tering in the wind. Here are Englishmen, Dutch- men, and above all, Russians, who come to our coasts to exchange their wheat and furs for our fish and eider-down. Besides these, the natives of more southern lands bring hither many articles of luxury and fashion, which are eagerly purchased by the inhabitants of Kola, and the countries bor- dering on the White Sea. Long live commerce ! My soul expands at the thought of its living power ! What has not commerce done from the beginning of the world for the embellishment of life — for the friendly intercourse between different lands, and people— for the amelioration of manners ? It has always heartily pleased me, that the wisest and mildest lawgiver of antiquity, Solon, was a mer- chant. * His soul was formed,' says one of his bio- graphers, *by commerce, by wisdom, and by music' Long live commerce ! What does not live through her ! What, indeed, is all that is most dear and beautiful in life, but commerce — exchange, gift for gift I In love, in friendship, in the great life of the people, in the narrow circle of the family ; wherever I see prosperity and happiness, there I see commerce. " You must not believe. Alette, that in our devotion to business we neglect the nobler and gentler pursuits. From among the thousands who compose the population of this town, we may choose an agreeable circle for friendly intercourse. We have a theatre, and many of the pleasures of civilised life. I was yesterday at a ball where they danced the whole night— by daylight. The good music, the tasteful dress, and good dancing of the women, above all, the hearty but well-bred gaiety, astonished several foreigner who were pre- sent, and compelled them to ask if they were really under the seventieth degree of latitude. " * But the winter ! ' I hear you say, * the sum- mer may pass well enough, but the long, dark winter !' Well, the winter, too, my Alette, passes happily away, with people who love each other, when it is warm at home. Do you remember, last summer, how we read together at Christiansand, in the morning paper tliis extract from the Trom- soe Gazette 1 * We have had snow-storms for seve- ral days together, and at this moment the snow- plough is at work, opening a path to the churches. The death-like stillness of night and winter extends over meadow and valley ; only a few cows wander about, like ghosts, over the snowy tracts, to pluck a scanty meal from the twigs of the trees that are not yet buried in the snow.' The little winter sketch pleased me, but you shuddered involuntarily at that expression, * the death-like stillness of night and winter,' and bowed your sweet dear face, with closed eyes, upon my breast. Oh, my Alette, thus will it be when, in future, the terror of the cold and darkness seizes thee, and upon my breast, listening to the beatings of my heart, the words of my love, wilt thou forget these dark images of storm and gloom. * * * * Close thine eyes, slumber, beloved one, while I watch over thee. Thou shalt one day look upon night and winter, and own that their power is not so fearful. Love, that geyser of the soul, can melt the ice and snow of the most frozen regions; wherever its warm springs well up, there glows a southern climate. " While I write, I am listening to music which makes upon me an impression at the same time mournful and pleasing. Some Russians are singing their national songs as they pass down Tromsoe Sound, in the stillness of the evening. They sing together in the most perfect harmony. The music is in the minor key, yet is not mournful. They row within the shadow of the shore, and at every stroke the water glows and drops of fire rain from the oars. "My heart, too, glows I I look upon the brilliant sea, I Usten to the melody of the song, full of plea- sure and of sadness, and stretch out my arms to thee, Alette, my Alette." "Oh," cried Susanna, "how this man loves you, and how you must love him ! Oh, you must surely live long to be happy together !" " And if not long," said Alette, " at least a short time ; yes, I hope I may live a short time to make him happy, to thank him for all his love, and then—" Alette stooped, and plucked a beautiful water- lily, which grew in the river on whose bank she stood ; she showed it to Susanna, as she continued, with a thoughtful smile — «« The flowers of love and hope we gather here. Shall yet bloom for us in the home of God ; They shed not their last fragrance o'er our bier, They lie not, withered, on the cold grave-sod." THE RETURN. To meet, to part, to ^reet, and say farewell. Such is the lot of life. BiSRHBOARa Alette left them to fulfil her promise to her uncle in Hallingdale, but returned a few weeks after with Harold and Alf Lexow. She was now, however, to make them only a short visit, and then to depart, with her uncle's family and her future hu.sband, for Trondhjem, where her marriage was to be celebrated at the house of a rich aunt. Harold was to accompany them. Alf Lexow was a man of middle age, of open and agreeable manners. His face was small, and marked by the small-pox, but otherwise hand- some, and full of spirit and kind-heartedness. He STRIFE AND PEACE. 27 was one of those men whom we like, and place confidence in, at first sight. It was a great pleasure to Susanna to see the loving and confiding inter- course of the lovers. She was herself happier, for Harold now left Alette to her lover, and sought Susanna's society as before. Alette was sensible, agreeable, and highly edu- cated, but she liked best to hear herself talk. So did Harold, in truth, and it was impossible to have a better listener than Susanna. Their contentions were now at an end ; but there was something in Susanna now that attracted Harold to her still more than the love of dispute had formerly done. He found a great change in her manners ; they were more quiet, and at the same time much softer than they formerly had been. Beside, she was always so kind, so attentive, so thoughtful, of everything that could give pleasure to others. He saw, too, with what quiet solicitude her thoughts followed Fru Astrid, who, now on the approach of autumn, seemed to sink back into the gloom and silence from which she had of late been awakened ; except at dinner-time she now seldom left her room. Harold wished that his sister and brother-in-law should, before their departure from the valley, be present at one of the parties for games and dancing, then customary in the valley; and had prepared a rural feast to which he invited them, together with Susanna ; and thither we will now accompany them. 4 THE HALLINGER. This peculiar, wild, moving music is our national poetry. Whkuiiland. On a beautiful evening in September, two young peasant maidens, in festive attire, passed through the little wood of Heimdale, and approached a green open spot surrounded by trees, where a crowd of people, all in peasant dresses, were as- sembled. This was the dancing-ground ; and as the young maidens approached it, one of them said, " Really, Susanna, this dress becomes you wonder- fully. Your beautiful light hair, with the red ribands braided in, looks brighter than ever. I do not believe the dress is half so becoming to me." " Because you look like a disguised princess, and I like a true peasant maiden." ** Susanna, I perceive you are a flatterer. Let us see whether Harold and Alf wiU recognise us, in our Tellemarkan disguise." They were not left long in doubt, for they had no sooner entered the dancing-ground, than two peasants, in the Hallingdale dress, came dancing up to them, singing in concert with all the others, the peasant song, — « I 'm the son of Gulleig Boe, An honest young fellow and gay. And I will choose you for my love. If you do not say me nay." Susanna recognised Harold in the young man, who, thus singing, took her by the hand and led her to the gay springing dance. Alette danced with Alf, who sustained the part of a Hallingdale peasant admirably. Susanna had never looked so well or so happy ; indeed, she had never, in her life, enjoyed such pleasure. The beautiful evening, the sound of the music, the animation of the dance; Harold's looks, which expressed such kindness; the cheerful, happy faces which she saw around her, — yes, never before had she known such enjoy- ment. All present seemed inspired with the same feelings of delight, as they whirled round in the exciting dance, — shilling after shilling fell upon the little gaily painted violin, which was played by an old man, of an expressive countenance, with the most spirit-stirring energy. After the first dance, they rested for a short time. They ate apples, and drank Hardanger beer from silver cans. Then arose a universal call, which summoned Harold and another young man, who was also remarkable for his agility and strength, to dance the Hallinger. They did not suffer themselves to be urged long, and stepped into the midst of the circle. The musician tuned his instrument, and with his head sunk upon his breast, began to play with a life and expression, which might be called in- spired, one of the most genial compositions of the wild Maliserknud. Was it composed in the army, in the nightly bivouac, under the free blue sky ; or in bondage, — among evil-doers ? The dancing of the young men received universal applause; but the greatest admiration was bestowed upon Harold, whose performance had even excited astonishment. There is perhaps no dance that expresses, better than the Hallinger, the spirit of the people who invented it. It begins creeping along the ground with short sliding steps, and with motions of the legs and arms, in which great strength is indolently displayed. There is something bearish, awkward, slothful, half dreaming, in its move- ments. But it awakes — it becomes animated. Then the dancers stand erect, and make displays of strength, in which power and agility seem to contend with indolence and awkwardness, and to conquer. He, who but now seemed bound to the earth, springs on high, and moves through the air as if on wings. Then, after many neck-breaking movements and evolutions which make the head of the unaccustomed spectator swim, the dance retakes its former quiet, careless, heavy character, and the performers end as they began, stooping listlessly towards the earth. At the end of the dance loud applause resounded from all sides, which was principally bestowed upon Harold. And now, all united in the Halling- Polska. Harold refreshed himself with a glass of beer, and then hastened to Susanna, and asked her to join the Halling-Polska. Susanna had danced it sometimes at home, and gladly accepted Harold's invitation. This dance, too, is highly characteristic. It expresses the highest joy of the Northlander ; it is the Bersaerker deUght in dance. Resting on the arm of the woman, the man throws himself high into the air, then he seizes her in his arms, and whirls about with her in wild circles, then they separate, then unite again, and whirl about as in an excess of life and joy. The measure is exact, bold, and full of life. It is a dance-intoxication ; in which every care, every sorrow, every burden of existence, is thrown aside. Thus did Harold and Susanna feel at this moment. Young, strong, active, they swung round securely and lightly, and their eyes being fixed steadily upon each other, they felt no giddi- ness from tlie continued whirl. They moved 28 STKIFE AND PEACE. round, as in a magic circle, to the wild, exciting music. The understrings* sounded out strong and wild. The enchantment that lies in the clear depths of the waters, in the mystic recesses of the hills, in the dim grottoes of the woods, which poets have celebrated as mermaids, mountain-kings, and wood-nymphs, and which draw down the soul so powerfully into strange unknown depths, — this dark song of Nature is heard in the lower strings, in the sportive, and at the same time moui'nful, tones of the Hallinger. They sank deep into Susanna's soul, and Harold seemed to feel their magic ; quitting the wild movements of the dance, they moved round slowly, arm in arm. " Oh, thus through life," whispered Harold's lips, almost involuntarily, as he gazed into Susanna's beaming, tearful eyes : and, " Oh, thus through life," an- swered Susanna's heart. At this moment she was seized by a violent trembling, which obliged her to quit the dance. She sat down ; the earth seemed turning round about her. When she had taken a glass of water, which Harold brought her, she could answer his kind, anxious inquiries after her health. Susanna attributed her illness to the violence of the dance, and said that she felt now quite well again. At this moment Susanna's eyes met those of Alette. She was seated at a little distance, and was observing Harold and Susanna, with a serious, and, as Susanna thought, dis- pleased expression. Susanna felt wounded ; and when Alette came to her and asked her, rather coldly, how she was, Susanna answered coldly and briefly. The sun was now going down, and the evening began to be cool. The dancers were therefore in- vited, by Harold, into a large hut, which had been decorated with branches of trees and flowers. At Harold's request, a young girl played upon the langoleikjf and sang, with a clear, pleasant voice, the Hallingdale song, — « The Shepherd's life," which so prettily describes the days of the shepherd maiden, with her flock, which she pastures and tends during the summer, happy and free from care, though almost separated from the rest of the world : almost^ for Havor, the goatherd, is heard blowing his horn in the mountain, and soon sits beside her on the rocks. *' And the youth his mouth-harp strikes, And he plays on his flute so clear." Thus the evening comes on, and " all ray dear creatures" are now called by their names. ".Come Laikeros, Gullstjeme, fine. Come Dokkerose, darling mine. Come Bjolka, Quitteline." And cows and sheep follow the well-known voice, and assemble at the little hut, joyfully bleating and lowing. Now the milking begins, and the herd's maiden sings, — •' When once I have milk in my pails. Then I lay me down and sleep on. Till the day dawns over the mountains." * The understrings of the Hard-anger-Fela are four metal strings, tuned to accord with the upper catgut strings. It is by means of these, and the peculiai- form of the instru- ment itself, that this violin gives out these peculiar, deep, melancholy tones. t Langoleik, a four-stringed instrument, on which the peasant maidens of these regions play ; often with con- siderable skilL After the song, the dance recommenced with new spirit. An iron hook was driven into the roof of the hut, and the dancer who should succeed, during the whirls of the Hailing- Polska, in bending this hook by a blow with the heel of his shoe, was to be considered as victor in the dance. Susanna seated herself upon a bench to observe the violent springs of the competitors. A lai'ge branch of a tree, which stood between the bench and a window, prevented her from seeing two persons who stood there in earnest conversation. But she sat as if spell-bound, when she heard Alette's voice say, — " Susanna is ciertainly a good girl, and I am much attached to her ; but still, Harold, it would grieve me very much if you were to become seriously interested in her." « And why ?" asked Harold. *' Because I think she is not a suitable wife for you. She has a violent, unreasonable temper, and—" " But that will change, Alette, It is already much changed. I have no fear of her temper. That I will soon remedy." " Greater magicians than you, my brother, have found themselves mistaken in such a belief. Be- sides, she is too uninformed, too ignorant, to be your companion through life ; she could not enter the society in which you must one day move. Dear Harold, listen to me ; do not be hasty. You have long thought of travelling into other coun- tries, to extend your knowledge of agriculture j execute this plan now ; travel, and look about you in the world, before you bind yourself for life." " I believe you are right, Alette, and I will fol- low your advice, but — " " Besides, there is still time enough to think about your marrying. You are young ; you have time to look about you, and to choose. You may easily, if you will, make a match suitable in every respect. Susanna is poor ; and you are not rich enough entirely to overlook — " Susanna would hear no more ; indeed she had learned quite enough. . Grief and wounded pride drove the blood to her head and chest so violently that she felt as if she should suffocate . She rose hastily, asked an acquaintance to tell Harold and Alette that a violent headache had obliged her to leave the dance, and hastened by the little footpath back to Semb. The evening was beautiful ; but Susanna was blind to its splendours ; she saw not the twinkling of the bright stars, nor how they were reflected in the cups of the lady -mantles, now full of clear, crystal water. She heard not the flowing of the river, or the song of the thrush. Never had Sanna and Barbara waged fiercer war in her breast. *' They despise me ! " cried Bar- bara ; *' They throw me from them ; they trample me under their feet ! They think me unworthy to be near them — the proud, heartless people ! But have they a right to hold themselves so much above me, because I am not so elegant as they are — because I do not know so much as they do— be- cause I am poor ? No ! that they have not, for I can earn my bread ; I can take care of myself through the world, as well as anybody. If they will be proud, I will be prouder. I need not hum- ble myself before them. One person is as good as another ! " " Ah ! " now began Sanna, and tears forced them- selves to her eyes ; " one person is not as good as STRIFE AND PEACE. another. Education and refinement make a great difference between people. It is not pleasant for a man to feel ashamed of his wife's ignorance, and it is not to be expected that any one should under- take to teach a person of my age : he cannot look into my heart and see how gladly I would learn. And — and Harold, who I thought felt so kindly to me ; whom I love so much, whom I would serve with my whole heart and life, — how coldly he speaks of me ; he who lately — so warmly — Harold, why would you delude my heart ? Do you care so little what it feels and what it can suffer ? But — " and here Barbara began again, " you think only of yourself. You are selfish, like your whole sex. And he seems to feel so sure of me ! He does not ask whether I will ; no, only whether he shall be graciously pleased to — Let him try, and he shall find he has deceived himself ! Let him try ! — he shall find that a poor girl, without friends, without relations, alone in the wide world, can yet reject the man who thinks he condescends to her. Be at ease. Miss Alette ; the poor despised Susanna is too proud to force herself into your proud family ; for, in truth, she thinks herself too good for it." But Susanna was very angry and very unhappy, as she uttered these words. She had now reached Semb. A gleam of light shone from the window of the Oefwerstinna's sleeping-room. Susanna looked up at the window, and stood stupefied with astonishment ; for, in the window stood Fru As- trid ; but no longer the gloomy, sorrowful lady whom she had hitherto known. Her hands folded on her breast, she looked up to the bright stars with a face glowing with gratitude. But there was something wild and overstrained in her expression, which determined Susanna to go to her imme- diately. On Susanna's entrance, the Oefwerstinna turned quickly towards her ; she held a letter in her hand, and said eagerly, and with a sort of restless delight, " To Bergen — to Bergen, Susanna ; to-morrow I go to Bergen ! Prepare everything for my de- parture, as quickly as you can." Susanna was confounded. " To Bergen !" stam- mered she ; " and the road there so difficult, so dangerous, at this season ! " " And if death were to meet me on the road, yet v/ould I go," said Fru Astrid, with impatient energy. "But I wish no one to accompany me. You can remain here." *' Oh, my God ! " cried Susanna, " I spoke not for myself. Could I die to save you from one danger, one sorrow, God knows I would do it with pleasure. Let me go with you to Bergen ! " " I have been very unhappy, Susanna," said Fru Astrid, without noticing this burst of enthusiasm. "Life has been a burden to me. I have ques- tioned the justice of Providence — have doubted that our destinies were guided by the hand of a father ; but now — now I see — now all is right. But go, Susanna, I must calm myself ; and you, too, appear to need rest. Go, my child." ** Only one request," said Susanna. " You will let me go with you to-moi'row ? Ah ! do not re- fuse me ; I should follow you, at any rate." "Well, then," said Fru Astrid, "there is no use in saying no." Susanna seized her hand and kissed it, and would have poured forth all the love, all the grief that filled her heart, but the Oefwerstinna drew away her hand, and again, kmdly, but decidedly, bade her go. When Fru Astrid was again alone, she turned her eyes upon the letter which she held in her hand. Upon the envelope of the letter, these words were written by an unsteady hand, — " To my wife after my death." The letter was as follows ; — " I feel that some great change is soon to befal me. I shall either die or lose my mind. Let me first thank my wife for the angelic patience which she has shown me through life ; let me tell her, that it is to her I owe it that I have still any faith left in virtue and a just Providence. I will now reward her in the only way left to me. Know, then, my wife, that the boy whom you have so loved and mourned is not dead. Let it lessen your hor- ror of my deed, when I assure you, that solicitude for your welfare was my chief inducement to com- mit it. I was ruined — I could not bear the thought of seeing you destitute — I sent the boy away, and gave out that he was dead. He has suffered no injury ; he has " (here followed some ille- gible lines, after which was written more plainly), " I am bewildered, and cannot say what I would. Speak with Serjeant Ronn, now at the custom- house in Bergen ; he will — " Here the letter broke off. It was without date ; the paper old and yellow. But Fru Astrid kissed it, shedding tears of joy and gratitude, while she whispered, " Oh, what reward ! — what light ! Oh wonderful, merciful, good Providence !" AASGAARDSREJA. The 8p«ctTe-ghip8 come sailing through the storm ; Above their decks the keen-eyed vultures hover ; Huge shadowy forms o'ertop the giant masts. Prom their broad blades flash back the vivid lightnings- Sound out, wild horn, sound from the rocky haven — The shades of heroes seek the shores of Norway ! Susanna retired to her quiet room, but her mind was not yet composed. A severe struggle was still going on within her. She must now throw from her all her dearest hopes and wishes ; for, almost unconsciously, the images of her lady and of Harold had blended themselves with every thought and feeling of her heart. She had hoped through her own love to win theirs ; by her ser- vices, to make herself indispensable to them ; and now she saw how wholly unimportant she was to them. She blushed at her self-delusion, and blamed herself that she had been unfaithful to little Hulda— that she had attached herself to strangers, and that her darling plan had faded before new impressions and new hopes. She re- proached herself bitterly, called herself weak and foolish, and resolved to fly from Harold, and the place of his abode. <• When I have accompanied Fru Astrid over the dangerous mountains," thought Susanna, " when I see her happy and in safety, then will I leave her— her — and him— and this country— for ever. I came here poor, I shall depart poorer, for I shall leave a part of my life in the strange land. But I will carry a pure conscience back to my home. They cannot love me ; but perhaps when I am gone they will remember Susanna with esteem, perhaps with kindness." The quiet stars were mirrored in Susanna's tears which flowed fi-eely, and the stars and the 30 STRIFE AND PEACE. tears soothed her spirit, and she found herself strengthened by the resolution she had formed. She now directed her attention exclusively to preparing what was necessary for her journey, and passed the night, partly in these preparations, partly in putting everything in order, that she might leave the house with a good conscience. The journey, however, was not undertaken as soon as was at first intended. It was necessary to procure a competent guide, and good safe horses, for the passage of the mountains, and this occu- pied the greater part of the next day. It was impossible to set out before the morning of the following day. Harold, who was very much asto- nished at this sudden resolution, endeavoured to prevent the journey, by representations of the difficulties and dangers of the road at this season of the year ; for, from the beginning of Septem- ber, falls of snow and violent storms are to be expected in the mountain regions. But the Oefwei"stinna, without explaining herself farther, persisted in her resolution, and Harold promised to prepare everything for the journey, that it might be performed as safely and expeditiously as possible. There are four roads, equally difficult, which lead from this part of Hallingdale to the diocese of Bergen. Fru Astrid decided for the shortest, which lay through Hardanger. It could not, however, be traversed in less than two days and a half. Harold, who knew the way well, and said that in case of necessity he could himself serve as a guide, made preparations to accompany the Oefwerstinna in her perilous journey. Harold had wished to ask Susanna the cause of this strange journey ; but Susanna was not to be spoken with, she had so much to attend to, both within and without the house ; and she was, besides, always surrounded by Larina, and Karina, and Petro ; and glad was Susanna that her household affairs gave her so good an excuse for absenting herself from the parlour, and for avoiding all conversation with Harold. She still harboured a certain feeling of resentment against him and Alette. Among the many noble capacities of man is that of being able to judge and condemn himself. And if we are justly displeased with any one, if we have been injured or offended by word or deed, we should rely upon this capacity, and let our reliance exert a soothing influence over our feel- ings : for while we are resenting the offence, perhaps he who has ofiTended us is grieving in silence ; perhaps he wakes through the quiet hours of darkness to accuse himself before the stern tribunal of his conscience ; and the nobler he is, so much the greater will be his remorse for those offences of which the tribunals of the world take no account. He cannot pardon himself, except in resolving to make atonement for his fault ; and, in this painful hour, this hope is his only consolation. Thus would every bitter feeling have vanished from Susanna's heart, could she have known how dissatisfied Harold was with himself — how severely he blamed himself for the words which, without any serious intention, had escaped his lips duidng the dance — how much he regretted the promise he had given Alette, and the resolution which he had formed in consequence of her advice. This regret was increased when he saw by Susanna's swollen eyelids that she had been weep- ing, and observed a restlessness and depression in her manner quite unlike her usually animated and cheerful deportment. Disturbed and anxious, he asked himself the cause, while he followed her with observant eyes. Fru Astrid did not appear at dinner ; the others sat silent and uneasy, except Lexow, who in vain endeavoured to inspire the rest with his good humour. In the afternoon, while they were taking coffee, Susanna was leaving the room quietly, in order to carry some medicines to a sick peasant-woman, together with some children's clothes, which she had been making for her. ' Harold, who had been for some time observing the barometer, and who appeared to divine her intention, turned hastily, and said to her, as she approached the door, — ** You are surely not going out ? It is not prudent. In a few moments we shall have a vio- lent storm." " I am not afraid of it," said Susanna, and was going on. " But you do not know our storms," cried Harold ; " Lexow, come here ! see here !" And Harold pointed to the barometer, as he said, half- aloud, " The quicksilver has fallen two degrees in half-an-hour — it is still falling — we shall have a whirlwind !" Lexow shook his head thoughtfully, and said — " That looks ill for our journey to-morrow, but I fancy your storms are only child's play compared to those we have in some of the northern regions." And Alf went to his Alette, who looked at him inquiringly and anxiously. Harold hastened after Susanna, and found her at the door in the act of setting off, with a bundle under her arm. He placed himself in her path, saying, earnestly, — " You cannot go ; I assure you there is danger.*' " What danger.'" asked Susanna, moodily, and with a determined resolution to act contrary to Harold's wishes. " Aasgaardsreja !" answered Harold, laughing, ** and it is no jesting matter ; it will soon come, sweeping along, and carry you off, if you do not remain at home. No ; you must not go now." And he took her by the hand to lead her back into the house. Susanna, who thought he was jesting in his usual manner, and who was now in no humour for jesting, withdrew her hand, and said, redden- ing and proudly, " I shall go, sir ; I shall go, because I wish to ; and you have no right to hinder me. " Harold looked at her, surprised, and then said, in a tone very like Susanna's, — " If I have no right to hinder you from going, you have no right to hinder me from following you." " I prefer to go alone," said Susanna, disdain- fully, and went on. **So do I," said Harold, in the same tone, and followed her, though at a distance of fifteen or twenty paces. When he came to the kitchen-door, he went in and said to the people there, — " Take care of the fire, and put it out as soon as the wind rises — we shall have a hurricane. " At this moment Alfiero came out, howling, leapea upon Susanna, and put his paws upon her shoul- STRIFE AND PEACE. 31 ders, as if he would prevent her from proceeding ; but finding his remonstrances ineffectual, he turned away sorrowfully, and with his head down, went into his kennel, as if seeking refuge from some impending danger. The weather was still beautiful ; the wind still, the sky clear, nothing announced the approaching storm except the smoke, which, as it rose from the huts in the valley, was immediately depressed, and, whirling round the cottages, sank to the earth. Susanna went quickly on her way. She still heard Harold's steps a little behind her, but did not venture to look round. As she by chance raised her eyes to the sky, she perceived a little white cloud which took the form of a dragon, and came hurrying, swift as an arrow, over the valley. Soon after, a loud whistling noise was heard, which made Susanna look towards the mountains, where she saw something that resembled a pil- lar of smoke rise whirhng in the air. At this moment Harold was by her side, and said, quickly and earnestly, " Down upon the ground ! throw yourself on the ground quickly !" Susanna would have protested, but she was at the same moment seized by Harold, lifted up, and the next moment she found herself lying on the ground with her face towards the earth. She felt a violent gust of wind, then heard near her an explosion, like the report of a pistol, and after- wards a great crashing and rattling ; then followed a noise like a loud rolling peal of thunder ; and all was again still. Quite bewildered with what had taken place, Susanna raised her head and looked round, then rose slowly. A perfect calm now prevailed every- where — not even a blade of grass was stirred. But, quite near her, two trees had been torn up, and large stones had been loosened from the moun- tain, and had rolled down into the valley. Susanna looked round anxiously for Harold, but he was nowhere to be seen. She thought of the Aasgaards- reja ; in her terror she called on his name, and, to her great delight, his voice answered her. She perceived him, at a little distance from her, slowly rising from the ground, near a high wall of rock. He was pale, and appeared to suffer pain. In his care for Susanna's safety, Harold had de- layed too long to place himself in the humble posture in which he had thrown her ; he had been seized by the whirlwind, and dashed against the corner of a rock, and had thus received a severe blow upon the collar-bone and left shoulder. He, however, assured the anxious Susanna, that it was nothing of any consequence — that it would soon be well again, and added, laughing — "But was I not right when I said that the Aasgaardsreja was not a thing to be jested about ? And we have not yet escaped from them ; in a few moments we shall have them upon us again. As soon as we hear the whistling in the mountain, we must prostrate ourselves. Otherwise it would fare but ill with us." Hardly had Harold pronounced these words, when the signal was heard from the mountain, and the hurricane came with the same violence as at first, and passed away as quickly. In a few mo- ments, all was again still. " Now we may breathe for a few minutes," said Harold, as he rose and looked about him. " But we must look for some shelter, where we may be protected from this rain of stones. Let us take refuge under that projecting rock, before the hurricane is upon us again. If I am not mistaken, some other wanderers are there before us." Two persons had indeed sought shelter under the projection of the rock, and Harold soon recog- nised the elder of the two men as the guide for whom he had sent, to conduct them over the mountain road. He was a fine-looking old man, in the Hallingdale dress. The younger was his grand- son, a boy of sixteen, who was to accompany him on the journey. On their way to Semb, they had been overtaken by the storm. It was perhaps welcome, both to Harold and Susanna, that the presence of these persons pre- vented them from being alone together. From their place of refuge they had a wide view of the valley, and their attention was directed to what was passing there. They saw that the smoke had ceased to rise from the huts, a sign that the fires had been everywhere extinguished ; they saw many horses standing immovable with their heads turned to the quarter from which the hurricane came. In this manner they divided the shock of the wind, and could withstand its force. A little further off, a singular scene was passing in the air. Thick clouds were seen to rush from opposite sides of the heaven, and, meeting, fight a pitched battle in the air. It lasted long ; but at length, the columns, which were led on by the weaker wind, gave way ; the conquerors rushed storming on, and spread themselves over the whole vault of heaven. But now the storm began to abate ; and, after the lapse of about three hours, it had so far subsided, as to allow them to leave the shelter of the roof of rock and set forth on their way home. Susanna longed impatiently to be at home, as well on her lady's account as on Harold's, who evidently suf- fered much pain from the bruise he had received, though he endeavoured to conceal his suffering by a gay, laughing manner. Not without danger, but without further injury, they arrived at Semb, where the greatest uneasi- ness had been felt upon their account. Towards evening, the wind subsided entirely . Warm fomen- tations were applied to Harold's shoulder, and he soon declared, that all pain had left him ; and though they all endeavoured to dissuade him, he persisted in his resolution of accompanying the Oefwerstinna over the mountains. Poor Susanna felt so much regret for her obsti- nacy, which had been the cause of Harold's acci- dent — she was so grateful for his care of her, that all resentment against him and Alette vanished from her heart. She now felt only a deep, almost painful desire to show her devotion to them. To do them a pleasure she would willingly have sacri- ficed her right hand. THE MOUNTAIN JOURNEY. Forward, still forward ! fly swift as the wind ! How the sky lowers over Fanarankun. The party which, early the next morning, set forth from Heimdale did not present a very cheer- ful aspect ; they moved along enveloped in a thick mist, which overhung the valley, shrouded the 32 STRIFE AND PEACE. heights,and shut out the prospect above and around them. In front rode the guide, the old trusty Hallingdale peasant, whose tall, powerful figure gave a feeling of security to those who had in- trusted themselves to his guidance. Then came the Oefwerstiima, then Susanna, then Harold, who carried his arm in a sling. The procession was closed by the young boy, and a peasant, who led two horses, loaded with the baggage of the travellers. As they ascended higher and higher, by degrees the air became more clear — the travellers rose above the region of mists ; they soon saw the blue sky ; the sun greeted them with its rays, and lighted up the wild, strange regions by which they were now surrounded. Upon the young open soul of Susanna this scene produced a powerful effect. Her mind became calmer, freer ; it seemed to her as if she had left all strife, all sorrow behind her, and now looked forward to a bright calm future. Now, her lady was to be happy, and she hei-self, with a free heart, and no longer bound by selfish feelings, would easily obey the call of duty and the will of Providence, Thus she thought — thus she felt. The road was steep and difficult, but the horses passed safely over it ; and, after some hours, they reached a little Saeter hut, which stood upon the banks of the Ustewasser, one of the inland seas that lie at the foot of the Hallingskarven. This hut lies above the point where the birch-trees cease, and its environs were characterised by the peculiar features of the mountain scenery of the North. But its little grass plots, constantly watered from the snow mountains, were of a vivid green, and herds of cattle swarmed upon them. The brooks gleamed like silver threads between the green slopes and the dark rocks. The sun now shone out brightly, and the travellers con- gratulated each other upon the prospect of a foi'- tunate journey. They rested at this hut, for about an hour, and breakfasted upon the simple viands of the region. Before each guest was placed a dish of little triangular cakes, and a loaf of rye bread, of the size of a plate. Upon the table were placed large square pieces of butter, and a dish of the excellent mountain fish. The can of Hardanger beer was not wanting ; and they were waited upon by a fair-haired maiden in a bright yellow jacket, black petticoat, and a red handkerchief about her neck, with a face as pretty and innocent as ever pastoral poet bestowed on a shepherdess. After breakfast they proceeded on their journey. From the heights of Ustafjell, they perceived two ridges of mountains, that lifted themselves high into the regions of eternal snow. These were Hallingskarven and Hallings-Jokulen. The caravan wound slowly up the Baxfjell. By degrees all trees disappeared, the ground was covered only by some low, black bushes : among these lay patches of the snow lichen, which in- creased in extent the higher they ascended. The prospect about them was indescribably cold and dreary. But upon Susanna the impression pro- duced by these wild, and to her entirely new scenes, was of an enlivening and inspiring character. To this effect, the old peasant contributed ; he related, as they passed through these desolate regions, many tales of the subterranean dwellers in the moun- tains. He described them as little imps, with ugly, pale, lead-coloured faces, dressed in gray, with black caps on their heads. « They often enticed,'* he said, "men into their dwellings, and there mur- dered them ; or if any one escaped alive from their power, he remained melancholy or frantic the rest of his life, and had no more pleasure upon earth. Some men were persecuted by them ; to others they brought wealth and good luck." The peasant was fully convinced of the actual existence of these beings ; he had himself once seen a man in these mountain regions, who, on his approach, sank into the earth and disappeared immediately. One of his friends had once seen a farm with houses, men, and cattle ; but, as he approached nearer, they all vanished in a moment. Harold declared, that imagination had here played her tricks very successfully ; but the old man confirmed his assertion by this passage from Lauridsen's Book of the Soul : — " The devil has many helpers ; such as crimen and erlwomen, dwarfs, cobolds, nightmares, hob- goblins with glowing tongs, giants, and ghosts, that appear to people about to die." And as Harold, laughing, still expressed some doubts, the old man said, warmly, — " But is it not written in the Bible, that every knee, those in heaven and those upon and under the earth, shall bow before the Lord. And what are those under the earth, if not these subterra- nean goblins ? But take care," continued he, with a roguish look at Susanna, " take care of yourself when the twilight comes on, for that is the time when they carry on their pranks ; they have a par- ticular regard for young maidens, and like to drag them down into their houses. Take care ; for if once they have you in their church, (for they have a church, deep down under the earth,) you will never see the light of day again as long as you live. And you may believe, it is not very pleasant to live among the earth-spirits ! " Susanna shuddered, involuntarily ; she cast a look upon the wild forms about her, which the old man assured her, were all petrified witches, giants, and giantesses. Harold remarked the impression which this made upon Susanna ; but he who had so often pleased himself with exciting her imagina- tion, was now all calm clear reason ; and for her benefit, let his light shme into the darkness of superstition. The higher the travellers ascended, the more waste and desolate became the scene. This whole mountain region is strewed with blocks of stone of all sizes, and these have served as guides in a region where, without some such land-marks, the traveller must infallibly lose his way. For this purpose, heaps of stones have been piled upon the larger blocks ; and if a stone has fallen, every tra^ veller considers it as a sacred duty to replace it. In dark or foggy weather, these stones are al- most useless, and the journey is then extremely dangerous. The traveller easily loses his way, and freezes to death ; or he is overwhelmed by the falls of snow. Those who perish in this way are supposed, after death, to haunt the gloomy moun- tain passes. The guide showed them a place near the road, where the bodies of two merchants had been found, who had been overtaken by a snow- storm on the mountains, and had perished there. He related this with great indifference, for every year men are lost in this way, in the mountain re- gions, and this kind of death is not thought worse STRIFE AND PEACE. 33 than any other. But dreadful apprehensions be- gan to seize upon Susanna. There was, however, no reason to anticipate any misfortune, for the weather was fine, and their journey, though diffi- cult, had, thus far, encountered neither danger nor obstacle. It was continued uninterruptedly till evening came on. As they could not hope to reach any house before dark, they determined to rest for the night at Monsbuheja, because, in this neighbourhood, they could find grass for their horses. Our travellers succeeded in reaching this place a little before sunset. They found here a cave, formed partly by nature, partly by the hand of man. The walls were covered with moss, and decorated with the horns of rein-deer, fastened into crevices in the rock. Susanna soon prepared a comfortable couch of carpet-bags, cloaks, and shawls, for her lady, who thanked her with a look kinder than Susanna had ever received from her before. Harold, meanwhile, busied himself with the care of the horses, and in looking about for fuel for the nightly fire. About a hundred yards from the grotto, a river flowed between uncovered banks. On the brink of this river, and on the margin of the little snow-brook, they found roots of decayed junipers, and mountain willows, which they col- lected into a heap, in front of the cave, where they intended to light the nightly watch-fire. Susanna ascended a little eminence near the grotto, and saw the sun go down behind Halling- Jokulen. It stood like a round ball of fire on the edge of the immeasurable ridge of snow mountains, and cast its many-coloured rays of purple, yellow, and blue upon the clouds of heaven, and upon the wide waste of snow. It was in truth a magnificent spectacle ! *' Good God ! how great, how splendid ! " ex- claimed Susanna, involuntarily, as, with her hands clasped upon her breast, she bent, as if doing homage to the departing ruler of the day. *' Yes, great and splendid," answered a low echo near her. Susanna looked round, and saw Harold standing near her. There they stood, these two alone, illumined by the setting sun, inspired by the same thoughts and feelings, ardent and adoring, in the dreary, solitary waste ! Susanna could not repress the deep and solemn emotions that filled her heart. She extended her hand to Harold, and her tearful look seemed to say, " Peace, peace." It was as if she would take leave of him, but yet in love. She could at this moment have taken the whole world to her heart. She felt herself raised above all strife, all resentment, all littleness. Harold, on his part, seemed to have no thoughts of leave-taking ; he held Susanna's hand in his, and was about to speak, when Susanna withdrew her hand from him hastily, but kindly, and turned away, saying, " It is time to think about supper." The fire blazed up cheerfully before the grotto, and, from rose-coloured clouds, the moon rose slowly in the eastern sky. Susanna was soon cheerfully busied near the fire. From the cakes of portable soup and the cooked barley which she had brought with her, she prepared an excellent soup, in which pieces of veal were warmed. While this was boiling, she distri- buted bread, cheese, and brandy to the men, and in particular took good care of the old guide. Ha- rold let her do all this, without offering to assist her. He stood at a little distance leaning upon his gun, and watched her kind, cheerful face, lighted up by the fire, her easy movements, and the dex- terity she showed in everything that she under- took. He thought of her warm heart, of her frank, open disposition, her industry— he thought of those winter evenings when he had read aloud to her, or related legends, and how eagerly, how feelingly, she had listened. At once it seemed to him as if the ideal of a happy life, which had for so many years flitted before his fancy, was now at once be- come a reality. There it stood, lighted up by the blaze of the night-fire. Alette's warnings flitted by like the scattered shades of night, without form or reality. He saw himself the possessor of a piece of land, which he cultivated and improved j he saw himself the Oberlin of his valley, sur- rounded by neighbours and dependants, to whose happiness he contributed ; he saw himself in his own house, then, as formerly in the winter even- ings, with Susanna — yet not as formerly. For he now sat nearer to her, and she was his wife ; and he read to her again as before, and again delighted in her warm, lively sympathy ; and now and then his eyes wandered from his book to rest on her, and on the child who lay in the cradle at her feet, and Susanna looked at him as she had looked at him on the mountain, in the evening sunlight. The dancing flames that shone over the snow were the flames of his own hearth, and she, so cheerfully and hospitably busied there, was his wife, who spread comfort and happiness all about her. " Of what use is a more refined education 1" thought he ; " can it give a heart, soul, capacity, like Susanna's f ' He could not turn his eyes from Susanna ; every moment she seemed to him more beautiful. The sweet enchantments of love had cast their spells about him. The preparations for the evening meal were now completed, and Harold was roused from his visions of felicity, by a summons to partake of the good cheer which Su- sanna's skill had provided. It is not to be wondered at, if, after a fatiguing journey, and the reflections in which he had just been indulging, Susanna's cooking appeared to him excellent beyond expres- sion. Susanna's presence alone was wanting ; but she was within the cave, on her knees before the Oefwerstinna, with a bowl of soup in her hand, counting with quiet delight every spoonful that her lady carried to her lips. " That is the best soup I ever tasted," said Fru Astrid, when the bowl was empty, " really, Susanna, you are very notable." It was the first time the Oefwerstinna had remarked upon what was placed before her — it was the first word of praise that Susanna had ever received from her lips ; and no soup, not nectar itself, is so refreshing as the first word of praise from beloved lips. When Susanna left the cavern she was welcomed by Harold's eyes ; they spoke a language irresis- tibly enchanting to a heart that so thirsted for love as Susanna's, and in her tender and grateful nature she felt she could be content to pass an eternity upon these mountains, serving, and cooking soup for these two beloved beings, whose hearts had first warmed to her in these cold, dreary solitudes. They now made preparations for the night, which promised to be clear, but cold. The pea- sants laid themselves down, round the fire. Fru Astrid, anxious on account of Harold's shoulder, D 34 STRIFE AND PEACE. desired him to come into the cave, where he would be protected from the sharp air : but Harold wished to keep watch without, and seated himself near the fire, wrapped in his cloak. Susanna laid herself down softly at her lady's feet, which slie hoped, by this means, to keep warm. Strange shapes flitted before her inward eyes, while her eyelids remained closed. Forms of ice and snow approached her, and would have surrounded her, but suddenly retreated, and were melted, as by warm rays of love ; and the sun shone forth in splendour, and sweet happy feelings filled her soul. She slept. Then a new scene rose before her. She was again in Heimdale ; she stood on the bank of the river, and looked anxiously to the opposite shore, for there, among the dark pines, something white gleamed faintly, becoming every moment more distinct ; and when it came to the margin of the river, Susanna saw that it was a child, and recognised her own little Hulda. But she was pale as death, and tears fell over her snow-white cheeks, as she stretched out her arms to Susanna and called upon her name. Susanna wished to plunge into the waters that separated them, but she could not ; she felt herself chained by an in- visible power. As she turned, in inexpressible anguish, to free herself, she saw that it was Harold who thus held her ; he looked so cold, so stern ; Susanna loved and hated him at the same time. Again the voice of the child called plaintively, and now Susanna saw her little sister sink down upon the stones, on the shore, and the white waves dash over her. With a feeling of wild despair, Susanna awaked, and started up. She looked around her, bewildered. The cave arched itself gloomily over her, and the fire which blazed before it, threw its red, flickering rays upon the fantastically-decked walls. Susanna left the cave softly. She must see the sky, the stars ; she must breathe the fresh, pure air, to free herself from the haunting terrors of her dream. But no stars shone down upon her, for a thick gray canopy of clouds was drawn over the sky ; and the pale moonshine, which struggled through it, cast a mournful light upon the waste region and its dark fearful forms. The fire burned low, but now and then flared up, as if sleepily, in red flames. The peasants slept profoundly, lying round the fire ; Harold did not J perceive Susanna, and at this moment she wasf glad that he did not. That she might the sooner dissipate the painful impression, which her dream had made upon her, she took a water-pitcher, and went with it to the river, to bring water for the next day's breakfast. On the way she saw Ha- rold, who, with his gun on his shoulder, was pacing up and down, before the grotto. She succeeded, however, in reaching the river, unob- served by him, and filled her pitcher with the water mixed with snow. This little bodily exertion did her good ; but the lonely wandering was not fitted to enliven her spirits. The scene was in- describably dreary. It was midnight ; no sound broke the profound and gloomy stillness, but the monotonous murmur of the brook, and the fitful sweeping of the gusts of wind, that now and then breathed mournfully over the waste, like giant sighs. Tlie rocks about her were covered with the mourning lichen, and the white snow lichens grew in the crevices of the rocks. Here and there stood forth from the black sod a little pale sulphur- coloured flower, used by the Laplandei's in their incantations, and which here looked like a ghastly smile upon the face of death. Susanna coiild not free herself from the recol- lection of her dream ; wherever she turned her eyes, she thought she saw the figure of her little dying sister. This dream was perhaps a warning — it might be prophetic — perhaps she was never to leave this wilderness — was to die here, and then — what was to become of her little Hulda ? Would not the poor neglected child sink down upon the hard, cold stones of life, and the waves of misery close over her? While Susanna was lost in these gloomy thoughts, she was surprised by Harold ; he saw that she had been weeping, and asked in a voice so tender that it went to her heart, — " Why thus depressed ? Has anything troubled or displeased you ? Ah, tell it to me openly as to your friend. I cannot bear to see you thus." " I have had a bad dream," said Susanna, as she di'ied her tears and stood up. " Everything is so wild, so feai'ful here, it makes me think of all that is gloomy and sad in the world. But there is no use in thinking about it," said she, more cheerfully, " it will all look bright when the day dawns. This is the hour of darkness, the hour when the earth-spirits have power." And Susanna tried to smile. " But what is that ? " cried she, and the smile was suddenly changed to an expression of alarm, as she involuntarily drew nearer to Harold. A low rushing sound was heard in the air, and, at the same moment, a dark moving mass, which looked like a gray cloud, swept over the fields of snow, and approached the place where they were standing. In the dim moonlight, Susanna thought she saw frightful shapes, with horns and claws, moving in the cloud, and the words the " earth- spirits " had nearly escaped her lips. "It is a herd of rein-deer," said Harold, who seemed to divine her thoughts, and went forward a few steps, seizing his gun mechanically. But at the same moment the herd took a different direc- tion, and fled with wild speed toward the east. The wind rose, and swept with a mournful wail over the ice desert. " This is really fearful," said Susanna, shud- dering. " But to-morrow evening," said Harold, " we shall reach Storlie-Saeter, which lies below the snow region ; there we shall meet the green birch woods again, and there we shall find kind people, and a comfortable resting-place for the night. On the day after, we shall again have a fatiguing journey, but we shall pass through so many mag- nificent scenes, that you will think the trouble nothing, compared to the pleasure, for the land- scape will be more beautiful than terrible. There, between the Storlie-Saeter and Tverlie, you will see the wild Leira dash raging down the Hogfjell, and, with the speed of lightning and the noise of thunder, hurrying now round, now over masses of rock, sometimes bare, sometimes wooded, to meet its rival, the impetuous Bsejoerja. This place sur- passes in wild magnificence all that the imaguiation can conceive." Thus did Harold endeavour to dissipate the cloud upon Susanna's spirits ; but she listened to him half dreaming, and said, as if to herself, — - STRIFE AND PEACE. 35 " Let me only see her at home again, safe and happy, and then — " " And then ?" Harold took up the unfinished sentence, " and what then? " " Then back to my little Hulda ! " said Susanna, sighing. " What, Susanna, will you then leave us ? Do you really hate Norway ? " *' No, no ; not in the least. But one cannot serve two masters. Hulda calls me. I have no peace till I am again with her, and never will I leave her again. I have dreamed of her tonight. She was so pale — so pale ; ah ! — But you are pale, too — dreadfully pale ! " continued she, as she looked at Harold with surprise. ** You are surely ill ! " " It is this soft air and this lovely moonlight that paint me of this ashy colour," said Harold, jest- ingly, for he wished to conceal the true cause of his paleness, which in truth arose from the severe pain which he had suffered from his shoulder during the night. Meanwhile, they had reached the cave. Harold rekindled the smouldering fire, and Susanna softly entered and took her former position at the feet of her lady. It was late when she awoke from an unquiet sleep. She was roused by a loud noise about her. A pale light shone into the cave, and she heard Harold calling from without, *' It is time we were up, that we may reach our night quarteA as early as possible. We have a toilsome day before us." Susanna looked about for her lady. She was already dressed, and was standing by her, regard- ing her attentively. Shocked at her own tardiness, Susanna sprang up, and set about her preparations for breakfast with great alacrity. The soup was again in requi- sition, and the peasants were supplied with salmon, bacon, oaten bread, and curds soaked in snow- water. A violent wind had risen since midnight, which seemed to promise our travellers anything but a pleasant day's journey. It subsided, however, somewhat, in the course of the morning, but Ha- rold cast now and then an anxious look up to the gray roof of clouds above them, which became every moment darker. Susanna saw him once cast an inquiring glance at the guide, who only shook his gray head. At the same time all the men seemed cheerful, and Harold seemed to wish, by an appearance of high spirits, to remove the anxiety which his unusual paleness might occasion. They continued, during the whole forenoon, to ascend into the wintry regions, and the snow-fields stretched themselves out wider and wider. No living thing showed itself in this wilderness, but the tracks of rein-deer were sometimes to be seen, and here and there flies lay upon the snow in a deep wintry sleep. Fortunately, the wind conti- nued to go down, and at last its icy breath was felt only in short gusts. But, now and then, a rattling and roaring noise was heard, like that of thunder. This was caused by the Fjellskred, or fall of great rocks and stones, which are loosened from the mountains, and fall in vast masses. These slides are very common during and after storms. The guide related many stories of houses and men which had been buried under these falling rocks. The way became continually more difficult. They were often obliged to ford rapid rivers, and | to pass over snow bridges, under which the river had forced itself away. Harold, who was as brave as he was prudent and resolute, often averted dan- ger from Fru Astrid and Susanna by encountering danger himself. He was now no longer pale. The exertion, and a fever, which yet no one sus- pected, flushed his cheeks with a brilliant glow. At noon they reached the highest point of the mountain. Here two large heaps of stones were piled up, near a lake which was covered with ice in the hottest summer. Here the brooks began to run towards the west, and their way now led down- wards. The giant forms of the Basfjern and the Ishhaugen, and many other higher mountains, were seen in the distance. The wind had now died away, but the snow be- gan to fall fast, and the dark, lead-coloured sky seemed sinking down upon the travellers. " We must hasten," said the old peasant, as he cast a look full of foreboding upon the party who followed him, " otherwise we shall be buried in the snow upon the mountains, as had nearly hap- pened to the late Queen Margaret, when " He broke off" abruptly, for his horse suddenly tripped over a sharp projecting rock, and fell to the ground. The head of the old man struck vio- lently against a stone, and he lay senseless. It was some time before they succeeded in restoring him ; the blow proved very severe, and the old man's head was so much confused by his fall, that he could no longer serve as a guide. He was placed upon the same horse which his grandson rode, and the young man took charge of him with the utmost tenderness. Harold now rode at the head of the party as guide ; but the difficulties of his office increased every moment, for the snow fell frightfully fast, and the thickness of the atmo- sphere prevented him from distinguishing the friendly heaps of stones, the traveller's sole reli- ance. He was obliged to make frequent windings and turnings, and often to retrace his steps, in order to come upon the right path. At last they succeeded in reaching Bjseroeja-Saeter, an unoc- cupied Saeter-hut on the bank of the broad and rapid Bjseroeja. Here they halted to take counsel. The Bjeeroeja was so swollen, and ran with such violence, that they saw clearly the impossibility of passing it at this place. The old peasant advised that they should make a circuit which would bring them to a place where the river might be passed with safety. This was close by the Storlie-Saeter, and near the waterfall of that name, the noise of which might be heard at the distance of half a mile. It was true they must make a circuit of more than a mile. But what was to be done ? It was danger- ous to continue their journey in this storm, but still more dangerous to remain in this wilderness, where the snow often falls several yards deep. The old peasant, however, chose the last, for he found himself in no condition to sit upon a horse, and he begged them to leave him in the hut, with provisions for a few days, for in that time he thought the snow would cease and a thaw begin. He did not wish his grandson to remain with him, but the boy was firmly resolved not to leave his old grandfather. They were therefore provided hastily with everything that was needful in their wintry solitude. Their horses, too, were led into the hut and supplied with provender. 36 STRIFE AND PEACE. Susanna bound up the old man's head with the tenderness of a daughter. It was dreadful to her to leave the old man behind. "And if there should be no thaw," said she ; " if the snow should continue, and you should be frozen to death here?" "That has happened to many a better fellow," said the old man, calmly. " A man can die but once, and God is as near in the wilderness as by the fire-side. I am an old man ; let it be with me as Heaven pleases — my best days are over — but the boy — if you reach the dwellings of men in safety, think of him !" Susanna was touched. She pressed a kiss upon the old man's forehead, and a warm tear fell from her cheek upon his. The old man looked up at her with a grateful, affectionate look — " God's angel go with you," cried he, as she left the hut to join the rest of the party. The little train was once more in motion, passing slowly over fields of snow, bare rocks, and half- thawed morasses. They struggled through the snow, which was now very deep. The darkness increased every moment ; no one uttered a word. They went on thus for more than an hour. Susanna had for some time remarked, with great uneasi- ness, that Harold seemed to reel in his saddle, but she endeavoured to persuade herself that it was a delusion caused by the irregular motions of his horse, or by the thick cloud of snow through which she saw him. Indeed, everything about her had a bewildering aspect, and seemed wavering and shadowy. A sudden cry from Fru Astrid broke the gloomy silence, and, was this, too, delusion ? — Harold's horse stood without a rider. Alas ! it was but too certain. Harold had been seized with giddiness, and had fallen from his horse. He had long borne, in silence, the increasing pain in his shoulder and breast, and had endeavoured to con- ceal from himself, as fi'om others, the feverish gid- diness which threatened to overpower him. And even now he would not believe that it was any- thing serious. He made several attempts, with the assistance of the servant, to remount his horse, but in vain. He could no longer lift up his fevered head. Sinking on his knees in the snow, in silent despair, he leaned his burning forehead against a rock. " Here, then — here we are to die ! " said Fru Astrid, in a mournful tone, half aloud, *' and these young people are to be sacrificed for me ! My destiny Is true to itself." A moment of fearful suspense followed. Men and horses stood immovable, as if turned to stone ; the snow fell over them, and threatened to entomb them there. But now a clear, cheerful voice broke the still- ness : — " I see, yonder, a projecting rock, which will afford shelter from the snow ; we must carry him there." And Susanna raised Harold up, and supported him, while the servant went on before her. and made a path through the snow. About forty paces from the place where they stood was a projection of rock, which formed a high arch, and offered a protection from the snow, which was raised in high walls about the open space. « Lean upon me — do not fear — I am strong," said she, as she supported Harold with her gentle, but strong arm. He suffered her to lead him like a child ; and, though almost unconscious, felt a sort of pleasure in giving himself up to the guidance of the young girl, who spoke to him so kindly and soothingly, Harold was placed under the sheltering rock, and Susanna took off the shawl which she wore under her fur cloak, and made a pillow for his head. " Ah, that is good," said he, faintly, and pressed Susanna's hand, as his aching head found relief upon the soft cushion. Susanna now returned to her lady. Fru Astrid said, " Susanna, I should like to go there, too. It seems to me one might find a safe resting-place there ; but I am so stiff I can scarcely move." Susanna lifted her lady from her horse, and supported her to the sheltering ai'ch of rock. Here, the air was almost warm, compared to that in the open plain, for the wall of rock and the banks of snow shut out the piercing wind. Here Susanna gently placed her lady, who was almost exhausted with cold and fatigue. Susanna, too, was chilled and weary ; but what a summer of life and warmth can love, and a strong will, call up in the human heart! It was this inward power which now quickened the pulse of the young girl, and made the blood flow warmly from the chambers of her heart, sending sti-ength and energy through her whole frame. She rubbed the stiffened limbs of her lady, she warmed her with kisses and tears, she warmed her on her own beating heart. She prevailed on her to take some wine, and prepared a I'efreshing draught for Harold's parched and thirsty lips. She wet her handkerchief with snow-water, and laid it upon his burning forehead. Round both she spi'ead cloaks, to protect them from the cold. Then she stood silent for a moment, with an anxious and doubtful look. She was thinking what more was to be done to save them. Harold had raised himself up, and looked about him with all the sorrow that a manly nature feels, when compelled to I'enounce its noblest privilege — that of affording support and protection to the weak. A tear, the first Susanna had ever seen him shed, fell over his cheek. Fru Astrid gazed with a moui'nful look upon the tomb-like ax*ch above. But Susanna's eyes brightened. " Listen, listen!" cried she. Fru Astrid and Harold turned inquiring looks upon her. " I hear a noise," said Susanna ; "a noise like that of a great water-fall." "It is the rushing of the Stoi'lie water-fall," exclaimed Harold, for a moment animated by hope. " But how will that help us," he continued, sinking back again, despondingly, " we are still half a mile from it — we can never I'each it." " Yes, we can, we shall," said Susanna, with firm resolution. " Courage, coui*age, my dear lady, courage ! Herre Bergman, we shall reach it— we shall be saved !" " And how ?" asked Harold ; " this peasant is a stupid fellow ; he would never find his way there." " But I will find my way thei*e, be assured of it : and will i*eturn hei*e with assistance. Ojily tell me the signs by which I may know the right way. TJiese, and the noise of the water-fall, will guide me." STRIFE AND PEAGE. 37 " It is impossible ; alone, in the cold and the snow-storm, you would inevitably perish." " I shall not perish. I am strong. No one shall hinder me— and if you will not tell me the way, I will find it out myself." Her cheei'ful and resolute tone inspired Harold with a sort of confidence ; and, as he saw that her resolution was fixed, he endeavoured to describe to her the objects by which she was to direct her course ; there were mountains and rocks which the snow and the darkness of the night might pre- vent her from distinguishing. Susanna listened with fixed attention, and then said, cheerfully, « Now 1 have it ! I shall find the way ! God protect you ! I shall soon come back with assistance." When she came out into the open air, fehe found the servant seeking consolation in the flask of brandy, and the horses standing spiritless and benumbed. She begged him to take good care of them, and charged him, enforcing her charge with threats and promises of reward, to think of Fru Astrid and Harold, and to watch over their safety. She herself gave her horse grain and water, patted him on the neck, and spoke to him in kind, encouraging tones. She then mounted him to begin her lonely, perilous ride. But it was only with the greatest difficulty that she could induce him to separate himself from his companions, and when he had advanced about twenty steps, he stood still and insisted upon going back. This manoeuvre was repeated several times. At last neither blows nor words had any effect ; he would not obey. Susanna alighted, and let the horse go. Tears forced themselves into her eyes, as she saw herself abandoned by him ; and she raised her hands in prayer to Him who alone saw the lonely, unprotected maiden. She now set forth upon her way on foot. Could any one have seen Susanna, now toiling through ths deep snow, now climbing over rocks, now wandering over morasses in which she feared to sink at every step, he would indeed have been amazed at her courage and her strength. But the angel of God, whom the old man had wished her as a guide, seemed to be with her on the way ; for BOW the snow ceased to fall, and now and then a ray of moonlight struggled forth, and showed her some of the objects which Harold had described to her. The increasing noise of the waterfall sounded in her ears like the trumpet of the resur- rection. A firm resolution to persevere to the end, a secret pleasure in the thought of proving her love even by the sacrifice of her own life, winged her steps, and did not suff'er her courage to fail for an instant. Thus passed two hours. Susanna now heard the water roaring at her feet. She thought she must be standing on the brink of the precipice. Darkness and snow were all around her. She stood still. It was a moment of terrible uncer- tainty. Just then the clouds separated, and the half-moon shone out in full splendour, just as it was about to sink behind the mountains. Susanna now saw the precipice on whose brink she stood. She saw the broad waters of the Storlie-fall shining in the moonlight, and below she saw the Saeter-hut. Under the arch of stone where Fru Astrid and Harold were left, a deep, mournful silence reigned for some time after the departure of Susanna. It was broken by the Oefwerstinna, who said, in a solemn voice, " Harold, I have a request to make of you." " Command me !" answered he, " may I live to fulfil your wish !" '' We seem both," Continued Fru Astrid, « to be standing near the grave ; but you are younger and stronger than I. You, I hope, will be saved. Harold, I must entrust to you an important charge ; and I rely upon your honour, on the in- tegrity I have observed in you, that it will be faithfully executed, if I should never myself be able to fulfil it, and you, as I hope you will, should survive me." The Oefwerstinna spoke these words with a firm voice ; but during the following recital, she was often shaken by varying emotions. She spoke rapidly, and in short, broken sentences. " I had a sistei*, I cannot say how I loved her. She was as gentle and mild as I was ardent and impetuous. When I married, she came to my house. There was no happiness there. The pro- perty which my sister possessed enabled her to consult the wishes of her heart, and she married an amiable young man, but without property, a lieutenant Wolf, and for some months enjoyed the highest earthly felicity. But this happiness was short. Wolf perished upon an expedition at sea, and his unhappy wife sank under her grief. She died a few hours after the birth of a son, whom she had placed in my anns, solemnly exhorting me to be as a mother to him. " And I was a mother to this child. An own son could not have been dearer to me. I was proud of the bright, beautiful boy. I saw in him a happier future. He would realise the ideal of my youth — he would — oh, in my poor and barren life I was still rich in the possession of this child ! But my husband saw with displeasure the fondness that I lavished on the boy. He conceived a violent hatred for the child, and my life became more bitter than ever. " I was obliged to leave home to visit a sick relation, I wished to take the child with me, for I had never yet been sepai'ated from him. But my husband wished to keep him with himself, and, to persuade me to consent, called words of tender- ness to his aid. These I could not withstand, and, in spite of the entreaties of the child, and my own anxiety, which seemed like a foreboding, I left the poor boy behind. I thought myself strong in doing this, but I was only weak. I had promised the mother of the child that I would protect him. I knew that I was leaving him in harsh, unfriendly hands— and yet . When I returned, after a week's absence, the boy had disappeared. He had, they said, gone out one day, and had never returned. He had been sought evei-ywhere ; and, at last, his little hat was found, lying on a rock, near the sea-shore. It was thought that he must have fallen from the cliff. I found my husband busied m taking possession of my sister's inherit- ance, which, by her will, was to come to us in case of the boy's death. From this time, my soul was clouded by a terrible suspicion. God be praised that it was false ! God pardon me that I har- boured it ! Twenty long years has it gnawed at my heart ; twenty long years has it hung, like a 38 STRIFE AND PEACE. leaden weight, upon the fulfilment of all my duties. " All my inquiries were in vain. No one could be accused — no one seemed to have had any hand in the matter — it was the work of a fatal destiny. All I learned was this — the boy had received per- mission to go out and play ; he had left the house alone, and liad never been seen again. ** Twenty years, twenty dark years had passed since that time, and hope had gradually died away in my heart, the faint hope which had sometimes glimmered there, that I should yet find my beloved child again. My husband died, after he had been for many years deprived of all strength of mind and body, by a stroke of paralysis. I was free ; but what had I to live for ? I had lost my faith in all that makes life dear, and I stood alone, on the verge of old age, surrounded by dark and bitter recollections. " In this condition I found myself a few days ago, when I received a letter from the present commander of K. Enclosed was an unsealed letter, which he had, as he said, found in a drawer in which my husband used to put letters and papers of little value. And this letter, oh, how it has changed my heart, my whole future ! The letter was from my husband, written, apparently, after the first shock of paralysis. These lines, traced by an unsteady hand, assured me that the lost child still lived, and directed me to obtain further information from a certain sergeant Ronn, at Bergen. Here the letter broke off abruptly, as if interrupted by sudden illness. " I had been accidentally from home on the day that my husband was taken ill ; when I returned, I found him deprived of speech, and nearly lifeless. By great exertions, life was restored, but his mind was clouded, and half his body benumbed. He lived thus many years. I believe that in a moment of consciousness, he wished to tell me of the boy's fate, or perhaps of the existence of this letter, but the hand of death prevented. How this letter came to be among the old papers, I cannot under- stand. Perhaps it was placed there by my hus- band himself, in the moment of disturbed intellect in which he concluded it. But, enough — the hand of Providence preserved it, and brought it safely to its destination. " You know now the cause of my sudden jour- ney. And if, for me, it is to end here ; if I am never to fulfil the highest wish, the last hope, of my heart ; if it be not permitted to me to see again the son of my sister, and to restore to him what has been unjustly taken from him — then hear my entreaty, my solemn, dying charge. Seek out in Bergen the person whom 1 have named ; you will find his address upon this paper ; tell him that, in my last hour, I commissioned you to act in my place ; spare no money ; promise — threaten — but find my sister's son — go to him, carry him my last, loving greeting— give him this — it is my will— it will put him in possession of all my property ; it is in truth his mother's inheritance, for my own is almost entirely gone. Tell him that mourning for him has consumed my life. Tell him that if my memory be dear to him— my God ! what mean you, Harold ? Why do you thus chisp my hand ? — you weep !" " TeU me," said Harold, in a voice almost choked with emotion, " did not this child wear on a riband round his neck a little iron cross, with the head of a cherub engraved on it V* " I took this cross from his mother's neck, and hung it upon his." *' And here — here it is, still," cried Harold, as he guided Fru Astrid's hand to the little cross which hung from his neck. " What recollections are waking in me ! Yes, it must be so — I cannot doubt. You are the first protectress of my child- hood — the sister of my mother ! " Harold was interrupted by a cry of indescribable emotion. " Good God ! — you are " " The son of your sister, the child whom you have mourned. At this moment, I recollect my- self and you." *' And I — your voice, Harold, has often sounded strangely familiar to me. I now recognise the tones of your father's voice. Ah, speak, speak, explain, give me certainty, you will give me more than life." " What shall I say 1" continued Harold, in great agitation. " Much is dark and unintelligible, even to me. But your relation has revived recollections and impressions which make me feel sui'e that I i am not deceiving you and myself. I remember I now distinctly going down the hill in front of the j fortress, upon a little sled, and that I was met hy Serjeant Ronn (whose name 1 had forgotten till this moment), who asked me to take a ride with him in his sleigh. I liked nothing better, and sprang in. I remember now, well, that my hat was blown from my head ; that I wished to recover it, but was prevented by the Serjeant, who threw his cloak over me, and went on at a fast gallop. The ride was long — but from this moment my recollections are confused, and I look back to this time, as into a dark night which is now and then brightened by a transient ray of light. Perhaps I was then seized by the severe illness which, for a long time, checked my growth. It hovers before me like a dream, that I sometimes begged to be carried home to my parents, that my entreaties were at first answered by soothing words, and then silenced by threats. 1 have a faint recollection of living for some time in a miserable house, where I was treated with harshness, by coarse men, and where I longed for death. Then comes, like sun- shine, the vision of another house ; a bright sky, pure air, green meadows, and kind, friendly people, who treated the poor sick child with infinite kind- ' ness. This house was Alette's, and her excellent parents adopted me after they had brought Tne back to life. My new relations became very dear to me; I was happy; my sickness, and long con- tinuing debility, had almost entirely effaced the impressions of earlier days ; I forgot the names of people and places, but never did 1 forget the first guardian of my childish years. Like a beautiful and holy vision, she has followed me through life, though, in the long course of years she lias been as if shrouded in a thick veil. " When I grew older, I asked and received from my adopted father an account of my arrival in his house. I learned then that he one day visited Herre K., in Christiansand, upon business, and saw, at his house, a wretchedly pale, sick child, who sat on the floor in the sunshine. The child began to cry, but became silent and terrified when K. led him away, threatening him with the dark STRIFE AND PEACE. room. Indignant at this treatment, my benefactor asked to whom the boy belonged, and received for answer, that it was a poor child, without relations, whom K. had taken under his care out of com- passion. Alette's father immediately resolved to make every effort to take the child from this house, and offered to carry the boy home with him, to try the effect of the country air upon his health. In this manner, I entered the family, which from that time I was to call my own. Knowledge of my parents, or of the real nature of "my connection with Herre K., I could never obtain. K. died a few weeks after I left his house, and his wife was, or pretended to be, entirely ignorant of everything that concerned me, " But my excellent foster-parents never let me feel the want of other relations ; they made no difference between me and their own child, and Alette was the tenderest and best of sisters. Death deprived us of these beloved protectors. Alette's father died two years ago. Alette went to remain with some near relations till she could give her hand to the man whom she had long loved, and I wished, by travel and mingling in new scenes, to dissipate the gloom which hung over me. It was then that accident, or rather Providence, conducted me to you. Admiration, and an attraction, whose power I cannot describe, drew me to you ; perhaps too, unknown to myself, the dim, fond recollections of childhood influenced me. At this moment they all rise up, clear and fresh, within me. I am carried back to my boyish years, to the time when I called you mother, and loved you to idolatry, and now ." And with passionate tenderness, Harold clasped Fru Astrid's hand : " and now, what does your heart say to me ? Can you put faith in these dim recollections 1 Will you believe this tale without proof ? May I again call you my mother ? Can you, will you, receive me as your son ? " " Can you ask ? See these tears of joy — I have not shed many such — I cannot doubt — I believe — I am happy — ^jou are my sister's son — my child — you are mine again ! But ah, have I found you only to see you perish ? To see you perish here for my sake 1 This moment is indeed bitter ! " " And yet sweet," cried Harold, warmly. " We have found one another ; we are united ! " « In death." " We may yet be saved." " Only by a miracle." " Providence can work miracles. Have we not just had proof of it ? '* " You are right, Harold ; but I have been so unhappy. It is hard for me to believe in happi- ness. But in any case, let us bless God for this moment, and may His will be done ! " " His will be done," repeated Harold, in a low tone, but with manly composure. And both were silent. All about them was thick darkness, for the moon had gone down, and the snow was again falling fast. They were as if buried alive. But the saving miracle was at hand. Lights glimmered, and voices sounded over the waste of snow. " Susanna ! " cried Fru Astrid and Harold, with one voice, " Susanna, our preserving angel ! " Yes, it was Susanna, who, with a torch in her hand, rushed into the gloomy vault. At once there was a radiance as of a thousand diamonds. " God be praised ! You are safe ! " cried Susanna. "Here are good, strong people, who will help us. But we must hasten — the snow is falling thick." Several peasants now appeared with torches and two hand-barrows. Upon these Fru Astrid and Harold were placed, and covered with warm sheep-skins. " Susanna," cried Fru Astrid, " come and rest near me." *' No," said Susanna, and took up her torch, " I will go before and carry the hght. Do not fear for me, I am strong." But a strange feeling suddenly seized her ; her heart seemed sinking within her, and her knees failed. She stood for a moment erect, took one step forward, then sank upon her knees in the snow ; the torch fell from her hand. " Hulda ! " was whispered in her heart, "my little darling, farewell ! " " Susanna ! Great God !" cried two voices at the same time ; and, made strong by their fears, Fru Astrid and Harold sprang up and clasped Susanna. She seized the hands of her lady and Harold, and said with great difficulty, in an im- ploring tone, — " My little Hulda — the fatherless — the mother- less—think of her." " Susanna, my good, dear child ! " cried Fru Astrid, " you will not, you shall not die ! " And for the fii'st time a ray of anxious love fell from her dark eyes upon the young, devoted girl. It was the first time Susanna had ever received such a look, and it was as if heaven had opened itself to her. " Oh, Harold ! " said Susanna, looking up with inexpressible tenderness, " I could not make you happy in life, I know it — but I thank God that I can die for you. Now — now, do not despise my love ! " And taking his hand and Fru Astrid's, she pressed them to her heart, and said, with an expiring voice, " forgive my faults, for the sake of my love ! " A slight shudder passed over ; her head sank upon her breast. She was placed, ap- parently lifeless, beside her lady, who took her in her arms, and bathed the pale young face with her tears. RETURN TO LIFE. I waked, and life had triumphed over death ; I waked, and love sat watching by my couch. Months passed away, and life was for Susanna only a wild troubled dream. In the delirium of fever she lived over again the events of the moun- tain journey, but they were clothed in yet darker teri'ors. She saw the earth -demons who came round her on the snow-wastes, and tried to bury her under heaps of snow and ice, which they hurled upon her. With desperate energy, Susanna struggled against them; for, she knew with her must die all hope of safety for those she loved, and every piece of ice which the demons threw upon her, she threw back upon them. At last, the earth-demons promised her, if she would go with them quietly, they would leave her friends in peace, and would even bestow happiness and riches upon them. Then Susanna strove with them no longer, but grieving for the beautiful sky, and the earth, with its green valleys, and the loved 40 STRIFE AND PEACE. ones whom she was never to see again, she allowed herself to be led by the demons to their subter- ranean dwellings. Yet she was content, for she suffered for those she loved ; and from the cold, dark depths, where she was now condemned to dwell, she sent the tenderest and the most touch- ing words of farewell to Hulda, to her lady, to Harold and Alette, and thus betrayed uncon- sciously all the struggles, all the griefs, of her heart. One day it seemed to her as if she had lived a hundred years in the lower world, and she was now in their church, for the time was come when she must die ; and in death, she knew, she should escape from the power of the earth-demons. But she could feel no pleasure in the thought ; her heart was so faint, her breast so cold. She lay stretched out upon a stone floor, a roof of ice arched itself over her. This was her tomb, here she was to die. And gradually all thought and feeling was benumbed : her sorrows faded away, a sweet calm sleep came over her, and Susanna, who still retained her consciousness, thought death a refreshing rest from which she feared to wake. Then it seemed to her as if the door of the tomb were opened, and she saw a light like that of sun- shine. Some one approached and touched her lips v.'ith a flame — a flame like that of life. Then her heart beat quicker. She looked up, and saw, standing near her pillow, a form which bent over her, with a look full of love and pity. The look, the beautiful, life-giving look, she thought she had somewhere seen before, and the longer she gazed at the face, the more it seemed to her that she re- cognised the features — the noble and beloved fea- tures — of her lady. But she looked younger and more beautiful than formerly. Susanna saw roses at the foot of her bed, and the sun was shining upon them. Everything seemed to her so strange, so beautiful, she involuntarily whispered, " Are we now in heaven ? " " Yet upon the earth," answered a voice full of tenderness. " You will still live here for those who love you." " Ah, who loves me 1 " said Susanna, faintly and dejectedly. "I," answered the voice, "and not I alone. But be calm and still ; a motiier watches over you." And Susanna was calm and still ; and resigned herself, with grateful acquiescence, to the cares of her tender nurse. Fru Astrid's presence, the mere sound of her light footstep, the mere sight of her passing shadow, did Susanna good. Every- thing that she took from her hand seemed to her pleasant and salutai'y. There sprang up between thoin a relationship full of loveliness. Fru Astrid, who had seen the young girl as if born again under her cherishing, conceived for her an affection which surprised hei-self, and, at the same time, made her happy. The strong, healthful Susanna was too far removed fi'om her sympathy. But the sick, weak girl, who, in her weakness, was so childlike and loving, stole into her heart, and called up in it a new summer of life and love. This is the effect of all true affection, of all pure love — and at every season of life ; for love is the sunshine of life and of the heart. As soon as distinct consciousness returned to Susanna, she inquired the fate of tJhose who had been with her on the mountain journey. She learned with surprise and delight, that Fru Astrid had discovered in Harold her sister's son, and that the darkest shadows of her Ufe had thus been dis- pelled. The information received from Serjeant Rbnn, and that obtained by further investigations, to which this information led, soon established, be- yond a question, Harold's identity with the lost child. They learned, that Herre K. was a confi- dant of the Oefwerste, and bad enough to be an accomplice in any crime, by which he could hope to gain money ; he had willingly undertaken the charge of gradually effacing from the mind of the child all his early associations. Sickness came to the aid of cruel usage ; and, after he had been a few months in the house of Herre K., the poor boy was so dull and listless, that K. accepted the offer of Herre Bergman, without any fear that it would lead to the discovery of his secret, and gladly gave up the child whose presence was a daily re- proach to him. Harold's health had been soon re-established after the mountain journey, by skilful medical treatment in Bergen. After he had been present at Alette's wedding, he had travelled into foreign countries ; but intended to return to Semb in the course of the summer, to establish himself there, and to devote himself to his newly found and be- loved relation. The guide — the honest old Hallingdale peasant — found his death on the mountains. His grand- son was found weeping over his body, himself al- most dead with cold and hunger, by the people who were sent to their assistance by Fi-u Astrid and Harold, and who had succeeded in making their way through the masses of snow to Bjaeroeja- Saeter, and in saving the life of the poor boy. Susanna gave some tears to the old man's me- mory, but regretted in secret that she had not died like him. She looked forward to the future with disquietude. When she could once more go out into the open air, when Fru Astrid drove out with her, and she felt the spring air, and saw the sea, and the clear sky beyond the mountains, and the beautiful gar- dens at their foot, then a sense of the beauty of the earth and of life awoke in her again. She looked with admiration and delight upon the new objects that surrounded her — the grandeur of na- ture, and the active life and gay shifting scenes of the city — for she was in the magnificently situated Bergen, the largest commercial city of Norway, the birth-place of Holiberg, of Dahl, and of 01^ Bull. But she was soon to leave all these, and what was yet hardei', she was to be separated from her beloved lady ; for Susanna had firmly resolved never to see Harold again. Shame dyed her cheeks whenever she thought of the words she had spoken upon the mountain, when she thought herself dying ; and she felt that she could never see him after this, much less live in the same house with him, without painful embai-rassment on both sides. She was resolved therefore never to return to Semb ; but, as soon as her strength permitted, to go by water from Bergen to Sweden, to return to her native place, there to seek health for her own heart upon the breast of her little darling, and re- cover strength to live and labour. STRIFE AND PEACE. 41 But it was not easy for poor Susanna to com- municate this resolution to her lady. She trem- bled violently when she did so, and could not re- strain her tears. It was at the same time soothing and agitating to her feelings, when Fru Astrid, after she had listened to Susanna in silence, answered with great composure, — " You are at liberty, Susanna, to do as you think best ; but in three or four months — my affairs will detain me here for that time — in a few months, I shall return to Semb, and I cannot well do without you on the joui-ney." " Then I will go there with you," said Susanna, pleased to find herself of importance. " A few months more, then ! " thought Susanna with sad pleasure. And these months were inex- pressibly delightful and improving to her. Fru Astrid was devoted to her, and endeavoured in many things to supply the deficiencies of her neg- lected education. And Susanna was an apt pupil, and loved her lady more and more every day. And Fru Astrid herself learned the truth of the proverb, " the breath of youth is healthful." In the begin- ning of the month of July, Fru Astrid passed with Susanna over the mountains which had once threatened them with death ; but at this season the journey was not dangerous, though still very fatiguing. The Oef werstinna was, during the whole journey, in excellent spirits, and her gaiety seemed every day to increase. Susanna, on the contrary, became every day more sad, Fru Astrid's cheer- fulness only increased her dejection ; she felt her- self unutterably desolate. It was in a beautiful July evening, that they entered Heimdale. Susanna's heart swelled with grief when she saw the scenes and the objects which had been so dear to her, and which she was so soon to quit for ever. They had never appeared to her so charming. She saw the rays of the sun fall on the Crystal-mountain, and remembered Harold's sagas. She saw the oak grove where Fru Astrid had sat and enjoyed the perfumes, which Susanna's hand had prepared for her in silence. And the spring where the silver-weed and the lady-mantles grew, the clear spring by whose side she had passed so many happy hours. Susanna almost thii'sted for it. The windows at Semb glistened in the rays of the setting sun, the house seemed to be illuminated — there had she worked and ordered ; there had she loved ; there had the winter fire blazed up so cheerfully, as she listened to Harold's stories ; the smoke rose from the huts in the valley, which was to her like a home ; where she knew every child and every cow ; where she knew every joy and every care of those who dwelt there. There had she fii'st learned to know Harold — still Harold — still she found his image at the heart of all these recollections. But now — soon she was to leave all this, leave all beauty, all love. They arrived at Semb, and were greeted by Alfiero with a joyful bark. Susanna, with tears in her eyes, called about her and greeted all her old acquaintances, men and animals. The windows in Fru Astrid's room were open, and from them might be seen a most charming view of the valley, with its blue river, its little hills and green slopes, and its peaceful church- spire in the back-ground. The Oefwerstinna remained standing, as il overpowered by the beauty of the scene, and her eyes brightened as she said, — " See, Susanna, is not our valley beautiful ? and will it not be beautiful to live here, bestowing happiness on others, and finding it ourselves ?" Susanna answered « yes" hastily, and left the room. She felt as if suffocated ; and yet once more Barbara arose in her, and said, — " Beautiful ! yes, for her ! She does not think of me. She does not trouble herself in the least about me— nor does Harold. The poor ser- yanc whom they needed on the mountain journey is useless in the valley. She may go ; they are happy; they have enough in themselves. It is indifferent to them whether I live or die, or what I suffer. Well, I will no longer be a burden to them. I will go — I will go far, far from here. I will no longer trouble myself about them. I will forget them as they have forgotten me. " But tears fell involuntarily over Susanna's cheeks ; and as they flowed, the Barbara spirit vanished, and Sanna began : — " Yes, I will go, but I will bless them wherever I go. May they find another as true, as devoted as I. May they never miss Susanna. And you, my little Hulda — you, my darling, my only joy, soon shall I be with you ! I will take you in my arms, and carry you to some quiet corner, where I can work for you undisturbed. A bit of bread, and a quiet shelter, I can surely earn for us both. And when my heart aches, I will press you — you dear, soft child— to my bosom, and thank God that I have yet some one on the earth whom I can love and who will love me." She reached the door of her own room. She opened it, went in, and remained standing in silent astonishment. Were her senses still bewildered ? or was she just waking from a dream of years ? She found herself once more in the chamber where she had passed so many years of her youth ; in the little room which she had herself arranged, painted, and decorated ; the little room which she had so often described to Harold ; and there, by the window, stood little Hulda's bed, with the worked counterpane, and the blue muslin cur- tains. This sight made the blood rush to Susanna's heart, and, almost wildly, she cried out, « Hulda, my little Hulda !" " Here I am, Sanna ; here is your little Hulda ;" answered a clear, sweet, childish voice ; the cover- ing of the bed moved ; a little cherub face peeped out, and two white arms were stretched out towards Susanna. With a cry of wild delight, Susanna rushed forward and clasped her little sister in her arms. Susanna wept and laughed by turns, and for some time was quite unconscious of what was passing about her. When she became more composed, she found herself sitting on Hulda's bed, the child clasped in her arms, and over the little golden head was bent a manly face, with an expression of deep earnestness and gentle emo- tion. « Little Hulda," said Harold, « ask Susanna to love me a little too, and not to say no to what you have promised me — ask her to let me call the little Hulda my daughter, and your Susanna my Susanna." " Oh yes, Sanna, you must !" cried little Hulda, 42 STRIFE AND PEACE. as with childish warmth she threw her arms about Susanna's neck, and then went on eagerly, — " Oh, love him, Sanna ! he loves you so much : he has told me so, so many times ; and he himself brought me to you, to make you happy. And see, he gave me this beautiful neck-riband, and he has promised next winter to tell me beautiful stories ; he knows so many. Have you ever heard the one about Rypan in Justedalen, Sanna 1 He has told it to me. And the one about the good lady, who, after the Black Death, went about in the valleys, and took the little fatherless children, and became a mother to them ? Oh, Sanna, love him, and let him be my father !" Susanna let the little prattler run on without being able to say a word. She hid her face in Hulda's bosom, and tried to collect her bewildered thoughts. "Susanna," said Harold, entreatingly, "will you not look at me ? Will you not say one kind word to mel" Susanna lifted her glowing face, all'bathed in tears, and said, " Oh, how can I ever thank you ?" « How ? " said Harold, " by making me happy : by — becoming my wife. " Susanna stood up, and said, with as much inge- nuousness as tenderness, " God knows how happy I should feel myself, if I could believe that you said this for your own sake, and not merely for mine. But, ah ! I cannot — I know that it is your generosity, your kindness " — " Generosity ? It is to myself, then, that I am generous. I assure you, that, at this moment, I am more than ever thinking of my own good ; and I am now as thoroughly selfish as you could pos- sibly desue." *' And your sister Alette," continued Susanna, with downcast eyes, " I know she does not wish to have me for a sister, and " — *' If Alette was once so foolish," said a kind voice, " she is here now to make amends for it. " And Alette embraced the astonished Susanna, as she continued " Oh, Susanna, but for you I should no longer have a brother ! I know you now, and I have read in the depths of his heart, and I know that it is by you alone he can be made happy. Therefore, I beg you, Susanna, beg you earnestly, to make him happy. Be his wife, Susanna, and my sister. " " And you. Alette, you too would delude me with your sweet words. Ah ! if you could make me forget that my weakness — that 1 myself by my confession — but I cannot forget it, and therefore I cannot believe you, dear, generous friends ! and therefore 1 beg you, I supplicate you" — "What fine speeches are going on here?" exclaimed a serious voice ; and the Oefwerstinna stood in the midst of the contending group, and said with affected sternness, " Is it possible that my young relatives and my daughter Susanna have taken it upon them to discuss and decide matters of importance without taking me into their counsels ? Yes, I see by your guilty faces that it is so, and I shall punish you all ! Now, not another word upon the subject till eight days are past ; then, as sovereign lady and mistress of this house, I desire and command that the matter in dispute shall be laid before me, and that I shall have a voice in the adjustment of it. " Susanna, in the mean time, shall be in safe custody; I will myself undertake the charge of her safe keeping. Did you really believe, Su- sanna," and here Fru Astrid's voice took the tendex'est tone, " did you really believe that you could escape from me so easily ? No, no, my child. You were mistaken. From the time you saved our lives you became ours for life, you and your little Hulda. But the tea-table is set under the linden-trees in the garden ; come, my chil- dren, let us fortify ourselves for the coming strife." THE END OF STRIFE. O'er the vexed earth the storm-wind holds his wayj See, how he urges on the hurrying doudd ; Then, stooping, sweeps across the dark pine wood ; The tall trees tremble in their ancient home ! Discord and terror reign ;— but high o'er all. The deathless stars look down, and tell of peace. There is sorrow and care upon the earth ; there is sin and sickness, despair, and long, silent, wasting misery. But, God be praised ! these are not all. The earth holds, too, the good, the beautiful, — hearts that have not ached, hopes that have not been blighted. Life has its moments of rapture, its years of blessed peace, gay marriage feasts, and peaceful, holy death-beds. Three months after the little strife we have just related, one of these gay marriage feasts was cele- brated at Semb, in Heimdale. The sun of nature and of the human heart shone down upon it to- gether, and called up a paradise upon earth— a paradise which may be always found there ; though too often concealed from the eyes of men, and its entrance barred against them by the power of un- holy spirits. «« Still in the faces of the fallen, gleam The nohle traces of their heavenly lineage ; — The heart of Daphne throbs beneath the rind.*" It was an autumn day ; but one of those autumn days, on which earth shows herself to the blue eye of heaven, with her brightest sunshine, and her purest breezes, as if she would deck herself yet once in all her richest ornaments, before she re- signed them for the snowy veil. The little wooded heights in the valley were gorgeous in their autumnal hues ; the dark fir- tree, the bright green pine, the golden birch, the hazel, with its pale leaves, the mountain ash, with its scarlet clusters, were grouped upon them ; the Heimdale river, swollen with the autumn rains, flowed on, deeper and more rapid than ever. Herds of cattle, who had come down from the Saeter valleys, wandered along its green banks. The chapel bell rang out cheerfully in the clear air, while the church-goers passed along the little winding foot-paths, that led from their cottages to the house of God. From the bank of the river nearest Semb a little fleet of gaily-decorated boats was pushing off. In the principal boat sat the Lady of Semb ; but no longer the bent, drooping form, that seemed sinking to the grave. A new youth bloomed on her cheeks and breathed from her lips. Her eyes turned, with quiet enjoyment, now on the beautiful scenes of nature, now on the still more beautiful objects that were nearer to her — two happy human beings. Beside her, more like a little angel than a child, sat the little Hulda ; a garland of gay flowers twined among her golden locks. But the * Tegn^r. STRIFE AND PEACE. 43 looks of all, as was fitting, were turned upon the bride and bridegroom, and they were indeed beau- tiful to look upon, so inwardly happy did they seem. In a boat, which followed, a little strife was seen, between a young woman and her husband ; he was endeavouring to wrap a cloak about her, which she, -however, stoutly rejected. One could not but take the part of the husband, in his tender care for the young wife, who was soon to become a mother. The issue of the strife was — that Alf gained the victory over Alette. Other boats con- tained other wedding guests. The men who rowed, had all garlands on their yellow straw hats, and thus, to the sound of gay music, the little party passed over the river, to the chapel. The chapel was a simple building, with no other ornament than a beautiful altar picture, and the flowers and branches of trees, with which the walls and floor were decorated in honour of the occasion. The sermon was simple and earnest — the singing good. In a word, no discordant tone disturbed the devotion which the service of God, in Norway, is so well calculated to excite and to sustain. Here Susanna and Harold called upon Heaven to bless the promise which they made to love each other upon eacth, through joy and sorrow. Many people had come to the church on this day, and when the wedding party returned home, many other boats joined them, and accompanied them, with songs and shouts, to the opposite shore. But Susanna did not feel herself entirely happy, till, in Fru Astrid's quiet room, she could rest her forehead upon Fru Astrid's knees, and feel her kind hands laid upon her head in maternal be- nediction. *' I, too, have a mother," cried she, as she em- braced Fru Astrid's knees, and looked up to her with warm, childlike love. " Ah, I am too happy, quite too happy ; God has given me, the poor lonely one, a home and a mother." *' And a husband too, do not forget him, I beg," said Harold, as he gently embraced Susanna, and knelt beside her before his adopted mother. Fru Astrid clasped them both in her arms, and said, in a low, tender voice, as she led them to a window, from which the beautiful valley might be seen, in its whole extent, '* To-day, we begin to- gether a new life, and together we will endeavour to make it a happy one. At this moment, as I stand before you, my children, looking forward, as into a bright future, I think I see clearly how it may become so. We have not here the riches of art, or the changing scenes of life in the great world, to cheer and enliven us. But our life need not, on that account, be dull and monotonous. We have heaven — and Nature. We will call down heaven into our hearts and homes ; we will question Nature of her secret wonders, and elevate our souls by their contemplation. From our quiet fireside we will sometimes observe the actors in the great drama of the world, that we may turn back the more cheerfully to our own little scene, and think how each may best play his part in it. "And I promise you, beforehand," continued she, in a sportive tone, " that it will not be mine, often to make such long speeches as this." But Harold and Susanna united in assuring her that she could not possibly say too much. " Well, then, if you wUl sometimes listen to my preaching, I, on the other hand, will often be a child with you, and will learn from you. I am now become inquisitive about Nature, and long to make myself better acquainted with her. The thought breathes like the air of spring over my autumn .'* " In truth," said Harold, " intercourse with Nature keeps the hearts of men young and health- ful. I always think, with pleasure, of Goethe's words, when, in his eighty-sixth year, he returned, sun-burnt and happy, from a visit to the country ; * I have been talking with the vines,' said he, * and you cannot think what beautiful things they have said to me.' May we not see here the dawn of a new golden age, in which the voice of Nature is once more audible to men, who, from her teach- ings, gain the highest wisdom, and the most per- fect peace 1" " Our wisdom," said Fru Astrid, looking about her, laughing, " has not been able to detain Su- sanna, now wiser than we, from the wedding guests, whom we had forgotten. But we will now fol- low her." After the wedding feast, which was enlivened with drinking of healths, and songs, and hearty gaiety, was over, the Oefwerstinna returned to her room, leaving Alette to fill the office of hostess. Seating herself at her writing-table, Fru Astrid wrote, with a rapid pen, the following lines :• — " Now come ! come, my friend, my father, and see your wishes, your prophecies, fulfilled ; come, and see the happiness, the inexpressible gratitude, that dwells in the heart that so long closed itself against all hope. Come, and hear my repentance for my want of faith — for my murmurs against Providence. Come, and help me to think. I long to tell you how much is changed in me ; how many germs of life and joy, which I believed dead, are now unfolding in my heart. I daily wonder at my own feelings — I hardly know myself. Oh, my friend, how truly did you tell me, it is never too late. *'0h, that I could speak to all bowed down, despairing souls, I would cry to them, — Lift up your heads, believe still in the future, and think still, it is not too late. See ! I too was bowed down with sorrow ; old age had overtaken me, and I thought my strength was gone — that my life, my sufferings had been in vain. And behold ! my head is lifted up, my heart is whole, my soul strong, and now, in my fiftieth year, I enter upon a new future, surrounded by all that life has most beautiful and lovely. " The change in my soul has taught me to un- derstand life and sufferings better; and I know now that there is no fruitless suffering — that no virtuous endurance is vain. Providence has lifted the veil from my eyes while I am yet upon the earth ; for many, it will be raised only when the eyes close upon the earthly day. All will then see and know what I now with joy and gratitude acknowledge. « Clear and bright lies now my way before me. Assisted by my beloved children, by the friend and teacher of my youth, who will, I hope, pass under my roof the evening of his days, will I convert this region into a valley of peace. And when I shall leave it, and my loved ones, may my memory be pleasant to them ! And, now, thou advancing age, whose cool breath I already feel upon my brow, thou winter-twilight of life, whose shades are 44 STRIFE AND PEACE. already gathering about me, come and be welcome ! I fear you no longer " And in bodily weakness and suffering, too, I will still acknowledge the worth of life, and with a heart open to all that is beautiful and good upon earth, I will say to my beloved ones, — "The peace of heaven dwells within my heart." As Fru Astrid laid aside her pen, and raised ter tearful and beaming eyes, she perceived Harold and Susanna, who were talking in the valley, arm- in-arm. They walked gaily along, and yet seemed to be contending. A point of the highest impor- tance was, in truth, under discussion, namely, which of them should in future have the last word. Harold insisted, that it was the indisputable right of the husband and master of the house. Su- sanna declared she did not care about his rights ; when she knew herself to be in the right, she should maintain it to the utmost, — should contend for the right till the last moment. They now approached the spring — the troubled waters — which had witnessed their earliest strife. And now, as then, the pigeons with their shining wings were circling about it. And here Harold took Susanna's hand, and said, solemnly, — *' My wife, I have hitherto jested ; but now I will be serious. Our forefathers swore by the clear waters of Leipter, and I swear to you now, by the waters of this clear spring, that, whenever, in future, you shall contradict me more than my temper can bear, I will silence you thus " " Ah, here we have them !" cried a merry voice, just behind the embracing lovers, " but I must tell you, it is not so very pretty, to run away from your guests in this way, to " "Come,Susanua !" interrupted Alette,laughing,as she took the arm of the blushing Susanna, " come, and let us leave these selfish men, who are always wanting to be waited upon, to themselves a little while. It will do them avast deal of good. In the mean while, we will walk off together, and confide to one another our real opinion of them." " Dear Alette," said Susanna, very thankful to escape from brother Lexow's jests, " how happy it makes me to see you so cheerful and so well, in spite of your journey to the North, that you dreaded so much." *' Ah," said Alette, low and tenderly, " such a husband as my Lexow could make summer bloom all over the world ; yet — " and here a shade of melancholy passed over Alette's face, but va- nished instantly, and she went on gaily, " but we have not come here to praise these good gentlemen, who, I see, have nothing better to do than to listen to us ; and so, as soon as we have abused my hus- band sufficiently, we will give yours his well-merited share. Has he not shocking faults ? Is he not, be- tween oureelves, dreadfully selfish and tyrannicall" *' That I deny," cried Harold, springing in front of Susanna, " that I deny, and you, my wife, con- tradict me, if you dare !" " Dare !" cried Alette, *' she must dare, for you only confirm my words. Is he not a tyrant, Su- sanna !" " Am I a tyrant, Susanna 1 I say a thousand times. No ! What do you say V "I say — nothing," answered Susanna, as she moved a little to one side, and drew closer to Alette, « but I shall think what I please." « It is well," cried Harold, « that I have found a way always to have the last word." " Have you found that out, brother 1" said Lexow, laughing. " Well, that is a far greater discovery than ever Columbus made. Let me have the benefit of it, too, I beg of you." " It would be of no use to you, Alf," said Alette, turning to him with a mingling of sadness and playfulness in her expression, "for my last word is something very different from yours." "How so ?" " My last word, as my last thought, will be — Alf !" « Alette, dear Alette, why these teai-s 1" " Susanna," said Harold, " I will prepare you for it beforehand ; my last word will be— Sannal" "And mine— Harold !" It is painful, after presenting these cheerful scenes to our readers, to be forced to turn to others of a tragic nature. But thus destiny com- mands ; and we are forced to relate, that, a few days before Susanna's wedding, the white and the gray goose laid down their contentious lives, and were united in a magnificent a la daube, which was served up and consumed upon that festival day, which was, to Harold and Susanna, the last day of strife, and the first of eternal union. Often, in after-years, did Susanna stand by the clear spring, surrounded by her feathered flock, while, with the gaiety of a happy heart, she sang to two bold, brown-eyed boys, and a fair blooming girl, the little song, — "Whene'er my wayward heart Rebels within my breast. Then love with gentle art. Still charms it back to rest : Within its cage, the bird May beat its restless wings. But love, with a kind word. Can soothe it, and it sings." Kind reader ! Now that you have happily ar- rived at the end of these contentions, you do not perhaps dream that you have still a strife before you — strife, between you and me. Yet thus must it inevitably be, if you, as sometimes happens, should persist in calling a " romance" what I call merely sketches — sketches that are, indeed, linked together, but which yet make no pretension to the unity of a romance. But if you will regard them as blades of grass, or as flowers in a meadow,which wave in the wind upon their several stalks, and yet have their roots in the same soil, and are unfolded in the light of the same sun, then are we at peace ;— let me hope only, that they may have whispered to your heart of that light which is reflected from all the waters of being — of that spring which shall one day dawn for every faithful heart. And here let me thank those Norwegian authors, who have been my guides upon the mountain journey, and the companions of my wanderings through the legends of their land. And from the depths of my heart, let me thank the dear kind friends I have known in that beautiful country — in whose woods I have breathed the air of freedom — in whose hospitable bosom I once found a peace- ful home. NOTES. Page 7. col. 2, line 25. *• Hela presided over Nifelheim, the hell appointed for those who die ingloriously of sickness, or old age. Her gloomy mansion was strongly huilt, and defended by mas- sive portals. Her hall, was anguish ; her table, famine ; her knife, hunger; her bed, leanness ; the threshold of her door, precipice; her attendants were expectation and delay." Hela was the daughter of Loke (evil) and Ange- bode (messenger of death). Page 7. col. 2, line 26. Likstronde, the shore of corpses, received the souls of assassins and murderers. Page 7. col. 2, line 34. " There is an abode that the sun never visits ; its gates open towards the North. Poisons rain in through a thou- sand crevices. It is formed of the bodies of snakes and scorpions, their heads turned inward. From this dismal abyss, the black smoke ever rises. There the souls of the wicked float on rivers of poison, black as pitch, colder than ice." Edda. Page 11, col. 2, line 26. Olof Tryggvason, one of the most celebrated of the an- cient Norwegian kings, was the son of Tryggve, who, as grandson of Harold Harfager, had excited the jealousy of Gunilda, and had fallen a victim to her cruelty. The youth of Olof was subjected to many vicissitudes of fortune. His mother, Astrida, fled with her infant son, from the fury of Gunilda, and attempted to join her brother Sigurd, in Rus- sia. The fugitives were captured by Esthonian pirates, who retained Olof among them for many years. He was at length discovered, and ransomed by his uncle Sigurd, who carried him to the court of Vladamir, at Novgorod, where he was distinguished for his strength and beauty, and his skill in all manly exercises. At the age of nineteen, he took the command of a small fleet of Russian pirates, and set forth in quest of adventures. While cruising in the Bal- tic, he was driven by a storm upon the coast of Pomerania, the country of the "Vandals; here he married the daughter of Burislief, king of that country, and, with his father-in- law, joined the emperor Otho, in his expedition against Denmark. On his return from Denmark, he lived in Pome- rania until the death of his wife, when he resumed his for- mer roving habits. The little fleet of Olof was known upon all the coasts of Europe ; he made frequent descents upon Scotland and England, and even the more southern coun- tries were not free from his depredations. Olof had been instructed in the principles of the Christian religion in Saxony ; he had afterward studied its doctrines more carefully in Greece, yet still hesitated to embrace them; but being thrown upon the Scilly islands, while engaged in one of his piratical expeditions, he was there met by an aged monk, who predicted that he should one day reign over Norway, and that this country was, by his means, to be converted to Christianity. This prediction made a deep impression upon the mind of Olof, although he did not immediately endeavour to secure its fulfilment. After receiving the rite of baptism from the holy father, he passed to the Orkney islands, where he preached the Chris- tian religion, sword in hand. Norway was, at this time, governed by Jarl Hakon, who had possessed himself of the crown, after the death of Harold Grafeld, and the flight of Gimilda. This crafty prince, hearing that a hero of the race of Harold Harfager yet lived, who might one day contest with him the crown of Norway, resolved to decoy Olof into his power. For this purpose, he despatched an emissary, who was, by false re- presentations, to induce Olof to land in Norway. The artful messenger pretended to have fled from the tyranny of Hakon, whom he described as the most cruel and treache- rous of princes. He represented to Olof, the discontent that prevailed in Norway, and the enthusiasm with which a descendant of Harold Harfager would be welcomed by the people. Olof, mindful of the monk's prediction, listened eagerly to these representations, and set sail for Norway, accompanied by his treacherous adviser. On their arrival they found the people actually in rebellion against Hakon, whose cruelty had indeed rendei*ed him odious to his sub- jects. Olof placed himself at the head of the rebels, and soon compelled Hakon to seek safety in flight. He lay for some time concealed in a cave, where he was assassinated by a slave, to whom he had confided the place of his retreat. The faithless servant carried the news of his master's fate to Olof, by whose order his treachery was punished with instant death. The conversion of his subjects to Christianity was the first care of Olof, after he had established himself upon the throne. He secured the co-operation of some of the most powerful nobles, by giving them his sisters in marriage ; he confirmed the fidelity of others by bestowing upon them the confiscated estates of the refractory. The inhabitants of the southern provinces received the new faith with little reluctance ; but in the north it was met by more vigorous opposition. The dwellers in the mountain regions, strongly attached to their ancient reli- gion, refused to renounce it at the command of their sove- reign. Torture and death, or the adoption of the new faith, was the alternative ofi"ered them by the zealous Olof ; but the hardy Northlanders were true to the religion of their fathers ; they withdrew to their mountain fastnesses, where they could defy the power of their king, and worship in security the ancient gods of Scandinavia. Outward tranquillity, however, was now established in the kingdom of Olof. The nobles, finding that the new reli- gion subjected them to no new restraints, readily adopted the faith of their king ; and the people, if they still wor- shipped the gods of their fathers, worshipped in secret. Olof stood now at the height of power and prosperity. He was the bravest warrior, the most fortunate prince, of his day; he had joined the glory of an apostle to the renown of a warrior ; but even now the vengeance of a woman was preparing his downfall. Olof had asked the hand of the fair Sigrid of Sweden. This haughty princess, who had rejected many a royal suitor, consented to become the wife of the renowned Olof. She repaired to Norway, but in her first interview with her roj'al lover, he required her to embrace the Christian reli- gion. The haughty Sigrid indignantly refused ; and Olof, enraged at her disobedience, struck her witli his gauntlet, at the same time loading her with reproaches. That she might at least receive the rite of baptism, he ordered her to be plunged into the sea, before she was sent back to Sweden. Sigrid vowed vengeance,— and kept her word. She became the wife of Svend, King of Denmark, whose sister, Thira, had been married to Burislief, father of the first wife of Olof. Thira had fled from her husband ; but, dread- ing the anger of her brother, did not return to her own country, but took refuge in Norway, where she was kindly received by Olof, who soon made her his wife. When the news of this marriage reached Svend, who was already 46 NOTES. irritated against Olof, by the vindictive Sigrid, his indig- nation knew no bounds. He was easily prevailed upon by Sigrid to form an alliance with Olof SkOtkonung, King of Demnark (her son by a former marriage), with the view of bumbling the power of Olof Tryggvason. To this confede- racy, Eric, the son of Jarl Hakon, joined himself, and the allies only wanted an opportunity, which might enable them to attack him with some chance of success. The occasion soon presented itself ; Olof had imdertaken an expedition to the country of the Vandals, to recover the possessions of his wife, in the island of Rugen. His enemies, with a consi- derable fleet, lay in wait for him on his return. Olof had expected no attack ; his ships were widely scattered, and unprepared for action. He was first made aware of his danger, when he found himst>lf with a few of his ships nearly surrounded by the enemy. Olof disdained to fly, He sustained the unequal contest until he had seen all his faithful Bersaerkers fall around him, and the " Long Ser- pent," the pride of his navy, boarded by his rival, Eric ; then, overpowered by numbers, and fearing to be taken prisoner, he threw himself into the sea, where he probably perished; though some of the ancient chronicles assert, that he saved himself by swimming, and, after performing a journey to the holy land, ended his life in a monastery. Olof reigned 995—1000. Page 11, col. 2, line 25. "Blood-baptiser : "*— Olof Second was the son of Harold Graenske, who, during the reign of Jarl Hakon, had governed the southern part of Norway, with the title of king. Olof, who was a lineal descendant of Harold Harfager, was not unworthy of his heroic descent. Even in boyhood, he had acquired the fame of a daring and successful Viking. He made many descents upon England, France, and Spain ; and the rich spoils which he gathered in those countries enabled him afterward to undertake his successful expe- dition against the usurpers of the crown of Norway. After the battle of Swcelderoe, in which Olof Tryggvason had perished, the allied princes divided the kingdom of Norway. The King of Denmark took possession of the southern part ; the King of Sweden of all those provinces which bordered on his kingdom ; the remainder was allotted to the two sons of Jarl Hakon, Eric and Svend, who also governed the other states of Norway, but as vassals of the Kings of Sweden and Denmark. These princes ruled with great wisdom and humanity ; though professing the Christian faith, they abstained from any attempt to force their religion upon their subjects. But the attachment of the Norwegians to the family of Harold Harfager, made them still regard the sons of Hakon as usurpers ; and the Christian party, now become powerful in the state, saw with displeasure the toleration which was extended to the ancient religion. The young Olof, informed of the disposition of the people, lost no time in availing himself of it. He landed in Norway, (1014,) where he was received with enthusiasm. Eric, the eldest son of Jarl Hakon, was at this time absent in England, whither he had been compelled, as a vassal of the crown of Denmark, to follow the banner of Canute the Great. Olof possessed himself, by a stratagem, of the person of the young son of Eric, but restored him to liberty, after obtaining from him a solemn renunciation of all his claims upon the crown. Svend, the brother of Eric, was defeated in a naval battle, by Olof, and fled, leaving him in undisputed possession of the kingdom. Olof established his court at Drontheim, which from this time became the residence of the Norwe- gian kings. He made many new laws for his subjects, and revised and improved the ancient code. Olof was a zealous champion of the Christian religion, and, eager to propagate It among his subjects, he thought no means xmjustifiable which tended to the accomplish- ment of this object He renewed the persecutions which had stained the reign of Olof Tryggvason, and even sixr- passed that prince in zeal and cruelty. This xmwise severity weakened the aff'ection of his subjects. Several of the petty princes, who had assisted in placing him upon the throne, now conspired to deprive him of it ; but Olof discovered their plot ; he punished some of the conspirators with death, others with loss of sight, and banished the rest from the kingdom. The exiled princes took refuge at the court of Canute, and persuaded this monarch that it would be easy to restore Norway to its former dependence upon Denmark. Canute sent an ambassador to Olof, requiring him to consider himself in future as his vassal. Olof indig- nantly rejected the claim of Canute, and formed an alliance with Anund, King of Sweden, whose daughter he had married ; but finding himself unsupported by his own subjects, he was forced to quit his kingdom, which was subjected without difliculty by Canute. Olof passed into Russia, and was preparing to perform a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, there to assume the monastic habit, when he received, in a dream, a command from Heaven to return to Norway. Anund supplied him with troops, and he was joined by many of his own subjects. His little army soon amounted to three thousand men, though he rejected the services of all ^vho refused to adopt the Christian faith. A cross was painted upon the helmets and shields of his soldiers, and their war-cry was, " On, soldiers of the cross and the king ! " Relying upon the justice of his cause, he would not wait for any further reinforcements, but went forward to attack his enemies, though their number was more than double that of his own army. Before the battle, he summoned his three Skalds into his presence, and charged them to transmit to posterity the memory of the battle of that day. But the courage and skill of Olof could not prevail over a force so superior to his own. Thislittle army was cut to pieces ; he himself perished in the combat ; two of his poets fell by his side : the third, mortally wounded, chanted a poem in honour of his king, before he with- drew the arrow with which he was pierced. After the death of Olof, his memory became dear to the Norwegian people. The remembrance of his heroic adventures — his wise laws— above all, his tragic fate, — efi'aced from their minds the recollections of his bigotry and his relentless cruelty. The Christian clergy, grateful for his services to the church, exalted him to the rank of a saint. Churches were dedicated to him not only in Norway, but in Denmark, Sweden, Russia, and England. Even in Constantinople a shrine was consecrated to his memory, and his tomb was the resort of pilgrims from all the countries of Europe. The battle of Stikklestadt, in which Olof II. was killed, was fought in 1030. Page 11, col. 2, line 27. Sverre was one of the most remarkable men whom Norway has produced. He was educated as the son of a private man, and was destined to the ecclesiastical profes- sion ; but learning from his mother that he was the son of Sigurd the Second, he left the church, and turned his attention to the afl^virs of Norway, which was now governed by the young king Magnus, under the guidance of his father, the brave and sagacious Erling. The reign of this prince had already been disturbed by the claims of various pretenders to the crown. Eistein Mela, grandson of Harold Gille, asserted his riglit, as descendant of Magnus Barfoed ; he assembled a considerable body of partisans, who received the name of Birkebeinians, because, being forced to retire into the forests, they had, for want of leather shoes, covered their feet with the bark of birch-trees. This wild band maintained the war against Magnus for several years, with unequal success ; but, in 1177, they sustained a signal defeat ; Eistein, their general, was made prisoner, and soon after put to death. After the death of their leader, the " Birkibeinar" sent a deputation to Sverre, inviting him to become their chief. Sverre, after some hesitation, accepted their pro- posal, received the oath of allegiance, and was proclaimed king by this band of ill-armed and undisciplined outlaws, whose number at this time scarcely exceeded seventy. His force was rapidly augmented ; but Sverre met with no success in the commencement of his enterprise. He was forced to fly into Sweden ; but soon returning, collected the remnants of his little band, and made an attempt upon Drontheim, in which, however, he failed of success. NOTES. 47 Sverre now wandered long among the mountains and forests of Norway ; he occupied himself in establishing order and discipline in his little army, which received daily accessions to its number. At length, being rein- forced by a band of archers from Tellemark, he again approached Drontheim, and oflFered battle to the adherents of Magnus. Fortune was now on the side of Sverre. He gained a complete victory, and entered Drontheim, bearing in triumph the sacred banner of St. Olof. He convoked the assembly of deputies, and caused himself to be pro- claimed King of Norway. The war, however, was not yet concluded. The mildness and equity of Erling's administration secured to his son the adherence of a numerous party. The clergy, too, declared themselves on the side of Magnus, and promised eternal salvation to all who should fall in battle against the <' Birkibeinar." At the end of two years the fate of the war was decided by the death of Erling, who was surprised by a sudden attack from Sverre, and left mortally wounded on the field. Magnus was forced to leave the side of his dying father, and seek safety in flight. The remains of Erling were interred with great magnificence by Sverre. Magnus Erlingson, after sustaining another defeat, took refuge in Denmark, where he was well received, and supplied with succours by Valdemar I. He was, however, again defeated by Sverre, in a naval engagement, which took place near Hugastrand, in which nearly two thousand of his followers perished. Magnus was drowned in the attempt to make his escape by swim- ming ; but his body was recovered from the waters, and interred with all the splendour due to the obsequies of a king, by Sverre, who himself pronounced his funeral oration. The hostility of the clergy towards Sverre did not cease with the life of their patron, Magnus. Eric, who had been elevated to the see of Drontheim, in opposition to the wishes of the king, denounced the Birkibeinians from his pulpit, and refused to perform the ceremonies of the coronation. Sverre, on his part, endeavoured to restrain the power of the clergy, which had become excessive during the reign of his predecessor. He retained a part of the revenues of the see of Drontheim, and even limited the number of followers that the archbishop was allowed to retain in his service. He convened, in 1193, a new diet, in which the people confirmed the edicts of the king. The indignant prelate retired to Denmark, and obtained from the pope a bull, threatening Sverre with excommunication. This, however, produced but little effect ; for the priests, finding the people on the side of their king, dared not publish the bull in his dominions. While engaged in this controversy with his clergy, Sverre was called upon to defend his kingdom against a new competitor for the crown. This was Sigurd, son of Magnus Erlingson. He had collected a numerous band of adventurers in the Orkney and Shetland isles, and with these made a successful descent upon Pomerania. He then guided his fleet to the shores of Norway, where he at first met with some success, but was at length defeated by Sverre in a naval engagement, which took place near Bergen. His vessels were all sunk, or taken, and he himself perished in the sea. After this victory, Sverre resolved no longer to delay the ceremony of his coronation. He requested the pope's legate, who had just arrived in Norway for the purpose of selling indulgences, to perform the ceremony of consecration. On his refusal, Sverre ordered him to quit the kingdom, and was cpowned (1194) by his former confessor, whom he had appointed to the bishopric of Bergen. The close of Sverre's reign was disturbed by the attempts of a new pretender to the crown. This was a young Dane, who took the name of Inge, one of the sons of Magnus Erlingson. This adventurer was defeated by Sverre in a naval engagement, and the greater part of his fleet taken ; but his party being afterwards strongly reinforced, he seized upon Drontheim, ravaged many provinces of the kingdom, and obtained the victory in two important naval engagements, in which the fleet of Sverre was almost utterly destroyed. But Sverre lost no time in constructing a new fleet, with which he attacked and defeated the invaders, and forced their chief to return to Denmark. The troubles, however, were not entirely appeased. The partisans of Inge maintained their ground in Norway till the close of the year 1201, when their last fortress surrendered to Sverre. Sverre did not long survive this success. He died March 9, 1202, aged 51. When he found himself dying, he ordered his attendants to place him upon his throne, that he might prove to his subjects the falsehood of the predictions of Bishop Nicholas, who had foretold that he should be devoured by dogs. He advised his son Hakon to reconcile himself with the clergy, and bequeathed his pardon to all his enemies. Sverre may be regarded as one of the greatest men, and most accomplished princes, of his day. He possessed, in a high degree, the gift of eloquence, and joined the learning of the scholar, and the wisdom of the statesman, to the kingly virtues of courage and military skill. Page 11, col. 2, line 33. The difi'erent states of Norway had never been united under one sovereign before the time of Harold Harfager. His father, Halfdan Svart (the Black), had indeed (under the direction, it is said, of his mother Asa), subdued the little kingdom of Norway so far as Sokn (north of Jiergen), and would have extended his conquests still further, if he had not been prevented by an early death. He lost his life in consequence of the sudden breaking of the ice on a lake which he was crossing in the winter. The newly-conquered provinces revolted after the death of Halfdan Svart ; but Guttorm, who had been appointed guardian of the young Harold, then a boy of ten years old, soon reduced them to submission. Harold early formed the design of completing the con- quest of Norway, and his ambition was excited yet more by the proud princess Gida, who refused to bestow her hand upon him until he should have made himself sovereign of all Norway. Harold made a vow not to cut his hair until he had completed the conquest of the kingdom. The victory of Hafursfiord, which he gained over the independent princes in 875, compelled them to submit to become his vassals. Harold was thus released from his vow, but always retained the surname of Harfager, or the fair-haired. The close of Harold's reign was disturbed by domestic dissentions. His numerous sons, children of difi'erent mothers, were continually at variance with one another. He endeavoured to compose their diff'erences, by assigning each the government of a separate province, with the rank and title of king. He declared Eric, his eldest son, his successor as sovereign of Norway. Harold survived this partition of his kingdom about three years. Iceland, which was discovered in 868, was settled in this reign. Many powerful princes, who could not submit to live under the government of Harold, sought safety and freedom in this island, which then bore the name of Snoland. They carried with them the Scandinavian lan- guage : and with it the poems or sagas, which were better preserved in this remote region than in the countries where they originated. Page 11, col. 2, line 35. Gunilda, the wife of Eric First, son of Harold Harfager* was equally distinguished for her beauty, her commanding intellect, and her merciless cruelty ; it was by this fierce woman that Eric was excited to the bloody deed which gained him the surname of Blodaexe. The crown of Norway had been bestowed by Harold Harfager upon Eric, his eldest son ; but he had given his younger sons the government of the several provinces of the kingdom, and had allowed them to assume the title of king. Gunilda, who had nothing of the woman in her nature but the strong instincts of maternal affection, regarded with jealousy the power of these princes, which seemed to threaten the dismemberment of the future in- heritance of her son. She excited the jealous apprehensions of her husband, and the impetuous Eric became the mur- derer of his brothers. 48 NOTES. After the expulsion of Eric from his kingdom, by his younger brother Hakon, Gunilda and her sons sought refugo in Denmark ; and, having obtained assistance from Harold, king of that country, made a descent upon Norway. They Mcre at first unsuccessful ; but a detachment of their army surprised Hakon, when attended only by a small band of his followers. He fell wounded by an arrow ; and, dying, declared the sons of Eric his heirs, naming the eldest, Harold Grafell, his successor as Sovereign of Norway. The sons of Eric found their power much circumscribed by the powerful vassals, who had taken advantage of the dissentions in the royal family to render themselves nearly independent of the crown. Of these powerful chiefs. Earl Sigurd, governor of Drontheim, was the most formidable ; and Gunilda and her sons used every effort to possess themselves of his person and his lands. The artful Gunilda at length succeeded in persuading him to visit her court. The old earl was no sooner in her power than he was murdered, with circumstances of peculiar barbarity. But vengeance soon overtook the wretched Gunilda. She was destined to see the overthrow of all her ambitious projects.— Eric, of the bloody axe, closed his life in exile.— Harold Grafell, the son for whose sake she had stained her soul with so many crimes, fell, on the coast of Den- mark, the victim of treachery equal to her own. The unhappy "mother of kings" fled with her two yoimgest sons to the Orkney Islands, where her restless life was closed by a violent death. Pagell,col. 2, line46. Eric First was the eldest son of Harold Harfager. He inherited the courage and love of enterprise which distin- guished his father, and in his youth was the darling of his nation. The cruel murder of two of his brothers, to which he was instigated by his wife Gunilda, alienated from him the affections of his people, who branded him with the surname of Blodaexe (bloody-axe). News of the discontents which prevailed in Norway | reached Hakon, the youngest of the sons of Harold Har- | fager. This prince had been educated at the court of Athelstane ; and having received no share in the govern- ment of the states of Norway, continued to live in England after the death of his father. He now resolved to revenge the murder of his brothers, and to gratify his own am- bition at the same time, by expelling Eric from Norway, and possessing himself of his crown. Athelstane supplied him with men and ships for his expedition; but the little fleet was dispersed by a storm, and Hakon was thrown alone and unarmed upon the coast of Norway. The news of his arrival, however, spread rapidly through the country; the people everywhere declared themselves in his favour. Earl Sigurd, governor of Drontheim, presented him to the Norwegians as their king, and crowds flocked daily to his standard. Eric, abandoned by his subjects, dared not even to attempt resistance. He fled to the Orkney islands, and thence to England, where he was received by King Athelstane, who bestowed upon him the kingdom of Northumbria, on condition that he should embrace the Christian religion, and abstain from any attempt to recover the crown of Norway. Eric proved a turbulent vassal to the English kings : after the death of Athelstane he was continually at war with the successors of that prince. He was expelled from Northumbria ; but, having collected an army, oomposed of his early piratical associates, he invaded England with the intention of recovering his former possessions. He was defeated in a pitched battle by Edred, and slain, together with five other Vikings, A. D. 952. Page 23, col. 1 , line 61. Ragnar Lodbrog was the son of Sigurd Ring, King of Sweden and Denmark. He was one of the most celebrated of the ancient Scandinavian heroes. He received the surname of Lodbrog (Lod, hairy, — Brog, garments) from the dress which he wore in his contest with the venomous serpent, who guarded the Princess Thora. He made for himself garments of the skins of wild beasts, with the hair outward, and then plunged into the sea, in mid-winter ; the water formed thick scales of ice upon the hairy vest- ments; and, in this impenetrable armour, he attacked and subdued the serpents. After many warlike expeditions, in most of which he was successful, Ragnar was taken prisoner by Hella, king of Northumbria, and was cast into a dungeon full of serpents. He expired under their fangs, exulting in the thought of the vengeance which his sons would take upon the murderer of their father, and re- counting the heroic achievements of his past life. The song which Ragnar is supposed to have sung in the cave of serpents is still extant. " Ragnar ^tait le plus fort et le plus beau de tons les hommes. C'est sur lui que la tradition a accumule tons les hauts faits des peuples du Nord pendant le huiti^me et le neuvieme siecle ; cen'est plus un personnagemythique, mais, comme Charlemagne dans les poesies ^piques du moyen &ge, il est le type des exploits de la nation entifere." Le Bus. Page 25, col. 2, line 32. Jotunheim — the land of the giants. " On the extreme shore was Utgard, also called Jotunheim, where dwelt Nor, and the giants, against whom a wall, or strong fortress, was built, to separate them from Asgard, the habitation of the gods. There, under the root of the tree of the world, lived the dwarfs and elves ; and there is the home of Sleep, who rises every night to seal the eyelids of mankind." Page 27, col. 2, line 56. Bersaerker. « The Bersaerkers, or Champions, devoted themselves to the fortunes of the kings and great chiefs, and depended upon their favour for preferment. These warriors, who served in the capacity of body-guards by sea and land, were sometimes seized with a sort of frenzy, or military mania, produced by the songs of the Skalds, in praise of warlike exploits, or by their exoited imagina- tions, dwelling on the thought of war and glory. When this madness was upon them, they committed the wildest extravagancies; attacked, indiscriminately, friends and foes ; and even waged war against rocks and trees, and other objects of inanimate nature. For the want of better employment, they occasionally turned their arms against themselves, and defied each other to mortal combat, in some lonely and desert isle. In the Eyrbiggia Saga, is related the singular story of Halli and Leikner, two Ber- sasrker, whom Hakon Jarl presented to Verimund, an Icelandic chief, and whose tempers became so fierce and turbulent, that it was found necessary to suffocate them, privately, in a bath filled with boiling water." Crichton'i Scandinavia. THE END. THE H FAMILY BY FREDERIKA BREMER, AUTHORESS OF ' STBIPK AND PKACE,' 'THE NKIOHBOURS,' 'THE PRESIDENT'S DAUGHTERS, ETC. TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH NOTICE: BY THE PUBLISHER. For, the following excellent translation of another of Miss Bremer's Swedish Fictions, the public is again indebted to an American source. In this particular field, foreign enterprise contrasts favourably with our own. What the London purchaser has been obliged to give half-a-guinea for, the purchaser in Boston has had for eighteenpence. While German trans- lators have found themselves remunerated by charging three shillings for the President's Daughters and Nina, English translators have thought that nothing less than a guinea and a half could compensate their toil. It would thus seem, that in London, in Leipsig, and in Boston, very different notions prevail as to the labours and rewards of translators. But it also appears, from a late Preface to one of the London publications, that our countrymen have had this heavy tax imposed especially upon them, less for the toil of translation than the merit of original discovery. It is not agreeable to have to question a merit clamoured for so loudly ; but the discovery of a discovery hardly justifies the claim. It is true, that when Frederika Bremer, the daughter of a merchant in Stockholm, began to issue her charming Tales, she was left, as far as foreign countries were concerned, to continue her labours without notice or attention ; and beyond Sweden, in the course of more than eight years, her fame had not reached. But then it happened, namely in 1841, that a great German publisher, Brockhaus of Leipsig, projected a Select Library of Foreign Classics, and had the good taste and really original spirit to commence the work with a translation of Miss Bremer's Neighbours. He was rewarded, though he had charged but two shillings both for discovery and translation ; and before the end of 1842, out of sixteen volumes of his Foreign Library, then issued, ten were devoted to the stories of Miss Bremer. It was at the close of 1842, when all the intelligence of Germany had borne testimony to the beauties of these books, and when other German publishers had followed the example of Brockhaus, that the first English translation, the English discovery of the discovery of Brockhaus, was announced. The publication of Strife and Peace having been met by remonstrances against its invasion of the supposed rights of others, the publisher of the Standard Library has reluctantly offered this statement to his readers. With them, he is aware, he requires no apology for having done his best to contribute to their amusement, and to achieve the object for which his Library wa& projected. He offers no remark on the state of the law, which enables him to republish American works without remuneration to their writers ; but what benefit may exist to counteract the evil of that law, he has, in every case, given to the public. He has never placed a copyright NOTICE : BY THE PUBLISHER. price on works in which no copyright existed. He has in no instance followed the example of houses, whose acknowledged respectability might have seemed to sanction such a course, in reprinting at a high rate, works which the original writers and publishers had been content to issue cheaply. When any alteration is made in the laws of international copyright, the publisher of the Standard Library will cheerfully forego the very slight advantages he has at any time derived from the honest competition allowed by the existing laws. But he may be permitted to add the sincere expression of his hope and his belief, that no change will be ever sanctioned by the Legislature, which would give to the first translator of a foreign work any exclusive right or property in the ideas of the original. He forbears to name the execrable libels on the great works of other languages, which might by this means have usurped the place of later transla- tions of admitted worth and genius. Where an excellent book has been even admirably ren- dered, but published at a price which restricts its circulation, he ventures to think that the projector of a new version, executed with equal ability at a greatly more reasonable price, does the public no small service. Admirable as were the first translations of Ranke's Popes, and D'Aubigne's Reformation, it was felt that in the subsequent issue of cheap translations of these works, Messrs. Whittaker had done that public service. The clever version of Kohl's Russia sent forth by Mr. Colbum, only made more welcome the equally clever and much cheaper translation of the same amusing book in Messrs. Chapman and Hall's Foreign Library. And on the same principle, he trusts that he will himself be thought not undeserving of the public favour and support, if he brings within the reach of humble means, by these American reprints, and original translations from the Swedish now in hand, the entire series of Frederika Bremer's Fictions. THE H FAMILY ARRIVAL -TEA— PORTRAITS. About the end of February, in the year 1829, 1 found myself at the barrier one evening, awaiting the compulsory visit of the Custom-house officer, who was to admit me into the Swedish capital. It was amid a violent drifting of snow, and in a small open sleigh, that I sat thei-e, frozen, tired, and sleepy ; no very enviable situation, as my fair and gentle readers will allow. My poor steed, who had a cold, coughed and sneezed. The servant who drove my sleigh beat his arms across his body to warm himself ; the storm howled, and the snow drifted about us, I closed my eyes and waited, as I have often done in snow-storms, within as well as out of the house ; and this I have always found the best way, if one cannot escape such evils. At last I heard the sound of slow steps on the crackling snow. The officer approached with his lantern. He had a red nose, and appeared unhappy. I held a gold piece in my hand, and was desirous of transferring it unperceived into his, that I might secure for myself a quiet and an undisturbed ride. He drew his hand back. "It is not necessary," said he, dryly, but politely. " I will not give you much inconvenience," continued he, while he began to examine my carpet-bag, and look over my packages. I found myself compelled, not without vexation, to alight. Out of humour, and with some malicious pleasure, I put my money back into my reticule, and thought, — " Well, svell, he is too proud to take anything for his trouble." My talkative driver, however, entered into some conversation with him. "It is rough, frightful weather, this evening, dear sir." « Yes." " I think it would be much more agreeable if you were sitting in your own room, sipping some- thing warm, instead of freezing your fingers and keeping us here, for which nobody thanks you." No answer. " I would give something to be sitting, now, by our old folks' warm fire, aud eating my Sunday's porridge — that would relish, sir ! " " Yes, yes." " Are you married ?" " Yes.'' " Have you children 1" « Yes." " Ah ! how many ?" " Four," — and a deep sigh followed this answer. " Four ! — well, then you have mouths enough to feed. Ha, ha ! novtr you think you have found something contraband. — Cheese, my dear sir, cheese, you see. Yes, indeed, it makes your mouth water. I will lay a wager that you would prefer to taste it, rather than to bite into the moon. Now, do not you see that is only a butter- keg?" etc. etc. After the inspector had convinced himself that a goodly variety of cheeses, loaves of bread, and ginger-uakes, made up the principal part of the lading of the sleigh, he replaced everything in the neatest order, gave me his hand to assist me into it, and carefully tucked the furs about me. My ill-humour had vanished long ago. Is it, thought I, the fault of the poor inspector, that he is the plague and torment of travellers ? This one, certainly, has performed his duty in the most civil manner. And while he went on to restore everything to its place, carefully and conscien- tiously, various considerations arose in my mind, which disposed me to still more kindness. The red, frozen nose, the depressed expression of countenance, the stiff fingers, the poor children, the snow-storm, the dark, dismal evening, all these passed before me like the shadows in a camera obscura, and ray heart was quite softened by them. I felt again after the piece of money. I thought of some gingerbread and a cheese for the four children's supper ; but while I was feel- ing, and while I was thinking, the man opened the bar, took off his hat politely, and I quickly passed through the gateway. I would have cried out "Halt!" but 1 did not. With an oppressed heart and uncomfortable feelings, as if I had lost some- thing valuable on the way, I proceeded through the city, and saw in the white snow-flakes before me, as in a transparency, the frozen red nose and sad face, on which I might so easily, at least for a moment, have called up a cheerful look. How many occasions of doing good, in greater or less measure, are passed by from irresolution! While we are saying to ourselves, " Shall I, or shall I noti" the moment flies away, and the blossom of joy which we might have given to it is withered, and often cannot be revived by any tears of repentance. Thus I sadly reflected, while my sleigh moved slowly over the deep, sandy snow, often sunk through to the stones, and was with difficulty drawn out again. The storm had extinguished the lamps in the lanterns, and the streets were hardly lighted at all, except by the rays from the shops. Here I saw a gentleman who was about losing his cloak ; and, as he was drawing it more closely around him, the wind took off his hat. THE H- FAMILY. There was a lady, who, while with one hand she held the brim of her bonnet, and with the other secured her cloak, ran blindly, but violently, against a fruit-stall, the sharp-nosed mistress of which besought her, in a rude tone, to keep a better look-out. Here yelled a dog ; there swore a fellow, who had run his car against that of another ; while a little boy ran whistling gaily through the snow- flakes and other hindrances, which did not at all disturb his quiet boyish spirit. Often a covered sleigh, with its lighted lamps, like comets, drove by, and pushed aside men and beasts. This was all I saw or heard of this great and splendid capital th^t evening. To enliven myself, I began to think of the amiable family in whose bosom I should soon find myself ; on the pleasant occasion which led me there ; and on still other gay, bright and soul-warming ideas, which pressed upon my memory. At last my sleigh stopped. My driver cried, " Now we are here ! " and I said to myself with delight, " Now I am here, too." I soon heard around me many voices crying, '• Good day, good day, good evening, welcome, welcome !" My bread, cheese, gingerbread, — we were all heartily welcome, and were conducted mto a pleasant warm room. Half an hour later 1 was sitting in a handsome, well -lighted parlour, whei'e Col. H and his family were assembled. The tea-hour had arrived, and from the hissing kettle arose the cloudy steam hovering over the well- filled baskets of cakes, biscuits and cracknels, which covered the capacious tea-table. Telemachus, when he issued from Tartarus into the Elysian Fields, could not have felt greater pleasure than I, who from my snow-storm journey had run into the friendly haven of this tea-table. The pleasant, graceful persons who were mov- ing about me, the agreeable room, the lights, which, at times, add not a little to the brightness of the spirit, the warming draught which 1 was enjoying, everything was animating, exhilarating. Every- thing was — ah, will you believe it, reader, that the frozen nose there at the gate placed itself in the midst of my pleasure, on the edge of my tea-cup, and embittered the nectar it contained ? It did indeed : and I believe I should have felt less shocked if I had seen my own " double." To restore my quiet I said to myself that the next morning I would repair my inadvertence ; and, con- tent with this resolution for the morrow, I sat now, according to my custom, silently in the corner of the room, while I knit upon my stock- ing ; now and then sipped from my cup, which stood near me on a little table ; and unobserved, but attentively watched the family picture before me. Col. H sat in the corner of a sofa and played Patience, — the Blockade of Copenhagen, I believe. He was a tall, strongly-built, but thin man, and had the appearance of ill-health. The expres- sion of his face was noble, and from his deeply sunken eyes there beamed a penetrating but quiet glance, which had an almost divine expression, particularly when it was turned upon his children. He spoke seldom, he never made speeches ; but his words, uttered slowly, and with a gentle energy, had usually the effect of oracl.es. Earnestness and mildness reigned in his whole character. He held himself almost singularly upright, and I always thought that this proceeded less from his early military habits, than from the unbending j honesty, the strength and integrity which formed j the principal features in his character, and which were mirrored in his exterior. He did not join in the conversation, which this evening was carried on with much animation among his children ; but sometimes he dropped a dry witty observation, which was accompanied by a look that was so mischievously comical, and yet so filled with kindness towards those to whom it referred, that they received perplexity and pleasure from it at the same time. His wife, "the gracious lady" (as I still from old custom must call her), sat in another comer of the sofa, making bobbin, but without bestowing much attention on her work. She seemed not to have been handsome, even in her youthful days ; but she had about her, particularly when she spoke, something good, interesting, and animated, which one looked at with pleasure. Something tender and restless appeared in her face, particu- larly in her eyes. One read there that she bore ever at her heart the long, eternal forethought of ideas and cares, which for a wife and mother, and housewife, begins with her husband and children, runs through all the affairs to the smallest branch i of the household, and has no end, like the atoms of dust which are blown away, but are ever falling i again. ] The tender and restless glance of the gracious j lady was this evening very often turned upon Emily, the eldest daughter, with an expression at the same time of joy and grief. An affectionate smile floated over her lips, and tears glistened on her eyelids ; but from the smiles as well as the tears beamed the tender and warm love of the mother. Emily did not seem to observe the expression of her mother's countenance. She was serving tea, very quietly, with her fair white hands ; while with an assumed gravity of face she tried to put an end to the nonsense of her brother Charles, who was attempting to throw that confusion, which he protested prevailed in the heart of his dear sister, into the affairs of the tea-table. She was of middle size, but well grown. Blond, fair, but without re- gular beauty in her features, her pleasing face was particulax-ly attractive from the expression of purity, goodness, and frankness which rested on it. She appeared to have inherited her father's quiet character, joined with greater cheerfulness ; for in spite of her assumed dignity she often laughed, and that so heartily that all the rest kept her company. Laughing is becoming to very few people, and we see many persons who, during this expression of pleasure, put their handkerchiefs up to their faces to hide the ugliness which is produced by the contractions about the eyes, and the stretching of the mouth. Emily, even if she had been apprised of this measure, would have scorned to make use of it. Her character, even in the most unimport- ant things, was too simple and frank to allow her to make use of a single attractive manoeuvre. She had, however, in this case no reason to do so, for her laugh was particularly charming ; both because it was so simple and hearty, and because it displayed the most beautiful white teeth which ever ornamented a small and lovely mouth. She, however, thought nothing about the matter. THE H- FAMILY. If I had been a mau, I should have thought, the first moment I saw Emily, " There is my wife. (N.B. if she is willing.)" Yet Emily was not in everything what she appeared ; or rather, she possessed a good many of those inconsistencies which mingle with and are joined to the most noble specimens of human na- ture, as there will always be some knots in the very finest and most carefully laboured textures. Moreover, Emily was no longer in the earliest years of youth ; and you, my fair I'eader of sixteen, will perhaps find her very — very old. " How old was she, then ?" you ask. She had passed her six- and-twentieth year. " Ah ! that was very horrible ; she is really an old person." Not so horrible, not so old, my rosebud. She was only a rose in her full bloom. This was also the opinion of Mr. . But of this hereafter. I pity the painter who should receive the difficult order to paint a portrait of Julia ; for she is a perpetuum mobile in more than one x'espect. Sometimes she plays her brother, who nev^r leaves a debt of this kind unpaid, some roguish ti-ick ; sometimes she employs herself in one of a different kind upon her sisters ; sometimes she snuffs the candles and puts them out, that she may have the I pleasure of lighting them again ; she puts the ribband of her mother's cap into order or disorder, and now and then she glides behind the Colonel, throws her arms about his neck, and kisses his forehead. His cry of " Let me alone, girl !" frightens her off, perhaps to return again soon. A charming little head, about which rich locks of blond hair formed a crown — blue lively eyes, dark lashes and eyelids — a well-formed nose and a little, delicate ear — a somewhat larger bat hand- some mouth — a small, neat figure — little hands, and feet that would rather dance than walk — see, there you have Julia in her eighteenth year. Brother Charles — ah, your pai"don ! — Cornet Charles was six feet high, well grown, and light in his motions, thanks to Nature, the gymnasium, and Julia. He had several ideas of his own, which were fixed as the hills ; among them these three were his favourites : first, the Swedish was al- together the first and most excellent nation in Europe. This no one in the family contradicted. Second, he should never fall in love, because he was twenty years old, and had never felt his heart beat, while so many of his more fortunate com- panions had gone mad with love. " That will come in time !*' said the Colonel. Julia said he would be over head and eai*s in love yet. Emily sighed, and prayed God he might be saved from it. Thirdly, the Cornet thought he was so ugly that he frightened the horses. Julia said this quality might be useful to him in an attack on the enemy's cavalry ; but she, as well as her sistex'S and many others, considered the open, honest, manly ex- pression of the face of their brother as a full compensation for a want of beauty of features. They often repeated to him, with a little secret pleasure, how uncommonly ugly and intolerable Mr. P. was with his beautiful Apollo head, without life or expression. Cornet Charles loved his sisters tenderly, and did them evei'y service in his power, particularly in the way of exercising their patience. Near their father sat the youngest daughter, the seventeen-year-old Helen. The first look disposed one to pity her ; the next gave rise to a wish for her happiness. She was plain and deformed ; but understanding and cheei'fulness beamed from her eyes, which were more than commonly brilliant. She appeared to possess that strength and repose of character, that clearness, constancy, and gaiety of spirit, which give a more certain guarantee for the quiet and happiness of life, than all those daz- zling external charms which the world so loves and extols. She was diligently working upon a white lace veil, and only looked up now and then from her labour to give to Emily an affectionate and significant glance, or to turn toward her father a look of respectful and almost supplicating ten derness. One could almost imagine that of all his children the Colonel loved this one best, who in person seemed so hardly dealt with by Nature. For often, when Helen leaned her head on her father's shoulder, and raised her loving eyes to him, he bent down and kissed her forehead with an ex- pression which cannot be described. On the other side of the Colonel sat a lady, still young — his brother's daughter. She might have been taken for an antique statue, so fair, and of such marble whiteness was her complexion, and so immovable did she appear. Finer dark eyes than hers were never seen. But ah ! she certainly deserved to be pitied. Those beautiful eyes v/ould never again see the light of day. For several years they had been covered with a cataract. What prevailed in her bosom, whether storm or quiet, it was difficult to see ; the mixTor of her spirit was darkened, and something stiff, cold, almost half dead, lay without, and repelled every questioning glance. It seemed to me a feeling of pi'oud despair came upon hex', the moment that the voice of Fate announced, " You shall never more see the light," and she had responded, " No one shall ever see my sorrow." Yet one more little group must come into my pictux'e ; the group, namely, at the back of the apaii;ment, consisting of Master Nup, distinguished by his good nature, his learning, his taciturnity, his shox-t-sightedness, his turned-up nose and his absence of mind, by the side of his pupils, little Axel and the little Claes, the youngest sons of the Colonel, who, on account of their especially good health and their plumpness, genei-aily x-eceived, in the family, the name of the " little Thickeys." The Master bent, undismayed by his wig having three times taken fire, with his nose over his book, in the nearest possible proximity to the light. The "little Thickeys" ate cx'acknels, played "cat's- cradle," and awaited the fourth illuminatioxx on the Master's head, the near approach of which they now and then annouxiced to each other by friendly signs and exclamations, such as, " See now," " wait now," " now it 's a-coming !" I feel now particularly desix'ous to know whether any of my amiable young x-eadex'S, either from kind feeling or curiosity, would like to have a neax'er description of the pex'son who is seated in the corner of the drawing-x'oom, silently knitting her stocking, now and then sipping fx'om her cup of tea, and making her observations upon the company. Not to leave any such wish of my readei's unful- filled, I will also tx'v a sketch of her. She belongs to that class of pex'sons of whose existence one of the sisterhood says — " Sometimes it seems as if they were everywhere — sometimes it seems as if b2 THE H- FAMILY. they were nowhere." This singular existence appertains in common to those pei'sons who, with- out belonging to the family, are received in it as assistants for counsel and action either in joy or sorrow. 1 will, in a few words, draw a picture of such persons ; and, not to leave the class without a name, 1 will give her the title of Family Coun- sellor. Her circle of action is defined, and of the following character. She must have her thoughts, her hands, her nose in everything, but it must not be observed. If the master of the house is out of humour, she is pushed forward to act, either as a lightning-rod, or a bellows, whose duty it is to dispel the storm. If the lady has the vapours, her presence is as necessary as the bottle of Cologne water. Are the daughters in trouble, she must take part in it. Have they wishes, plans, projects, she is the speaking-trumpet by which they must approach deaf ears. Are the children crying, they are sent to her, that she may quiet them ; if they refuse to go to sleep, she must tell them stories. If any one is sick, she is the watcher. She is entrusted with commissions for the whole family, and she must have her hands full of advice for every one, on all occasions. Does some distin- guished visitor arrive, is the house put upon parade footing, then she vanishes ; no one knows where she is, any more than it is known where the smoke goes which rises from the chimney. But the workings of her invisible presence do not cease to be felt. The pan in which the cream is prepared is not placed on the nicely decorated dinner-table, but must remain on the kitchen hearth, and the same is the lot of the Family Counsellor — to do the useful and agreeable, but to give up the honour. If she can do this with stoical perseverance and resignation, her existence is often as interesting to herself as it is important to the family. It is true she must be humble and silent, must pass quietly through the doors, make less noise than a fly, and above all, never, like the flies, settle on the noses of people. She must yawn as seldom as her human nature will bear, but on the contrary must use her eyes and ears with freedom, though with caution ; and she has abundant occasion to make use of them. Unlike what happens in the physical world, there is no place for observation in the moral world 80 good as the most humble, where all looks are most unobserved ; and consequently the Family Counsellor is in the most favourable position for turning her penetrating telescope about the hemi- sphere of the household. Every motion, every spot on the planets of the heart, will become visible to her ; the most unpretending comet she follows in its course ; she sees the eclipse come and disappear, and while she considers the phenomena — the changing feelings and thoughts in the human soul, which are as countless as the stars of heaven — she learns, one day after another, to designate and lay down more and more of these great and won- derful hieroglyphics of creation. It is plain, there- fore, that she must gain successively a good deal of the costly, always applicable, coin, which is called knowledge of men ; and the hope smiles upon her, that iu some future time, when her nose is orna- mented with spectacles, and silver hair covers her aged head, she may speak like an oracle to listen- ing youth of her knowledge of things, of which they can form no idea. So much for the description of the Family Counsellor as a class ; a word now upon the indi- vidual who iu some measure filled this part in the family of Col. H . In some measure I say, for she was, God be praised, treated more as a friend ; did not hold the office of puffer, did not always stand behind the curtain, but often stepped for- ward upon the stage, and said her say as freely and unreservedly as other acting people. The fii-st word which her childish lips stam- mered, after a year's abode in this lower world, wjis " moon :" eight years after she wrote her first poem on the moon ; and the morning of a life which has since then passed so drily and pro- saically was a lovely poetical dream of moonshine. Many sonnets, many odes, her pen dedicated to the most charming objects of Nature, during the rich days of youth, when the heart beats so high, when the feelings swell like spring torrents, and when the fruitful sources of tears stream from such precious sorrows. But in everything she sung, wrote, or dreamed, there was always some- thing about moonshine. The old people shook their wise heads, " Girl, if you write verses, you will never learn to make a soup ; you will leave the sauce to burn. You must th'nk betimes that you have to support yourself, to spin your clothes, and bake your bread ; moonshine will not satisfy every one." But the girl wrote her poems, and made her soup, and did not let her sauce burn. She made her spin- ning-wheel hum, baked her bread, but did not forget the friend of her childhood, the gentle moon. Afterwards, when its kind beams shone over the grave of her parents, she wrote no poem to their honour, but looked up with a supplicating glance to the gentle, heavenly face, as to a com- forter, whose light would cheer the fatherless and motherless on her solitary path. But, ah ! the fatherless and motherless would have starved in her dear moonshine, if another light and other beams had not brought her salvation. These came from the hearth of a Count's kitchen. She succeeded in the preparation of a wine-jelly, and this made her fortune. She was discovered to possess the talent of pre- paring wine-jelly. By degrees it became appa- rent that she possessed other talents equally valuable. A lady with chapped lips was greatly benefited by her lip-salve. An old gentleman found great comfort in a never-weary listener to the stories of his forty-nine disasters. A tender mother of four little wonderfully-sensible children learned, with deep emotion, from their rosy lips, of her uncommon skill in making mother and brother, joy and boy, deep and weep, birth-day and skip-and-play, rhyme so properly. A sleepy "gracious lady" was once waked up entirely by this clever person prophesying with cards that she would soon receive a present. Nine persons within a very short time praised her admirable advice in curing toothache, pains in the chest, and influenza ; and her wonderful talent became especially apparent at sundry weddings and fune- rals, in arranging everything, from the head-dress of the lady to the key of the larder ; from the myrtle crown on the locks of the bride, to the bread and butter on the side-board ; as much by the arrangement of the touching celebration of marriage, as in decorating the last bed of rest of the slumbering bride, and providing far the enter- THE H- FAMILY. tainment of those who on melancholy occasions never forget that people must eat and drink. By the diligent use of these talents, and the improvement of some others of the same kind, she mounted step by step to the rank of the honour and dignity of a Family Counsellor. She had almost forgotten to write poems, but now and then, on birthdays and fete days, she brought forth some meagre lines. She seldom looked up to the moon, except to see the new moon and the full moon ; and yet its rays will perhaps remain the only friends to visit her solitary grave. But this is not the place to write elegies. Does any one wish to know more of the prosaic friend of moonshine ? Her age ? —somewhere between twenty and forty years ; her appearance?— like that of people in general, though perhaps most people would be much dis- pleased to have it thought that they had any like- ness to her. Her name ? Oh, your most obedient servant, Charlottk Beata Every-day. LETTER FROM JULIA— HELEN— THE BLIND GIRL— EMILY— THE BRIDEGROOMS. I HAVE already mentioned that the occasion which was at the bottom of my journey to the capital was a happy one ; and I shall explain it best by laying before the reader a letter, which I received in my solitude in the country, from Julia H . " My best Beata, " Lay down your eternal knitting when you see these lines, snuff your long-wicked candle, (does the post reach R. in the evening ?) lock your doors, so that without fear of being disturbed you may seat yourself upon your sofa, in peace and comfort, and read the interesting news which I have to announce to you. I see from here how fearfully curious you are — you open wide your eyes — and now, I will— tell you a story. " There was once a man, who was neither king nor prince, but who deserved to be one. He had a daughter, and although destiny had not allowed her to be born a princess, yet there assembled around her cradle thirty gracious fairies, out of pure esteem and affection for her father. They gave her beauty, intelligence, grace, talents, a noble heart, good humour, patience, — in a word everything which can make a woman charming ; and to fill up the measure of happy gifts, the fairy Prudence came forward, and in a slow manner said, * For the sake of your temporal and eternal happiness, you shall be extremely circumspect, considerate — yes, even fastidious — in the choice of a husband !' ' Well said ! wisely said !' cried all the fairies, and they sighed deeply. "The richly-endowed girl grew up, was as amiable as could reasonably have been expected, and late and early suitors knocked at the door of her heart with sighs and prayers. But, ah ! it remained immovably closed for most of them ; and if she for a moment opened it a little, the next minute it was closely shut and fastened with double bars. Happily the age of Princess Turan- dot was long since past ; and in Sweden, where the beautiful Elimia dwelt, the air must have been more cooling than in the land where Prince Kalaf sighed ; for it was never rumoured that the dismissed lovers put an end to their days ; they were hardly seen to lose their appetite ; nay, some even were known (can it be believed ?) to have chosen other loved ones, as easily as one changes his stockings. " The first who announced himself as an aspir- ant for the heart of the Tjeautiful Elimia was found too sentimental for her ; because he was seized with horror at killing a fly, and sighed over the unhappy fate of the innocent chickens who, well roasted, figured upon the dinner-table, and of the other articles which formed the daily dinner of his beloved. She feared, if she were united with him, that she should be in danger of starving upon simple blanc mange and vegetables. The second was not afraid of killing flies, loved fishing and hunting, and was considered cruel and hai'd- hearted : rather, much rather, would she have a hare than a hunter for a husband ! A hare came, shy and trembling, and stammering out his sighs, his wishes, and his despair. ' Poor Uttle thing ! ' was the answer, ' go and hide yourself ; you will be easy booty to the first good beast of prey that finds you in his way.' The hare hopped away. The lion came with a proud suitor's words : now the beautiful girl was much afraid of being swal- lowed up, and she hid herself till the mighty one had passed by. This was the fourth. The fifth, gay and cheerful, was considered too thoughtless ; of the sixth, it was feared that he had gambling inclinations ; of the seventh, on account of a red- ness of the nose, that he took pleasure in too deep draughts. The eighth looked as if he were ill- humoured ; the ninth seemed egotistical ; the tenth said, in every sentence, * May I be hanged !' The eleventh looked too much at his hands and feet, and was therefore a fool. The twelfth came, — he was good, noble, manly, and handsome ; he appeared to love sincerely ; he talked well ; all were very desirous to know what fault could be found in him. He seemed also to love truly — but it merely appeared so ; or, if he actually loved, it was perhaps more the small, perishable body than the immortal soul : God preserve us, what a great sin ! If it should be so — then — but the lover swore, that what he adored was the soul — the soul itself ; and in a happy hour, he stormed so powerfully at the ali"eady yielding heart of the beautiful girl, that her trembling lips at last moved in a way which seemed to him to show the gates through which the *yes' of capitulation would come. He took this as settled, considered the word as said, fell upon his knees, kissed her hand and mouth, and the beautiful Elimia, almost sinking with surprise and consternation, found herself — she knew not how — betrothed. " An early day for the wedding was appointed by her father and the bridegroom. Elimia did not say * yes,' but she did not say * no ;' and the bridegroom thought * silence gives consent.' As time passed on, Elimia counted — ' Now there are only fourteen days,' ' now only twelve,' ' gracious heaven ! now only ten,' and ' merciful God ! now only eight' days left. Now greater anguish and fear overpowered her soul. Phantoms and ghostly forms, numerous as the locusts which overwhelmed Egypt, took possession of her mind, formerly so calm and tranquil, and caused obscu- THE H- rity and darkness. Now she wished to delay, if not break off entirely, her marriage with the noble Almansor, who certainly must have moi*e faults than was supposed ; and some very great ones, which he knew well how to conceal from her. Perfection is not the lot of human nature ; and he who appears to be most free from faults may indeed be least so. Besides, she thought that their charactei'S did not entirely harmonise ; he was too young, and she too old, &c. ; and the sum and substance of all this was, that she should be unhappy all her life. " A very good friend of Elimia took the greatest pleasure in the world in breaking the fairy Pru- dentia's neck, whose unhappy gift caused Elimia to throw away from herself the happiness which awaited her in her marriage with this man, who seemed to be wholly and entirely created for her alone, and was devoted to her in the tenderest manner. « Now I see how impatient you are, Beata, and I hear you ask, < What is the meaning and end of all this, and of what use is it V All this, my dear, is, both to be of the same use as a little cordial which serves to excite an appetite for the dinner itself, and to show what wonderful magic power belongs to the little Julia ; for with a few strokes of my pen I change all the persons I have men- tioned, turn ' once' into 'now,' and a story to truth. " Almansor becomes then the amiable young Algernon S., and his betrothed Elimia becomes my sister Emily H., who repents so bitterly the ' yes' which she has given. The fairy Prudentia must undergo a greater change, and is nothing more than the caprice and irresolution which has so great power in Emily's heart, that it even influ- ences her determination of entering the holy state of marriage. If it were not pushed forward from every side, it would, like a crab, go backwards. At this very time, this Emily whom I love so dearly, and who yet so often makes me impatient, is sitting on the sofa opposite me, is pale, with her eyes red, is thinking of her wedding-day, and — has the blues ! Shall we laugh or cry at it 1 I do both, and induce Emily to do the same. " The only thing which we can do to prevent ourselves from dreaming and thinking too much about poor Emily, and thus becoming unnecessarily anxious and disquieted, is to do everything with zeal and haste till the wedding-day, and make as much of a whirl as possible. 1 know father would never allow any one of us to break a promise— this Emily knows also, and this helps to discourage her. And still she loves Algernon — yes, admires him at times, but would still, if she dared, give him a refusal. Tell me how can this be explained and accounted for ? Could her fate once be deter- mined, I know that all would be well ; and the pleasant part of the affair is, that Emily herself thinks so. Meanwhile, everything must be in order for next week. Sunday, ten days from now, is the fearful wedding-day. Emily will be mar- ried at home, and only a few relations will be invited. Emily desires it, and we follow her incli- nations in everything which is reasonable. She says, it is always so with poor victims. Comical idea ! You see, dearest Beata, how necessary your presence is for us all now. Indeed, we need your counsel and aid in all this. Pack up your things immediately, and travel here as quickly as you can. FAMILY. " On Monday Algernon comes to Stockholm, and with him my lover. I am not so difficult to please, nor so anxious as Emily, and yet I have chosen no worse. My Arwid is an Adonis, and has a heart which is worth its weight in gold. My father thinks much of him, and that is the most important to me. My good, honoured, beloved father ! I had so firmly resolved never to leave him and my mother, — I do not understand how I could deter- mine to be married, but my Arwid was inexorable. My father still has Helen with him, who will never marry ; and Helen is worth three such Julias as I am. At first, my father was opposed to my marriage, and had many objections, so that it was- nearly given up. But I threw myself upon my knees and wept, and Arwid's father (a friend of my father's youth) talked so eloquently, and Arwid himself seemed so cast down, that my father at last Vas moved, and said, ' Well, they may have one another !' and Arwid and I rejoiced like two young larks. You will come to see him ; he has a dark beard and moustaches, great blue eyes, the most beautiful — but you will see him— you will see him. He has the most beautiful son fie voix in the world; and Emily may say what she pleases, it sounds delightfully, really charmingly, when he says, * The thousand take me !' It sounds strangely, you may think ; but you will see, you will hear ! Come, come ! and at the latest, embrace us the evening after to-morrow. " Your friend, « Julia H ." « P.S. — I pray you to bring some of that beau- tiful bread, which my father and mother, as you know, like so well ; some of that cheese for Charles and Helen, and some gingerbread for me. You always have these things on hand. Emily, poor Emily, will, I think, have enough to do to drive away the blues. You cannot imagine how it troubles me to see her grow so pale and ugly, from mere disquiet and anxiety at the arrival of Alger- non. Emily, I believe, wishes to put to the proof his love for herimmoi'tal soul. I believe truly she would expect the same love from him if she should be changed to a mole. I am truly anxious. Emily is so changeable in her appearance, and is such a different being when she is sad and restless, from when she is quiet and calm. Once more, farewell ! " — " P.S. Do you know who is to marry Emily ? Professor L , who is so horribly serious, has a twisted foot, a red eye, and two warts on his nose. He entered the ministry a short time since. My father esteems and loves him much. It seems to me I should not like to be married by a cr'^ss- eyed minister. But I shall be married in a couple of years, or perhaps in the autumn ; it is not worth while to think of this yet. " I had nearly forgotten to give you the remem- brance of the whole family." I accepted Julia's invitation, and came, as has been seen, one evening in the end of February, to the house of Colonel H. There are some words to be said of the events of this evening, and I will join them here to the thread of my narrative. The blind girl, who had sat for a long time silent and quiet, suddenly said, with a sort of eagerness, " I will sing." Helen got THE H- FAMILY. up, led her to the piano, and sat down to accom- pany her. The blind girl remained standing. Helen asked what she would sing. " Ariadne at Naxos," was the short, definite answer. They began. At first there was nothing pleasant to me in the voice of the singer ; it was strong, deep, almost terrible. But as I listened attentively, and observed the feeling which spoke through the whole, and which manifested itself with enchanting truth, I was entirely carried away. I involunta- rily shuddered, and my heart beat in sympathy with Ariadne, as, penetrated with increasing anguish, she sought for her lover, and resolved to ascend the cliff to watch his departure. The ac- companiment here expresses her ascent in a masterly manner. It seems as if one could see her as she climbs up, breathless and full of fore- boding. At last she reaches the top, her look stretches over the sea, and beholds the white sail continually disappearing. The blind girl followed Ariadne with her whole soul, and one could hardly believe, from her excited expression, that she saw nothing but — darkness. Tears started involuntarily into her eyes, as, with a heart-rending expression of love and sorrow in her voice and countenance, she called out with Ariadne, " The- seus ! Theseus !" Just as her inspiration and our rapture had reached the highest point, the Colonel suddenly arose, went to the piano, took the singer by the hand, and, without saying a word, led her away and seated her again on the sofa, where he placed himself by her side. I observed that she took her hand hastily from his. She was deadly pale and excited. No one but myself appeared to be aston- ished at this scene. An indifferent conversation was begun, in which all took part but the blind girl. After a while the Colonel said to her, ** You need rest," and rising at the same moment he led her out of the room, after she had silently, but with solemnity of manner, bowed her head to those who remained behind. Just as they were going out, the Colonel called, " Helen !" and Helen followed them. Soon after, I went to my own room to repose; but the image of the blind girl, which hovered before me incessantly, disturbed me for a long time. I heard her thrilling voice, saw her expres- sive face, and tried to guess the nature of the feeling which agitated her soul. I was still awake, when Emily and Julia crept gently to their room, which was next to mine. The doors were open, and I heard the half- whispered conversation of the two sisters. Julia said, with some vexation, " You gape, you sigh ; and yet Al- gernon is coming to-morrow morning. Emily, you have no more feeling than a bandbox !" Emily. How do you know that it may not be from sympathy with Algernon, who is now perhaps doing the same ? JuLJA. He is not doing that, I am convinced ; on the contrary, I believe that he scarcely knows upon which foot he is standing, from impatient joy that he will so soon see you. Emily. Is that what you think from his last letters ? Julia. Those were written in great haste. One is not always in a mood for writing ; perhaps he had a severe headache — or a heavy cold in his head — or he had caught cold — Emily. Anything you please ; but nothing can excuse the cold, inexpressive termination of his letter. JiTLiA. I assure you, Emily, it ran thus : **with the tenderest devotion — " Emily. And I am certain it runs thus, dry and cold, " with esteem and devotion, remain,"&c.; just as one would write to an indifferent person, " I am with esteem," &c., for the poor esteem must always remain if a warmer feeling is wanting. — Where is my night-cap ? Ah, here it is ! Heigh, ho ! You, Julia, see everything so couleur de rose. Julia. I see that a lover must take care how he speaks of esteem. But I am convinced that Al- gernon did not write the frightful word, but has used a warmer and more hearty one. Dear Emily, bring the letter here ! You will see that you are wrong. Emily. For your sake, I will get the letter. We shall see that I am right I Julia. And we shall see that I am right. Emily brought the letter. The two sisters ap- proached the light. Julia wished to snuff the candle, and, either by accident or design, it went out. Everything was as still as darkness until Emily's laugh was heard. Julia joined in, and I could not prevent making a trio with them. Groping and stumbling among tables and chairs, the sisters found their beds, and called out, laugh- ing to me. Good night, good night ! The day after my arrival was what we call clearing-up day, — a day such as is met with in all well-ordered houses, and which can be compared with a stormy day in Nature, after the wind and rains of which everything appears in new purity, order, and freshness. They scrubbed, aired, dusted, and scoured in every corner. The lady of the house, who wished to overlook everything herself, went incessantly out and in through all the doors, and always left all open, through which came a horrible draught of air. To secure myself from earache and tooth- ache, I flew from room to room, and found at last, a flight of stairs higher, a safe harbour in Helen's room. This little room appeared to me the most agreeable and quiet one in the whole house. There were windows upon the sunny side. The walls were ornamented with pictures, most of which were beautiful landscapes. Among these were two by Fahleranz, in which the pencil of this great artist had conjured up the delightful repose which a beautiful summer evening spreads over Nature, and which is so powerfully shared by the heart of man. The eye, which was attentively fixed upon these pictures, soon expressed something lovely, sad, and enthusiastic, and this was the strongest evidence of their real beauty. The furniture in the room was handsome and convenient. A piano, a well-filled book-case, and desk, showed that in this little narrow circle nothing was wanting which could take the place of the plea- sures of the external world, and which could help to fill up the day in the most agreeable manner. Large splendid geraniums stood at the windows, and awakened pleasant thoughts of spring by their fresh green, while they kept out the intruding rays of the sun, which shone tl ere in all its brilliancy, as it usually did through the day in winter. A hand- some carpet covered the floor, which seemed to be sprinkled with flowers. 8 THE H- FAMILY. Helen was seated on the sofa, sewing. The New Testament lay before her on the work-table. She received me with a smile, which expressed the quiet and contentment of her spirit. I sat down by her, and joined her in her work. I felt unusually cheerful and happy. We were sewing on Emily's bridal dress. " You are examining my room," said Helen, smiling, while her eyes followed the dii'ection of mine. " Yes," answered I, " your sisters' rooms are neat and properly arranged, but it must be con- fessed they cannot compare with yours." " It has been my father's will," said she, " that Helen should be the only spoiled child in his house." With tears in her eyes, she continued : *' My good father wished that I should not miss the pleasures and enjoyments which my beautiful and healthy sisters are able to enjoy, and from which I am ex- cluded by my bodily infirmities and frequent illness. On that account he has taught me the far richer enjoyments, which knowledge and the exercise of the fine arts bestow on those who embrace them with warm and open hearts. For this reason he formed and strengthened my understanding by regular and anything but superficial studies, which he directed himself. For that reason he has col- lected, in this little retired nook, where I pass the greater part of my life, so much that is beautiful and charming to the eye, the feelings, and the thoughts. Yet, what is more than all, is the deep paternal love with which he surrounds and em- braces me, and which secures me from ever feel- ing with bitterness the want of those pleasures arising from love, the enjoyment of which Nature has deprived me of. He has succeeded perfectly ; and I have no other wish than to live for him, for my mothei', my sisters, and my God." We were silent for a moment, and I breathed in my heart a fervent prayer to that Father who cares so kindly for those to whom He has given life. Helen continued : — " When my mother and my sisters are at balls or in company he passes most of his time with me. I read to him or play to him, and he gives m&the indescribable pleasure of believing that I really help to make his life happy by so doing. It is a sweet, an enviable lot to be able to do something for those who are a blessing to every one about them." *' Oh ! " said I to myself, addressing the many earthly fathers of families, " why are so few of you like this father ? Princes of home How much happiness could you spread about you ! how adored might you be !" We then spoke of Emily. "It is singular," said Helen, "that a person who is generally so quiet, so clear in her judgment, so resolute — in a word, so reasonable — should on this point only be unlike herself ; — resolved to marry, because a happy marriage seems to be the most blessed of all situations. Emily has had great trouble in seriously bringing her mind to conclude upon it. The union of two of her youthful friends, which has proved unfortunate, has communicated to her a sort of panic fear, and she is so fearful that her marriage will prove unhappy that she would never have had courage to be happy if others had not acted for her. She is now almost half sick with anxiety at the neai* approach of her union with Algernon S., with a man for whom she has a real attachment, and with whom, as we are all con- vinced,8hewill be perfectly happy. She has intervals of tranquillity, and in such a one you saw her yes- terday evening. I feared then that this would soon be over, and expected that her anxiety and uncer- tainty would greatly increase as the decisive hour approached. That, I am sure, will put an end to them entirely ; for when a thing is irrevocably settled, Emily submits quietly to it, and looks for the best in everything. Until the wedding-day, we must seek to amuse her as much as possible, and to keep her from occupying herself with gloomy imaginations. Each of us has taken a particular part in the little comedy which we have to play with our good sister. My father means to be dili- gent in making her walk, my mother is to go over with her everything which it is necessary to put in order before her marriage, and give her advice about these matters. Julia takes care, in one way or another, never to leave her at rest. Brother Charles, as is his custom, takes every occasion to draw her into a dispute about Napoleon, whom he puts below Charles XII., which she cannot endure ; and this is the only subject upon which I ever hear my good, silent sister dispute with warmth. I, on the contrary, employ her a great deal about her toilet. My little brothers, taught by Nature, know their parts well, which consist in incessantly clamouring to get now this and now that. Till now, we have all shared the care of making her contented. This must now rest upon you alone. You, good Beata, must take the part of bringing before her, on passing occasions, and in a skilful manner, the praises of Algernon, which you will not find it difficult to do. Emily considers us all on his side ; you will not be suspected ; and your praise will, therefore, have the more effect." I was well content with my commission ; it is always pleasant to praise people, particularly when it can be done with a good conscience. After we had talked for some time about Emily and her lover, of her preparations for house- keeping, &c., I turned the subject upon the blind girl, and tried to find out something more about her. Helen waived this subject, and only said, "Eliza- beth has been with us for a year— we love her, and hope in time to gain her confidence, and then to be able to add to her happiness." Helen then proposed to me to visit Elizabeth. " I generally go to her," said she, " every morn- ing, and have not been to her to-day. I would willingly devote more of ray time to hei', if she did not prefer to be alone." We went together to the blind girl's chamber. She was sitting dressed upon the bed, and singing softly to herself. " Oh, how much she must have suffered ! she is a living picture of sorrow," thought I, while I saw more nearly and by daylight that pale, beautiful face, in which were revealed distinct ti'aces of hard battles not yet fought thi'ough, and a sorrow that was too deep, too bitter, to have poured itself out in tears. A young girl, whose rosy cheeks and gay expres- sion formed a strong contrast to the poor sufferer, sat sewing in the corner of the chamber. She was there to take care of the blind girl. With a sooth- ing heartiness in word and tone, Helen spoke to THE H FAMILY. Elizabeth. She answered coldly and in mono- syllables. It seemed as if she made an effort, on our entrance, to assume the cold and inanimate expression I had seen about her on the preceding evening. The conversation was carried on be- tween Helen and myself, during wliich Elizabeth employed herself in turning and twisting a black silk cord. All at once she cried, " Hist ! hist !" and a taint blush rose upon her cheeks, while her bosom heaved. We were silent, and listened, and after a few seconds we perceived the distant sound of footsteps, slowly approaching. "It is he ! " said the blind girl, as if to herself. I looked inquiringly at Helen. Helen looked down. The Colonel entei'ed. The blind girl arose, and I'emained standing like a statue, yet I thought I perceived a slight trembling. The Colonel spoke to her with his usual quiet manner, yet, as it seemed, with not his usual kind- ness. He said that he came to invite her to take a drive in the carriage with Emily and himself. " The air," continued he, " is fresh and clear ; it will do you good." " Me good I " said she with a bitter smile ; but without heeding it, the Colonel desired Helen to assist her in preparing to go out. The blind girl made no opposition, silently allowed herself to be dressed, thanked no one, and went out accompanied by the Colonel. " Poor Elizabeth !" said Helen, with a compas- sionate sigh, when they were gone. I had, to be sure, no key to the secrets of this mystei-ious being, but I had seen enough to make me heai'tily sigh, likewise, « Poor Elizabeth ! " We went back to our work, which, enlivened by pleasant conversation, continued till it was time to prepare for dinner. I then went to Emily, who had returned from her drive, and found her engaged in a contest with Julia, who was trying by actual force to pull off a dress which Emily wished to put on. Emily laughed heartily ; Julia, on the contrary, appeared as if she were about to cry. *' Help, Beata, help !" cried she. " Did you ever hear or see such a thing ? Listen, Beata : just because Emily expects Algernon to-day, she in- sists upon putting on an ugly dress, — a dress that sits so ill, that she does not look like herself in it! And, not content with that, she will put on an apron that is as thick as a blanket, and she will stick a comb in her hair, which certainly must have come down as a bequest from Medusa, it is so ugly — and here have I been battling and working over this unlucky toilet for a quarter of an hour — but all in vain !" " If in Algernon's eyes," said Emily, with a dignified look and manner, " a comb or a dress can make me pleasing or otherwise, then — " " See, there you have it!" said Julia sadly, " now we have come to the trial, and there is no telling how ugly and frightful she may make herself, just to try whether Algernon will exceed in devoted fidelity all the most celebrated heroes of romance. I only beg of you, in the name of Heaven, not to cut off your ears or your nose." Emily laughed. *^ And you, who can so easily make yourself beautiful and amiable 1" continued Julia in a sup- plicating tone, while she tried to get possession of the unlucky dress and comb. " I have made up my mind to be dressed in this way tc-day," answered Emily, firmly. " I Imve my reasons for it ; and if I awaken your horror and that of Algernon, I must submit to my fate." " Emily will be pretty anyhow," said I to Julia, for her consolation ; " now go and dress yourself for dinner. Remember that you have also a bridegroom to please." « Oh," said Julia, " that is not difficult with him ; if I were to dress myself in a bag and set a pitcher on my head, he would find it all right." " You think, then," began Emily, " that Alger- non has not the same eyes for me that Arwid has for you." Julia seemed somewhat overpowered. *' Go, now, go," interrupted I, " we shall never be ready; go, Julia — I will help Emily, and I will wager that in spite of herself she will look pretty." Julia went to Helen, who every day combed and arranged her beautiful hair in curls. While I was alone with Emily, and assisting her to put on the fatal grayish-brown dress, I said to her a few pretty sensible words, as I thought, upon the pertinacity of her behaviour. She answered me, " I own that I am not as I ought to be I wish it were otherwise ; but I feel so I'estless, and so far from happy, that I sometimes have no command over myself. I am now about to conclude a union, which perhaps should never have been made ; and if, during the time which remains before its completion, I should come to the conviction that my fears are well founded, nothing in the world shall hinder me from breaking off the engagement, and thereby avoid being made unhappy for my whole lifetime. For if it is true that heaven is found in a happy marriage, it is just as certain that hell comes from an unhappy one." " If you do not love Mr. S." said I, " I am greatly surprised that you have allowed the thing to go so far." " Not love him !" said Emily, in astonishment; * ' I certainly love him, and there lies the misfor- tune ; my love makes me blind to his failings." " No one would suspect that," replied I, laugh- ingly, "after what you have just said." " Oh yes, oh yes," said Emily, '•' it is exactly so. Yet some are so palpable that one cannot be blind to them ; for instance, he is too young." *' How very wrong," said I, laughing ; " that is truly terrible in him." " Yes, you may laugh, but for me it is not so very pleasant. I will not say that it is in itself a failing, but with regard to me it is a failing. I am six-and-tvventy years old, and consequently my youth is almost over ; he is only two years older, and that, for a man, makes him still very young. I shall be a respectable matron, when he is still a young man. Possibly he may be disposed to flirtation, and will be glad to leave his old, tedious wife, to " " Oh, oh," interrupted I, " that is carrying your prophetic foresight too far. Have you any reason to suppose that he is of a trifling character ? " " Cei'tainly no decided reasons — but in this age of trifling, truth and constancy are such rare virtues. I know that I am not Algernon's first love ; who will assure me that I shall be his last ? — I could bear anything but the inconstancy of my husband — that, I think, I could never survive. I have told Algernon so — he has assured me — but 10 THE H- FAMILY. what will not a lover assure one 1 Besides, how can I know that he loves me with the real, true love, which is alone strong and enduring ? He may have only a transient inclination for me, and this is a weak thread easily broken ! I have also thought — and this has often given me great anxiety — that perhaps my fortune, or what I may at some time have, has had an influence." " No, now you are going too far," said I. " You see ghosts in broad daylight. How can you have such suspicions ? You have known him — " "Only two years," said Emily, interrupting me ; " and almost from the first moment of our acquaintance he made court to me, and naturally showed me only his most amiable side. And who can read the heart of man ? See, Beata, I cannot say I know the man with whom I am going to unite my fate. And how could I have become acquainted with him, when we only met each other in the regular way of society, in which there is scarcely any opportunity for the character to unfold itself, and we learn only its exterior and super- ficial part ? A person may have faults, be avari- cious, inclined to ill-temper or suUenness ; even worse than all, a man may be entirely without religion ; and yet we may meet him in the social circle year after year, without ha^ ing the least suspicion of any such defects. They would be even most likely to escape the knowledge of the object whom a person is seeking to please." I hardly knew what to say — this description seemed to me to be true, and Emily's fears not unfounded. She went on : — " Yes ; if for the length of ten years we had known and seen each other, or if we had travelled together, (for in travelling a man is not so much on his guard, and shows his natural character and disposition more,) then one might know tolerably well where one was." " That way," said I, " might be somewhat long and burdensome, excellent as it may formerly have been found, and it might have been well suited for lovers in the time of the Crusades. In our day, people walk up Queen-street,* and rarely go higher tlian the North Gate. Nothing more can be desired. During these peregrinations, they see the world and are seen by them ; they bow and receive bows in return ; they talk and joke and laugh, and find each other so pleasant, that at the end of the little journey they no longer hesi- tate to undertake the great journey of life together. But now, to speak seriously, have you never talked openly with Algernon upon the subject, on which you feel it to be so important that you should know his opinions 1" " Yes, several times," replied Emily, « particu- larly since we have been betrothed ; and I have always found, or thought that I found, he had the same ideas and feelings which I have ; but, alas ! it is easy for me to be dazzled, because I have wished so much to be. Possibly even Alger- non, in his zeal to please me, may have deceived himself. I have resolved to use all my observa- tion during the short time which remains of my freedom, to discover the reality and truth, and I will not, if I can help it, make him and myself * Queen-street (Drottning gate), one of the finest streets in Stockholm, and a favourite rendervous for the beau monde, especially in winter. unhappy by wilful blindness. Even if he were entirely excellent, he might not suit me, nor 1 him ; our dispositions and characters might fun damentally disagree." Amid all these gloomy speculations Emily had finally got dressed ; and it must be confessed, that her costume did not become her. She concluded by saying, « I wish sometimes I were married ; then the thought that I am going to be married would trouble me no longer." " Inconsistency of the human heart!" thought I. At table, Emily's dress was universally blamed, particularly by the Cornet. Julia was silent, but her eyes were eloquent. The Colonel said nothing, but looked at Emily with a somewhat sarcastic mien, which made her blush. After dinner Julia said to Emily, " Dear Emily, I did not mean that Algernon would not find you charming, even in sackcloth and ashes. I only meant to say that it was wrong if a bride did not seek to please her bridegroom in everything. I meant, that it was right — that it was wrong — that—" Here Julia lost the thread of her demonstration, and was almost as much confused as a burgo- master meeting with the same accident in his speech. Emily pressed her hand kindly, and said, " Vou have followed out your own principles most successfully, for I have scarcely ever seen you more becomingly dressed, or looking better than to-day, and certainly Arwid will agree with me." Julia blushed : she was more pleased at these words of her sister than she would have been at any compliment from her lover. Toward evening all the dust in the house was laid, everything had returned into its I'egular order, and the lady of the house herself was at rest. At tea-time Algernon and Lieutenant Arwid arrived. Emily and Julia blushed like June roses ; the one looked down, the other up. Algernon showed so much pleasure at seeing Emily again, was so occupied with her, took so little notice of the toilet, on which he did not deign to bestow a glance — was so delighted, so happy, and so amiable, that the pleasure which beamed from his eyes kindled a sympathetic glance in those of Emily ; and, spite of robe, apron, or comb, she was so charming and agreeable, that Julia forgave her dress. Lieutenant Arwid was not less pleased with his amiable little bride, though he did not, like Algernon, give so many external demonstrations of his pleasure. Eloquence is not bestowed on all, and every one has his own manner. He drank three cups of tea, ate a dozen cracknels, kissed the hand of his lady very often, and looked per- fectly happy. I heard him once say, " The thou- sand take me !" and found that a handsome mouth and a pleasant voice could somewhat soften the sound of improper words. Lieutenant Arwid was, in fact, an Adonis (N.B. an Adonis with a moustache). His face expressed goodness and honesty, but (I beg ten thousand pardons of him,) also some simplicity and self-love — his handsome head of twenty years' standing did not appear to harbour many ideas. Algernon had a remarkably noble person, in THE H- FAMILY. which manliness, goodness, and intelligence were the principal characteristics. He was tall, had regular, fine features, and the most graceful and easy manner. « How," thought I, " can Emily turn her glance upon this noble countenance, and not find all her care and anxiety vanish ?" For this evening it did vanish, or retired into the darkest recesses of her soul. The whole family appeared to be happy, and all was joy and life. The blind girl did not appear in the family circle this evening. FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING-DAY. Notwithstanding the cheerfulness and quiet with which Monday ended, Emily awoke on Tues- day morning with the remark, " Still one day less before the frightful day." Beautiful presents arrived in the morning from Algernon. Emily was not pleased with this cus- tom of a lover giving presents to his betrothed. " It is a barbarous custom," said she ; '< it makes the woman a piece of merchandise, which the bridegroom buys. The fact that this is the custom with all rude and barbarous nations, should be enough to cause civilised nations to lay it aside." Besides, in some of the presents she found too little attention paid to the useful, and too much to the luxurious and glittering. "I hope he is not a spendthrift," said she, sighing. " How little he knows me, if he thinks that I love jewels better than the flowers which he gives me ! Pomp and idle magnificence dis- please me as much as grace and elegance please me. And then, it does not suit our circumstances." Emily's good humour was over. She scarcely looked at the presents, about which Julia could not help calling out, *' Enchanting ! charming !" She would not take the curl-papers from her hair the whole morning, and went round, wrapped in a great shawl, which hung unevenly. The Cornet compared her to a Hottentot, and begged her, although she had taken up rough and barbarous customs, not to imagine that she could become a savage. As we went down to dinner, I told her, in order to play my part, and praise truly and skilfully, how uncommonly handsome and interest- ing I found Algernon. " Yes," answered Emily, *' he is very handsome — much more handsome as a man than 1 am as a woman, and this I consider as a real misfortune." " See there," thouglit I, " I am wrecked upon a sand-bank again." Emily continued : — " It is seldom that beauty, so remarkable, does not make the possessor vain ; and the most unbearable thing which I know, is a man in love with his own person. Generally, he considers it the first duty of his less beautiful wife to honour and adore his beauty and loveliness. Vanity belittles a woman, but debases a man. In my opinion, the appearance of a man is to his wife of little or no consequence. I am convinced that I could adore a noble -^sop, and prefer him a thou- sand times to an Adonis. A Narcissus, who adores his own image, I consider the most insipid thing in the world." As Emily spoke these last words, she opened the parlour-door : Algernon was alone in the room, and was standing— before the mirror ! and seemed to be looking at himself attentively. You should have seen how Emily blushed, and with what an expression she regarded her lover. He, perhaps astonished at her confusion and her vexed expression, and somewhat embarrassed that he should have been caught in his ttte-a-ttte with the mirror, lost countenance entirely. It was now my business immediately to begin a conversation upon the weather, the travelling, &c. Fortunately the rest of the family came in, which made a favourable diversion. Emily remained sad ; and, whilst Algernon looked at her, by degrees his face grew dark. I thought I observed that he had a " sty" in his left eye. I thought it possible that this was the cause of his tete-a-tete with the mirror ; but Emily would not see it. Various little things contri- buted to lessen the harmony between the lovers. Algernon was particularly pleased with many things which were not agreeable to Emily, and left untouched at table Emily's favourite dishes. Emily felt sure that they did not sympathise in the least. Algernon made a true observation, but not bitter, and without any special allusion, about whims, and how disagreeable they were, which, nevertheless, should have been unsaid at this time. Emily took it to herself, and put on a more dignified expression. Julia became anxious : " It would be better if they would regularly quarrel, than to sit there, vexing themselves without speaking." Cornet Charles went to Emily, and said, " My gentle sister, I pray you do not sit thei'e like a Chinese wall, impenetrable by all the arrows which Algernon's loving eyes dart upon you. Be, if you can, a little less icy. Look at Algernon. Go to him, and give him a kiss." Yes, it looked like it ; one would sooner expect the Chinese wall itself to move. Emily did not once look at Alger- non, who seemed to be longing for a reconciliation. He proposed that they should sing together an Italian duet, which had just come out — perhaps in hope that the spirit of the harmony would drive away all the unfriendly and unkind feelings which had destroyed peace between him and his beloved, and that the cor mio, mio ben, of the duet would soon thrill through her heart. Vain hope ! Emily excused herself by a headache. She really had one, and a severe one, as I could see by her eyes. She always had it slightly when she was sad or disquieted. Algernon believed the headache was feigned ; and, without troubling himself about his bride, who was sitting on the sofa, supporting her aching head upon her hand, he announced his intention of going to hear Mozart's Figaro at the opera, bowed hastily to all, and went away. The evening dragged heavily on. No one was gay, or in good spirits. All saw that Emily was suffering, and therefore no one expressed displea- sure at her behaviour. The Colonel, of all of us, took no notice of anything, but went quietly on with his game. As we separated for the evening, the Cornet whispered to me, " There he goes off in a passion ! To-morrow we must bring all our guns to bear." Wednesday came — Algernon arrived early in the morning. His expression was so full of love, 12 THE H- FAMILY. Emily, that she was melted, and tears fell from her eyes. All was right between the lovers. No one knew how or wherefore, not even them- selves. This day passed quietly, with the exception of two fears which Emily had, but which she lived through. The first happened in the morning, when, during a conversation which Algernon had with her mother, Emily heard some expressions from him, which convinced her for the space of a minute that he was nothing less than the greatest miser in the world. Fortunately, she soon found that he was only quoting the words of a harpy of his acquaintance, about whom he laughed heartily himself. Emily took breath and joined him. The second fear came upon her in the evening. In the midst of a conversation which some of us were carrying on, whilst we sat at the window, in the clear moonlight, I said, " There are some good and noble men, who are unfortunate enough to believe in no other life, in no higher destiny of our being — these are to be pitied — not to be blamed." With an indescribable expression of anguish in her beautiful eyes, Emily looked at me as if questioning me. Her thoughts were, " Is it Algernon whom you wish to excuse 1" I answered her by directing her attention to Alger- non, who, at my words, had directed his gaze to the starry heavens, and this gaze was the expres- sion of a beautiful and firm hope. Emily raised her eyes with gratitude ; and when their eyes met, they beamed with tenderness and joy. This day bade fair to end happily. Ah ! why must Algernon during supper receive a note ? why must he, whilst reading it, become confused, and afterwards lose his composure ? why go away so hastily, without any explanation 1 Yes, why ? That no one knew ; but many of us would have given anything to have known it. " You cannot take it into your head to think badly of Algernon on account of that note ?" said Julia to Emily, as they were going to bed. " Good night, Julia !" answered Emily, sighing. Emily had no " good night." Thursday. — Clouds and mists around Emily. Unsuccessful attempts on our part to dissipate them. At breakfast, the Cornet took the field with Napoleon and Charles the Twelfth. Emily could not dispute. Julia and Helen endeavoured in vain to enliven her. 1 did not venture to say a single word on my part. The note, the note — lay in the way of everything. At twelve Algernon came. He looked heated, and his eyes sparkled. Emily had promised, the day before, to drive out with him in an open sleigh : he came to carry her. A beautiful sleigh, covered with rein-deer skins, stood at the door. Emily refused coldly and definitely to go with him. « Why not $" asked Algernon. " On account of the note," Emily should have said, in truth, but she said — ** I wish to stay at home." "Are you ill?" « No." "Why will you not give me the pleasure of driving you out, as you promised 1" « The note, the note," thought Emily ; but she merely blushed, and said again, « I wish to stay at home." Algernon became angry. He grew red, and his eyes flashed fire. He went out, and shut the door roughly behind him. The servant, who had been with the sleigh at the door, had left it in the meantime. The horse, frightened at a fall of snow, and left to himself, started back, overthrew an old woman, and would probably have run over her, if Algernon, who had just come into the square, had not rushed forward, and seized the reins with a powerful grasp. After he had quieted the horse, he called up a boy to hold him, and hastened himself to pick up the old woman, who had not dared to move, in fright, but who fortunately did not appear to be in the least injured. He spoke a few mo- ments with her, and gave her some money. To his servant, who came at last, he gave a box on the ear, threw himself into the sleigh, and drove off like lightning. Emily, pale and frightened, had observed this scene from the window, but at his departure she cried out, — " He is impetuous, excitable, furious ! " and she burst into tears. " He has," said I, " human weaknesses, and that is all. He came here in an excited and dis- quieted frame of mind. Your refusal to fulfil the promise you had given, and without giving any reason for it, must naturally irritate him ; the negligence of his servant, which so nearly occa- sioned a serious accident, increased his wai-mth, which vented itself merely in a box on the ear, richly deserved by him who received it. It is too much to expect from a young man that he should continue entirely cold and quiet, when vexations press upon him, one after another. It is enough if, while he is excited, he remains so humane and kind as we saw Algernon was to the old woman. I believe, Emily, that if, instead of exciting Algernon's temper and caprice, (pardon me these two beautiful words,) you had exercised rightly the great power, which, as we all see, you have over him, you would not have seen him excited and angry, as you call it." I was much pleased with my little speech, when I had fi.nished, and thought it would have a wonderfully powerful influence ; — but Emily was silent, and looked unhappy. Algernon did not come at dinner-time. Cornet Charles related after dinner that he had heard from one of his fellow-soldiers that there had been a duel fought in the morning of this day. One of the duellists was Algernon's best friend, and had requested him to be his second. He had done this in a note, (this the Cornet said in an ex- pressive tone,) which was delivered to Algernon while he was here yesterday evening, at a quarter before ten. Algernon had done all he could to prevent the duel, but in vain. It took place, and Algernon's friend wounded his rival dan- gerously. The Cornet knew nothing more of the circumstances. Now everything was explained, and Algernon's image stood pure before Emily. Algernon came towards evening ; he was very calm, but serious, and did not go, as he usually did, to seat himself by his Emily. She herself was not gay, did not appear to be willing to take the first step in a reconciliation, and yet showed, by many little attentions to Algernon, how much she wished to be reconciled with him. She herself offered him THE H- tea, asked him if it were sweet enough, if she should send him another cup, &c. Algernon re- mained cold to her, and appeared often to fall into reverie, and to forget where he was. Emily at last drew herself back, appeared much depressed, seated herself at a distance to sew, and did not look up from her work for a long while. Cornet Charles said to Helen and to me, " Things are not going rightly ; but what can be done to make them better ? I cannot come foi'- ward with Napoleon and Charles the Twelfth. I brought that upon the carpet this morning ; besides, it did not succeed very well. It must be confessed that Emily is not an amiable lady-love. If she is not diffei^ent as a wife, then — ought she not now to go to Algernon, and try to comfort and enliven him ? See, now she is going — no, she only went for a skein of thread. Poor Algernon ! I begin to believe that it is very fortunate for me that I am so devoid of feeling. Poor lovers have to suffer more torments than those who go through the degrees*. If I were a lover — what do you want, little Claes ? say what is the matter — a biscuit ? Go to Emily, I have not any biscuit ! Yes, it will do her Highness good to stir her up a little." The Cornet did not see how humbled her High- ness was in the bottom of her heart, and that the coldness between them was more Algernon's fault than hers. Algernon and Emily did not approach each other this evening, and parted coldly — at least to all appearance. Friday morning Emily resolved to break off her engagement. Algernon was noble, excellent ; but he was too harsh, and did not love her ; that she had plainly seen the evening before ; she would have only one more private conversation with him. Algernon came. He was more cheerful than the day before, and seemed to wish that everything unpleasant might be forgotten. Emily was at first quite solemn at the thoughts of her important intention ; but Julia, Helen, her mother. Cornet Charles and I, succeeded so well in drawing her into our whirl and excitement, that we kept her from particular conversations and self-meditations. We at last heard her hearty laugh, and her pen- siveness did not relapse into melancholy. In the afternoon the marriage contract was signed. Even Sir Charles Grandison's bride, the beauti- ful Harriet Byron, let the pen fall (so they say) which she had taken up to sign her contract of marriage, and had not the strength and presence of mind to sign her fate. Millions of young brides have trembled at this hour, and done the same. What wonder was it then that the shy and trem- bling Emily was beside herself with anxiety ? Not only the pen fell from her hand, but she made a great blot of ink upon the important paper, which seemed to her at this moment an unhappy omen ; and I doubt whether she would have signed it, if the Colonel (as Sir Charles did) had not taken the pen, put it between her fingers, and seized and guided her trembling hand. As we were alone in our room in the evening, Emily said, with a deep sigh, — * Go through the degrees {passera graderna), is an ex- pression used by young military men who are obliged to go through various degrees of service and examinations, to prepare themselves for the situations of officers. FAMILY. 13 " It must be done ! It cannot be helped — and the day after to-morrow he will carry me away from everything which I love so deeply." " It would be supposed," said Julia, laughing, but with tears in her eyes, "• that you were to travel to the end of the world, and yet only a few streets are to separate us, and we shall see each other every day." " Yes, every day," said Emily, weeping, " but not every hour." On Saturday evening Emily was kind and amiable to all, but, depressed and quiet, she seemed to be trying to fly from thoughts which yet would follow her. Algernon became every moment more serious, and looked at his mistress with troubled and scrutinizing looks. He appeared as if he feared she was not giving him her whole heart with her hand, yet he seemed to shun all explanation, and avoided being left alone with Emily. I had learned through a cousin of the sister-in- law of the step-sister of the cook in the house, that Algernon had distributed food and money in many poor families, with the request that they should make a good meal on this Sunday, and should be happy. I related this to Emily, who had caused the same to be done on her own part. This sympathy in their thoughts rejoiced her, and gave her fresh courage. In the mean time all had served and laboured diligently, so that everything was in order and readiness on the day before the marriage. There was something solemn in the separation at night. AH embraced Emily, and tears were in every eye. Emily restrained her emotion, but could not speak. All thought of the next day. THE WEDDING-DAY. TffE great, the expected, the dreadful day came at last. Emily, almost as soon as she arose, looked up to the sky with an anxious glance. It was covered with gray clouds. The air was cold and damp ; everything, visible from the window bore the melancholy look which a dark, cold, winter day gives to animate and inanimate objects. The smoke which arose from the chimneys fell down again and wreathed slowly over the roofs, blackening the white snow with which they were covered. Women, with red noses and blue cheeks, were driving their milk-cai'ts to market, and their lean steeds, who drew them slowly by, drooped their shaggy heads nearer than ever to the ground. Even the little sparrows did not seem to enjoy quite their usual good-humour. They sat still, cowering together on the spouts, without twitter- ing or pecking for food. Now and then one would stretch out his wings, and open his bill a little, but it was evidently only in disgust. Emily sighed deeply. A clear sky, a little sunshine, would have raised and enlivened her depressed spirits. Who does not wish that a clear sun may shine on his wedding-day ? It seems as if Hymen's torch could not burn quite clearly, if It be not kindled by the bright rays of heaven. A secret faith that Heaven is not indifferent to our earthly lot, is always fixed at the bottom of our hearts ; and though we are dust, we are also atoms, and we perceive when the everlasting firmament of heaven 14 THE H- FAMILY. becomes darkened, or when it beams in brightness. In these qjianges there is, periiaps, a sympathy or a presentiment which affects us ; and often, very often, our hopes and our fears are the children of the winds and the clouds. Emily, who had passed a sleepless night, and who was still oppressed by the scenes of the pre- ceding day, was entirely overcome by the dark morning. She complained of headache ; and, after breakfast, having embraced her parents and sisters, she begged their permission to pass the morning alone in her room. It was granted. The Colonel looked more serious than usual. The lady had such an anxious countenance, that it cut one to the heart to look at her. Anxiety and uneasiness on Emily's account, with the various cares of the wedding-feast, alternately asserted their claims over her soul, and everything she said began with " Ah !" The Cornet was not gay ; and Helen's expressive face wore a slight tinge of sorrow. Julia was inexpressibly astonished that a wedding-day should begin so sadly ; her expres- sion changed incessantly, and she was one moment in tears, and the next in smiles. Only the tutor and the little Thickeys were in their usual spirits. He bit his nails, was silent, and stared upon vacancy ; they ate their breakfasts diligently. I assisted Madame H through the whole morning, and what we had to arrange and direct, partly by employing others, and partly by setting our own hands to the work, was not a little. We stirred the lemon-creams, seasoned the gravy of the roast, salted the soup, lamented together over the unfortunate pastry, rejoiced over the splendid decoi-ations, and burnt our tongues with twenty different sauces. Ah, those are not poetic flames which Hymen's torch lights upon the kitchen hearth ! The Colonel himself prepared the bowls of bishop and punch, and gave us not a little trouble and disturbance in so doing. He took up so many things, so many people, and so much room in his operations, and seemed to think there was nothing else of any importance to be done, that his lady wife was not a little vexed. She gave her husband at last a little lecture on the subject,aud he — yielded. While I was instructing the cook in the most elegant manner of preparing an entree^ Julia came running into the kitchen with tears in her eyes. "Give me, give me," said she, with unusual anima- tion, " give me something good for Emily ! She ate nothing at breakfast, she will certainly be ill, and will faint from mere weakness. What have you got here, boiled eggs ? I will take two, — jelly in glasses, I will take two. I want something else ; — ah, now some caprice sauce ! that is re- viving ; and now, a piece of fish or meat with it, — a couple of French rolls, and then, too, a little pastry, and I shall be content. Emily is so fond of sweets. Do you know what she is doing, Beata ?" continued she, whispering to me. " She is praying to God ; I peeped through the key-hole, and she was on her knees praying, God bless her !" and pure pearls ran over Julia's cheeks, while she ran off with three plates full, which she canned, I do not know where. At last our arrangements were finished. Every thing was now left to the servants, with the neces- sary instructions, and the Colonel, his lady, and I, went to dress for dinner. I afterwards went to Emily. She was standing before the glass in her bridal dress, and gave a glance at hei'self, which neither expressed the pleasure nor the self-complacency which a beau- tiful and well-dressed woman generally feels at sight of her amiable " me," Helen was fastening her bracelets, and Julia was on her knees putting some part of the lace-trimming in order. " See !" cried Julia, as I entered the room, " is she not lovely, is she not beautiful ? and yet," added she softly, " I would willingly give half of what I am worth to buy another expression for her. She is sad and dark as the weather." Emily, who had heard the last words, said, "One cannot look gay who is not happy. Everything is so heavy, so insupportable to me. This is a dread- ful day ; I almost wish I might die." " Oh, Heaven !" said Julia to me, wringing her hands, " now she is beginning to cry ; then her eyes and her nose will be red, and she will not look pretty ; what shall we do 1" "Dear Emily," said Helen, gently, while she lifted her sister's hand to her lips, " are you not a little unreasonable ? This marriage is your own wish, as well as that of us all. As far as human reason can judge, you must be happy ; has not Algernon the most noble qualities 1 - does he not love you most tenderly ? Where could you find a husband who would be a more amiable son to your parents, or a better brother to your sistei"s ?" " All this is true, Helen, or rather all this seems to be true. But ah ! when I think that I am now about to change my whole existence, that I shall leave my parents, leave you, my good, dear sisters, and this house, where I have been so happy — and this for a man whose heart I do not know, as I know yours, who may change his conduct toward me, who can make me unhappy in various ways ; and that this man will in future be my all, my fate will be irrevocably bound to his ;— oh, my sisters, when I think of all this, everything becomes so dark before my eyes, I feel my knees tremble — and when I think, that to-day — to-day ! my fate will be decided, and that I still have liberty to draw back, — then I feel the terrors of irresolution, of uncertainty, of which no one can conceive. Beata, sisters, never marry !" " But, dearest Emily," resumed Helen, « you, who find it so easy to yield to necessity, only imagine that your fate is decided, — that it is now too late to resign your happiness." " Too late !" cried Emily, without noticing the last words, " it is not too late, as long as the priest has not united us. Yes, even at the foot of the altar, I have still the right — and may — " " And could you have the heart for it ?" cried Julia, in a highly ti-agical tone ; "you might drive Algernon to despair, you might actually — " She paused, for the Colonel stood in the door-way, with his arms folded, while he looked at J ulia with his ironical expression, which placed her in a posi- tion not unlike that in which the renowned Made- moiselle George was applaude i iii " Semiraniis" and " Mary Stuart ;"— Julia blushed, but Emily still more deeply. The Cornet, who followed his father, gave his sister, from Algernon, some fresh, choice flowers, and a note, which contained a few lines, but these few were anything but cold and heartless. Emily's face cleared up, she pressed her brother's hand. THE H- FAMILY. He threw himself, in a rapture of chivalrous en- thusiasm, on his knees, and begged the favour of being allowed to kiss the tip of her shoe. She held out her little foot to him, and while he bent over, as it seemed not with the intention of kissing the point of her shoe, but to salute her, she threw her arras about his neck and kissed him heartily. The Colonel took her hand, walked with her to the middle of the room, and we formed a circle about them. When she saw his look of fatherly affection, and ours of wonder and love, turned upon her, she was filled with tender pleasure, blushed, and be- came as fair as even Julia could wish. Her dress was simple, but in the highest degree tasteful and elegant. For those of my young readers who would know more of her toilet, here it is. She wore a white silk dress, trimmed with lace ; the green myrtle wreath was placed on her very nicely arranged hair, over which a veil, (Helen's most splendid work,) was thrown in a very picturesque manner ; and this gave to her gentle and innocent face a perfect resemblance to the Madonna of Paul Veronese. To make her more charming, nothing was wanting but the expression of happiness, hope, and love, which is the most beautiful ornament of a bride. Meantime her heart appeared to have become somewhat lighter ; and, as if in unison with her feelings, the sun broke through the clouds and threw some pale rays into the room. The external as well as the inward brightness lasted but for a few moments. It grew dark again, as we were about going down to dinner. Julia pointed out to me with a complaining look the food she had carried up to Emily — it was untouched, a single jelly glass only was empty. At table, Emily looked round on all those whom she was now soon to leave, and her heart swelled, and tears rushed incessantly to her eyes. The dinner passed without the usual cheerfulness, and no one appeared to have any appetite, excepting always the tutor and the little Thickeys. Emily, who seemed to be more oppressed under her myrtle crown than a king under his diadem, ate nothing, and did not laugh once during dinner, notwithstanding there was great occasion for it in three remarkable mistakes of the master, at which even the Colonel could not restrain his smile. The first was, that he exchanged his snuff-box for the salt-cellar, both of which stood near him on the table, strewed a considerable portion of the snuff into his soup, and took a good pinch from the salt-cellar, which caused him many grimaces and tears. The second was his seizing, to dry his eyes, instead of his pocket handkerchief, the corner of Madame H 's shawl, which was immediately pulled away from him. The third, that he compli- mented with the girl in attendance, who offered him the roast meat, and begged her to help herself first. Julia looked anxiously at her sister, and then said to me in a whisper, " She neither eats nor laughs ; it is too bad !" But things grew still worse when, after dinner, while the few guests who were invited were assem- bling, Algernon, who was expected early, did not show himself. Madame H looked incessantly from the company to the door, and came three or four times to me, and said, " I cannot conceive why Algernon does not come." The guests asked after him. Emily did not ask, did not look at the door, but it was very apparent that she gi'ew every mo- ment more and more serious and pale. Julia seated herself by me, told me the names of the strangers who came in, and made some remarks on them. " This pretty woman here, who came in so gracefully, is the Baroness S. Who would imagine, that every time she enters a drawing-room she is so confused she cannot help trembling ? See her animated eyes ; but do not trust to them. She can talk of nothing but the weather, and at home she is yawning all day long. Who is coming now, holding his hat so like a beggar before him ? Ha, ha ! Uncle P. . . . He is a good old man, but he is in a lethargy. God grant that he may not begin to snore during the ceremony ! See my Arwid, there, Beata, there by the fire-place. Is he not an Apollo ! But he seems to be warming himself with too much ease ; he seems to forget that there is anybody else in the room. The lady who is now coming in, is my cousin, Madame M. She is an angel — that little delicate body encloses a great soul." " See how Emily receives them all— exactly as if she would say, ' You are very good, gentlemen and ladies, to come to my funeral !' I cannot conceive what is the matter with Algernon, that he comes so late ! Mercy on us ! how unhappy Emily looks !" " See, there is the minister ! Notwithstanding his warts and his red eyes, he has a pleasant expression, and I feel some respect for him." " See how Charles is trying to cheer and amuse Emily— well done, brother! but it is of no use now." ** Now, Heaven be praised, here is Algernon at last ! but how serious and pale he is ! — and yet lie is quite handsome. He is going up to her. See how proud she looks; he is excusing himself, I suspect — what 1 he has had a horrible toothache; he was obliged to have a tooth taken out ! Poor Algernon, toothache on his wedding-day ; what a pity I See, they are all sitting down now in a cir- cle. A circle of people sitting down always makes me ill— what are they talking of I I really believe they are discussing the weather — a very interesting subject, to be sure, but it is not very exhilarating. Do hear how the snow and rain are pattering against the window. It is dreadfully warm here — and Emily helps to make the air heavy — I must go and talk to her." Some one now came in, and said the stairs and entry were full of people who wished to see the bride. A new trial for the timid Emily. She stood up, but quickly sat down again, and grew pale. " Co- logne water, Cologne water !" cried Julia to me; " she looks pale, she is fainting." " Water !" cried the Colonel in a thundering tone. The tutor seized up the tea-kettle, and rushed forward. I do not know whether it was this sight, or the reaction of her spirits, but it had the effect of restoring Emily from her weakness ; she arose quickly, and accom- panied by her sisters went out, while she threw a glance of uneasinei^ and discontent towards Al- gernon, who stood immovable at some distance, and looked at her with an unusual, almost severe earnestness. " Are you mad f cried Uncle P., in a half whis- per, as he pulled the arm of the master, who was still standing there, his eyes wandering, and the 16 THE H- FAMILY. tea-kettle in his hand. The master in alarm turned hastily round, and knocked down the little Thickeys like two pins thrown over by the ball. The kettle slipped in his hand, burnt his fingers, and he let it fall, with a cry of pain, upon the un- fortunate boys, over whose immovable bodies a cloud of steam arose. If the moon had fallen, greater confusion could not have been enacted, than was at the first moment produced by this catastrophe of the kettle. Axel and Claes made no noise, and their mother began to fear it was all over with them. But after Algernon and the Colonel had raised them up and shaken them, it was apparent that they were all alive. They had been so surprised and frightened, that in the first moment they could neither move nor speak. Fortu- nately, the hot water which was spilled upon them mostly came upon their clothes, and it was beside pretty well cooled, as tea had been over for half an hour. Only one spot on Axel's forehead, and one on the left hand of Claes, required treatment. The master was in despair, the children cried, they were carried to bed, and I promised, as soon as I had time, to come and see them. The amiable dispo- sition of Madame H., which would never allow her quietly to see a troubled face, led her to console the master. She succeeded in so doing by making him observe with what real Spartan spirit the boys had received the first shock, and by declaring that she considered it a decided proof of the excel- lent education he was giving them. The master was very happy, and grew quite excited, and said, while he drew himself up, that he hoped to make real Spartans out of the lady's promising boys. The lady hoped this newly invented shower-bath of hot water might not be tried again, but she kept her hopes to herself. Meantime the exhibition of the bride had ended; and Emily, exhausted, had left the room, where, according to the old and singular Swedish custom, it had been necessary for her to show herself to a multitude of curious and indifferent people. " They thought she had never looked so pretty," said Julia to me, in a dolorous tone, " and it was no wonder, to be sure, she was as dark and cold as an autumn sky." • We had taken Emily into a distant apartment, to allow her to rest awhile. She sunk down on a chair, put her handkerchief to her eyes, and was silent. Everything in the drawing-room was ready for the ceremony — they only waited for Emily. "Try this Cologne. Emily; drink a glass of water," said Julia, who now began to tremble. " They are waiting for you, my dearest Emily," said Cornet Charles, who now came into the room, and offered to conduct his sister. " I cannot, indeed I cannot," said Emily, with a voice expressive of the most extreme anguish. *' You cannot !'' cried the Cornet in the greatest surprise ; " and why not ?" He looked inquiringly round upon us. Julia stood in a tragical attitude, her hands folded over her head ; Helen sat with an expression of displeasure in her placid face ; and I — I cannot possibly remember what I did, but in my heart I sympathised with Emily. None of us made any answer to Charles. " No, I cannot come," continued Emily, with an unusual energy ; " I cannot take this eternally binding oath. I feel sure we shall be unhappy if we are united ; we are not suited to each other. It may be my fault, but it is certainly so at this mo- ment. I am sure he is displeased with me ; he takes me for a capricious creature ; he feels a re- luctance to bind himself to such a fate ; his severe look told me all this. He may be right, perfectly right ; and on this account it is best for him, as for me, that we should separate." " But Emily," cried her brother, " it is too late ; do you consider what you say ? — the priest is here — the wedding guests — Algernon ! " "Go to him, dearest Charles," cried Emily, with increasing emotion, ♦' beg him to come here. I will speak to him ; will tell everything. It cannot be too late to save the repose and quiet of our whole lives. Go, I pray you, go ! " " 0, Heaven, what will become of us ! " said Julia, looking as if she would call heaven and earth to our assistance. " Emily, think of our father," " I will throw myself at his feet ; he will not desire the eternal misery of his child." " If she could be in any way divei'ted from this — if she could for a moment be occupied with something else," whispered Helen to her brother. Cornet Charles opened a door, as if to go out ; at the same moment we heard the sound of a hard knock ; the Cornet cried out, " Oh, my eye ! " A universal panic arose ; for this little deceit was so naturally managed, that at the first moment not one of us suspected any trick. Emily, always the first to hasten to the assistance of others, was so now, in spite of all her trouble. With a hand- kerchief wet in cold water, she hurried to her brother, drew his hand from his eye, and began to take it tenderly and carefully, while she asked anxiously, " Does it hurt you very much ? do you think you have injured the eye 1 fortunately it does not bleed." " It is perhaps only the more dangerous for that reason," said the Cornet, with an altered tone ; but an unlucky traitorous laugh spoiled, at that very moment, the whole stratagem. Emily examined more closely, and was convinced that the blow was just what it was. " Oh," said she, " I see how it is : one of your tricks, but it shall not mislead me. I pray you, I adjure you, Charles, if you have the least love for jne, go to Algernon ; tell him that I beg him to give me a few minutes' conversation with him." " Why did not some of you have presence of mind enough to blow out the light 1 " cried the Cornet, in vexation, looking particularly at me. Helen whispered something in his ear, and he went out of the room, accompanied by Julia. Helen and I were silent, while Emily, in visible anguish of mind, walked up and down the room, and seemed to be talking to herself. " What shall I do ? What shall I do ? " said she once half audibly. Now steps were heard approaching the room. " He is coming ! " said Emily, and trem- bled from head to foot. The door was opened, and Alger no, the Colonel entered, with an expression of imposing majesty. Emily struggled for breath, sat down, got up again, was pale, and then red. " See, you have made us wait too long," said he, quietly, but with some energy ; " I have now come to fetch you." Emily folded her hands, looked beseechingly up to her father, opened her lips, closed them again, overpowered by the firm, THE H- FAMILY. 17 earnest expression of his face, and as he took her hand, all power of resistance seeined to leave her, and with a sort of desperate resignation she arose and allowed herself to be led forwai'd by him. Helen and I followed. The drawing-room was brilliantly lighted, and all the people assembled there liad their eyes turned towards the door by which Emily entered, accompanied by her father. She told me afterwards, that, as she came in, she could not distinguish an object, and everything was black before her eyes. " Then it was not to be wondered at," said her brother, " that you looked as if you were going to sleep." Algernon looked at Emily with a sei-iousness which was not calculated to increase her courage. No one spoke. The ceremony began. The two young people stood before the minister. Emily was deadly pale, and trembled. Julia lost her courage entirely. " It is fearful," said she, and was almost as pale as her sister. And now arose the voice which was to announce to the young couple their holy duties. This voice was deep and musical, and seemed to be animated by a divine spirit. It spoke of the sanctity of the marriage state, of the mutual duties of the husband and wife, to love each other, to lighten the troubles of life to each other, to soften its cares, and to set each other the example of a true fear of God ; he spoke of their prayers for each other, which unite each to the other so intimately, and bring them near to their Eternal Father : he told how the highest happiness on earth springs from such an union, when it is begun and finished in conformity to the will of God. These tender, beautiful, peaceful words awoke in the soul of every one a holy and silent emotion. Everything was so still in the apartment, that it almost seemed as if not a breath was drawn. I perceived plainly that Emily became more tranquil every moment. The few words she was called upon to say, she spoke dis- tinctly, and with a firm voice. While she knelt, she appeared to pray with hope and devotion. I threw, however, a glance around me. The Colonel was paleri than usual, but regarded the young couple with an expression of tenderness and repose. Julia was greatly excited, though she moved neither hand nor foot. Helen looked up to heaven with a supplicating glance. Cornet Charles moved about, that it might seem to be something beside tears which made his eyes so red. The blind girl smiled silently. The other spectators showed more or less emotion. The master was more than usually alive and toward the end of the ceremony gave a loud sneeze. He fortunately found his handkerchief this time in due season. The blessing was spoken over the bridal pair, in a voice as soft and majestic as if it came from Heaven. The marriage was over. Emily and Algernon were for ever united. Emily turned round to embrace her parents, and she appeared to me to be an entirely different being, A mild beamy glance rested on her brow, and smiled from her eyes ; clear and warm purple burned on her cheeks. She was at once changed into the ideal of a young and happy bride. "God be praised, God be praised !" whispered Julia, with tearful eyes and folded hands, " now all is well." " Yes, now it cannot be helped," said the Colo- nel, while he endeavoured to overcome his emo- tion, and assumed his comical expression, " now you are safe, you cannot now say * No.' " " I should not wish to do it now," answered Emily, smiling sweetly, and looked up to Algernon in a manner which called to his face an expression of animated and pure joy. A feeling of satisfac- tion and gaiety spread through the company. Everybody looked as if they wished to sing and dance. Uncle P. was wide awake and active ; he arranged the quadrille, and stamped away gaily by the side of the elegant Baroness S., who floated round like a zephyr. Arwid and Julia distin- guished themselves greatly in the dance ; it was impossible to keep one's eyes from them. 1 danced with the master, who had asked me — I hope not from absence of mind. We distinguished ourselves, though in a peculiar manner. It seemed to me we resembled a couple of billiard balls, which always lie ready for others to push about. Certain it is that we were sometimes pushed about, and sometimes we pushed others, which I ascribed principally to the changes of my cavalier from right to left, and to the mistakes he made in all the figures of the quadrille. . Meantime we laughed as heartily and as loud at our mistakes as the rest ; and the master said he had never had such a fine waltz. Helen played on the piano for the dancing, Emily did not wish to dance. She sat in a little cabinet, the doors of which were open, and which joined the dancing-room. Algernon was by her side. She spoke low, with animation and tender- ness in her manner. I thought that in this moment the Gordian knot of all misunderstand- ings, all uneasiness and doubt, which had hitherto separated them from each other, was for ever loosened. The mild rays of a single lamp, shining through the alabaster shade, threw a magical light over the young couple, who seemed to be now as happy as they were laeautiful. They ap- parently had forgotten all the world around them, but not one of the company had forgotten them. Every one threw stolen glances into the cabinet, and smiled. Julia came up to me several times, pointed to the group of the lovers with a beaming glance, and said, " See, see !" Later in the evening a part of the company assembled in the cabinet, and the conversation became general. Some recently-published books, which were lying on a table, gave occasion to various remarks upon their value, as well as upon reading in general. " I do not understand," said Uncle P., with his peculiar accent, " what has come over me lately. I am generally lively and wide awake as a fish, but if I just throw my eyes into the curs — books, they drop directly down upon my nose, and I can- not see the least thing." " Are you fond of reading, aunt ?" said Emily to the Baroness S. " Ah ! indeed," replied she, and raised her lovely eyes to the ceiling ; " I have no time for it, I am so busy," and she carefully drew her beauti- ful shawl around her. " If I should ever marry," said a gentleman of about sixty, " I would make it a condition with my wife, that she should never read a book ; at the most, nothing beside the Psalter and Cookery- book." 18 THE H- FAMILY. " My dear departed wife never read any other books ; but, indeed, what a noble housewife she was !" cried Uncle P., while he dried his eyes and took a pinch of snuff. " Yes, 1 do not understand, the thousand take me i why the women of the present day busy them- selves so much with reading ; the thousand take me ! if I can understand it,** said Lieutenant Arwid, while he reached his hand to a plate of confec- tionary, and helped himself. Julia cast a severe look upon her betrothed ; and I thought " the thousand take me" was not this time very pleasant to her. " I," said she, blushing with vexation, " should rather go with- out eating and drinking than be deprived of reading. Is there anything that more ennobles the soul than the reading of good books — anything which more exalts the soul — I would say the thoughts— the thoughts, the feelings — any ?" My poor little Julia was never happy when she attempted the sublime. Her thoughts, her ideas, were something in the nature of rockets, which suddenly mount upwards like glowing sparks of fire, but in almost the same moment burst, and are lost in ashes. Cox'net Charles hastened to spill a glass of water or wine on Lieutenant Arwid, and assumed an air as if his outcry on the occasion had inter- rupted the speech of his sister. *' I might have known that it would upset ; 1 was trying to balance the glass upon the tip of my thumb. Your pai'don, brother-in-law ; but I believe you struck me somehow, my arm was not free." •• 1 shall certainly take care not to interfere with you another time," said Lieutenant Arwid, half-gaily and half-vexed ; while he arose, and, drymg his coat with his handkerchief, took the precaution, in resuming his seat, to choose the other side of the room. Meantime Julia was not so soon relieved from her little embarrassment. The old gentleman, who was such an enemy to books, turned gravely to her, and said, « I imagine that cousin Julia reads, for the most part, only moral books and sermons." "No — not exactly sermons," replied Julia, somewhat embarrassed ; and as, at the same moment, she perceived the penetrating look of Professor L. fixed upon her, she blushed deeply. " Probably, then, my little cousin reads history ; that is certainly a vei'y useful study." " Not exactly history," said Julia, who had now recovex'ed her self-possession and gaiety ; " but, on the contrary, I am very fond of his- tories ; the short and long of it is, if you must know, uncle, the books for which I would give up eating, drinking, and sleeping, are romances." The old gentleman raised his eyes and hands with an expression of horror. From his looks, it might be supposed that Rousseau's declaration — Jamais fille sage n'a lu des romans, had had the effect of makicg liim altogether abhor such dangerous reading. Some dissatisfaction was betrayed in almost every face at Julia's fi'ank declaration. The Baroness appeared entirely shocked at her niece. The Professor only smiled kuadly ; and the Cornet said, with much animation — "It is certainly no wonder that people read such romances as are now written. Madame de StaeTs *Corinne' cost me a sleepless night, and Walter Scott's * Rebecca' took away my appetite for three days !" Julia looked at her brother with great surprise. Emily's soft blue eyes were raised inquiringly toward him, but he thought proper to take no notice of their glances. " My Euphemia shall never read a romance," said the Bax'oness S. ; on pronouncing which, she drew herself farther back into the comer of the sofa, and cast a glance upon her elegant shawl. " Ah ! dear aunt," said Madame M., smiling and shaking her head, "what shall she read, then « " " She shall not read anything," " A very excellent idea," said the old gentleman. " I really think," said Algernon, " that it is better to read nothing, than to read nothing but romances. Romance-x'eading is to the soul what opium is to the body : the constant use of it weakens and injures it. Pardon me, Julia ; but I think that a young lady might do something bet- ter with her time than devcte it to this kind of I'eading," Julia looked as if she was not quite willing to excuse this remark. Emily said, " I agree with Algernon, that, espe- cially for young ladies, this land cf reading is more injurious than useful." The tears came into Julia's eyes ; and she looked toward Emily as if she would have said, " Do you, too, stand up against me V " I grant," said Madame M., *' that it may be very hurtful when — " " Hurtful !" interrupted the old gentleman, — "say, rather, ruinous, poisonous, destructive at the very source !" Julia laughed. " Good Professor," cried she, " pi*ay come to my assistance. I begin to think I am a* lost and ruined creature. I pray you say something in favour of reading romances, and I will then give you something good ;" and, laugh- ing merrily, she held up a piece of confectionary. " It certainly has its good sides," replied the Professor, " if it is used with discretion and mode- ration. I, for my part, consider the reading of good romances as both useful and agreeable to the young." " Hear, hear !" cried Julia, clapping her hands. « But you must give your reason, my good sir," cried Uncle P. " Yes, yes, give your reasons," cried the old gentleman. "Good romances," continued the Professor — " by which I mean those that, like good paintings, represent nature with truth and beauty— possess advantages which are united in no other books in the same degree. They represent the history of the human heart, from which the young, if they are the subjects of the romance, may learn to know themselves and their fellow-men ; and is not this, in the highest degree, valuable and interest- ing t The world is described in them in its various changing forms, and the young see here before them the map of the country in which they are about to begin their travels. The beautiful and amiable in every youth is pictured in ro- mances in a poetical and attractive light ; the THE H- FAMILY. 19 young, lively imagination is here charmed with the right and good, which, under more severe and earnest forms, might have perhaps appeared revolting. *' In the same manner, crimes and weaknesses are also represented in all their delbi'mity ; and the young learn to despise them, even when they are surrounded by the grandeurs and pomp of the world. When one feels an enthusiasm for virtue, he becomes able to contend successfully with all the sufferings of earth. " The true pictures of tlie rewards of the good, and the punishment of the wicked among men, little as their actual lot bears the traces of them, are brought into romances with all the clearness, life, and power, which one could desire to give to moral truth, that it may be made universally binding and fruitful. *' It is natural, therefore, that the young, of good and noble feelings, should love romances as their best friends ; as they find in them all those lively, grand, and beautiful feelings, which arise in their own hearts, and first suggest divine anti- cipations of happiness and immortality." Julia now rose hastily, her charming face ex- pressing the warmest delight ; she went to the Professor, and gave him — not the piece of confec- tionary, but an embrace of childlike emotion ; while she said, " A thousand thanks ! a thousand thanks ! I am content, entirely content !" The old gentleman looked up to heaven, and sighed. Lieutenant Arwid did not look "entirely con- tent," but quietly ate his sugar-plums. Uncle P. dozed and nodded ; the Cornet main- tained it was not in sign of content. The Professor, on the contrary, looked well pleased, and kissed, with a paternal expression, the lively girl, first her hand^ and then her fore- head. Lieutenant Arwid pushed a chair aside with some violence ; at the same moment, the doors of the supper-room were opened, supper was an- nounced. A feast has always a peculiar interest for ihose who have been active in the ordering and arrange- ment of it. Each dish, the child of our labours, has its share in our sympathy and satisfaction, as it stands invitingly and properly on the table, whence it is about to vanish for ever. Yet, on such occasions, one has a heart of stone ; and I am convinced that Madame H. was as well pleased as I was to see how all our first, second, and third courses vanished, to the great pleasure and comfort of all. The lady of the house, now that she was relieved from her anxiety with regard to Emily, and saw how well everything was served, did the honours with a grace and good humour, which was only now and then disturbed by a thought of the little boys. The bride was mild and radiant. Algernon seemed to be the happiest of mortals. " Only look at Emily !" said Cornet Charles, who was my neighbour at table, to me every ten minutes, — " would any one imagine she was the same per- son who has plagued us so for half the day ?" Julia assumed, every time her lover spoke to her, a dignified and proud look. He also, at last, did the same — pouted, but always with a full mouth. Uncle P. went to sleep, but with a piece of blanc-mange on his nose ; and in the midst of the talking and laughter of the company, now and then a snore was heard, like the sound of a bass- viol speaking out amidst the squeaking of the little fiddles. Towards the end of the meal, healths were drunk, not ceremonious and tedious, but gay and lively. The master, fired by the occasion, and wine-glass in hand, made the following impromptu in honour of the bridal pair : — Hurrah, hurrah ! fill the glasses ! Drain the goblet of its wealth ; Let the foam fly to the ceiling ; To the happy couple, health ! Fill, fill I and may our voices Sound again the joyous lay, When after fifty years we greet them On their golden wedding-day ! Amid unusual laughter, and touching of glasses, the health was drunk. Afterwards, the health of the master ; who now considered himself, I am sure, a little Bellmann*. After supper, a most agreeable surprise was prepared for Emily. Upon a great table in the hall were arranged the portraits of her parents, and brothers, and sisters, painted in oil, and most striking likenesses. ♦' In this manner we shall accompany you to your home," said the Colonel, whilst he embraced her ; " yes ! yes ! you will not get rid of us !" Gentle tears trickled down Emily's cheeks ; she pressed her father, mother, brothers, and sisters, to her arms, and for a long time could not speak her thanks. Thereupon every picture underwent a new examination by all the company, and there were remarks of every kind. One person found fault with a nose ; another with eyes, which were too small ; another with a mouth, which was too large ; then the artist had not attempted to flatter — rather the opposite, &c. Poor artist ! This is the criticism which cen- soriousness, the most common of all maladies, makes upon your works ! Happy for you that you are often deaf, and glad to put the money in your pocket ; while you feel in your own soul the consciousness of your talents ! Emily alone saw no fault. There was exactly her father's expression, her mother's smile, her sister Julia's roguish look, brother Charles's hasty demeanour, Helen's expression of kindness and repose ; and the little Thickeys, who were surpris- ingly like. It would be delightful to offer them sweetmeats. The poor little Thickeys ! Burned and fright- ened, they had been obliged to leave the feast, which they had looked forward to for three weeks. During the whole evening, one after another of us crept up to them with apples, cake, &c. At first, the master himself was most diligent upon the stairs ; but after he had fallen down three times upon this unknown passage, he remamed quietly in the pai'lour. Their mother had, at least, six times, during the evening, said to rae, with an expression of th« greatest anxiety, — " My poor little children ! I * Cliarles Michael Bellmann, a celebrated Swedish poet, died 1795. 20 THE H- FAMILY. must certainly watch with them to-night ;" and I each time answered, " That you shall not do ; I will watch with them." " But you will certainly fall asleep." " I certainly will not fall asleep, my dear madam !" " Parole cfhonneur ?" " Parole d'honneur, dear madam !" and, actually driven to it by the anxiety of the poor lady, I went up to them, before the company departed, well provided with plasters, drops, and sweetmeats. The little boys were pleased with the last ; and particularly delighted that, on their account, the light would be kept burning all night. Their adventure occupied them entirely ; and they could not leave off telling me how the master had knocked them, how they had fallen down, and what they felt and thought when the master let the tea-kettle fall. Axel had thought of the deluge, and Claes of the day of judgment. In the midst of the story, they fell asleep. At half-past eleven, I heard the sound of sleighs, horses, and carriages, before the house. At twelve, everything was quiet, as well in as out of the house. " Soon everybody will be sleeping sweetly," thought I, and began to feel myself growing inde- scribably sleepy. Nothing is more painful than to be alone, to feel sleepy, and yet to be obliged to keep awake ; while those you are watching are snoring beyond all bounds. And if I had not given my parole d'honneur not to shut my eyes, I should certainly have done so. I knitted away, but was obliged to give it up, because every two minutes I was in danger of putting out my eyes. I read, and did not understand a word of what I read. I went to the window, looked at the moon, and thought of — nothing. The wick of my candle was too high — I undertook to snuff it, and unfortunately put it out. By this means, my part of watcher was still more difficult to play. I now attempted to keep myself awake by fright, and tried to see a ghost, or a white lady, in the uncertain glimmers of the white stove. I thought of a cold hand which suddenly seized mine, of a voice which whispei'ed frightful things in my ear, of a bloody form which rose up out of the ground — when suddenly the crowing of a cock was heard, which, together with the dawn of day, drove away all imaginary ghosts. The melancholy song of two little chimney- sweepers, who, from the top of their smoky castles in the air, greeted the morning, was the overture to awakening life. In the region of the kitchen, friendly fires soon blazed up. The coffee infused its Arabian fra- grance into the atmosphere of the house. Men began to move about in the streets ; and through the clear winter air was heard the sound of church bells, calling to morning prayer. Purple clouds of smoke rolled up into the blue sky ; and with joy I saw at last the rays of the sun, which first greeted the cocks and vanes on the church-towers, and afterwards spread its mantle of light over the roofs of human dwellings. The world opened its eyes around me ; I deter- mined to shut mine ; and when happy voices called out to me, ''good morning," I answered, half-asleep, " good night !" DINNER-A RAGOUT OF MANY THINGS, Even a wedding-day has a moirow ! — a tedious day for those in the house of the wedding ! Nothing remains of all the festivity of the day before, but what is left after a light has been put out — the smoke. And when, besides the festive splendour and pomp, a familiar face (a star in its own heaven) is missing from the happy domestic circle, it is not surprising that the horizon should become dark. Yes, my dear little Julia, I thought it very natural that you should rise in the morn- ing, like a rain-cloud, and overhang the whole day ; and that your brother, like a thunder-cloud, should wander from one room to another, and hum to himself the songs of the stars, which it was frightful to hear. It had been agreed that the newly-married pair should pass this day with Algernon's old grand- mother, who lived, retired from the woi'ld, with her maid, her cat, her deep eyes, and her love of the human race, which made her unwilling that any one should ever marry ; and she had even expressed this pious wish to her grandson, and to Emily, but in vain. In the meantime, in spite of her displeasure, she had expressed a desire to see the young couple at her own house ; and had her- self, as report says, put the apples into the apple- pie which was to crown her magnificent dinner. On the following day, we were to receive the newly-married ones ; and, on the day following, they were to receive us at their own house. In the meanwhile, we passed the day after the marriage in a sort of stupid silence. The lady of the house, during the whole day, ate nothing but a thin barley soup. After this dull day had come to an end, and each one had retired to his chamber, Julia, feeling a desire to enliven hei-self a little, sent for some walnuts, came in to me, and sat down to crack them and to praise her lover. " What unexampled neatness he has ! so orderly, so intelligent ; in such constant spirits, so quiet, so agreeable ... (a fine nut), so attentive, so circumspect and orderly in his business — but not too avaricious, so good — but not too good — as — as good as he should be ! " I nodded assent to all this, wished Julia much happiness, and — gaped long. There are some things so perfect that they put us to sleep. The next day we had rather a fresh wind. The newly-married came at noon. Her cap was very becoming to Emily. She was mild, gentle, amiable ; whilst, on the other hand, Algernon was more than usually gay, happy, and talkative. This astonished and vexed Julia ; she looked at them by turns, and knew not why they were so. All the servants took much pains to call Emily "my lady." This new name ap- peared to give her no satisfaction ; and when an old trusty servant said for the seventh time " My dear miss — ah pardon— my lady," Emily said, somewhat impatiently, " Let it be, it is not so much out of the way." The servants offered her at table no dish without adding, " Your commands, my lady." " Yes, yes, the fellow knows the world," said the colonel. Emily looked as if she did not find this world very pleasant. Most anxiously, in the afternoon, Julia with- drew with Emily to another room, fell upon her knees before her, and throwing her arras around THE H- FAMILY. 21 her, cried out, weeping, " Emily, what is the matter 1 Dear Emily ! My God, you are not gay, you seem cast down ! Are you not con- tented — are you not happy ? " Emily embraced her sister with warmth, and said, in a consoling manner, but with tears iu her mild eyes, " I should be so, dear Julia, Algernon is so good, so noble — I must be happy with him." But Julia, like all persons of lively temperament, was not pleased with this " I should be ; " she wished to have *' I am," and considered it very desperate — an unnatural and unheard-of thing — that a young wife should not be entirely and in- describably happy. She had read romances. The I'emainder of the day she behaved very coldly to Algernon, who did not appear to pay much atten- tion to it. After Emily, with tearful eyes, had again de- parted, Julia gave free vent to her dissatisfaction, and was much excited about Algernon, who could be so indifferent and gay, whilst Emily was so cast down ; he was " a piece of ice, a barbarian, a heathen, a " N.B. The Colonel and the *' gracious lady" were not present at this philippic. The Cornet had taken another view of the case — was displeased with Emily, who, in his opinion, expected entirely too much from her husband. " Did not he, poor fellow, run to find her work- basket ? Did not he put on her fur shoes, her shawl, and scarf ? And if she had only thanked him for it ? " Julia took the part of her sister, the Cornet that of Algernon ; the spirit of contradiction infused, one after another, bitter seeds into the dispute, and this good brother and sister would have become entirely at variance, if it had not happened, that while they both stooped to pick up Helen's needle, their heads knocked together, which shock ended the dispute by a burst of laughter ; and the question of the rights of man and woman,— that sea, upon whose waves the two disputants found themselves unexpectedly launched — was quickly set at rest. The following day was full of consolation for Julia. Emily was gayer ; and, happy to be •able to receive her parents and brothers and sistera in her own house, she busied herself with unre- strained care, and with heartiness to entertain them well. The Colonel had all his favourite dishes at dinner, and joy sparkled from Emily's eyes, when her father a second time asked for some turtle soup, and added, "It is very excel- lent ! " Her mother was not a little satisfied with the arrangement of the meal, and with the pre- parations ; she stared a little anxiously at a pud- ding which had somewhat of a ruin on one side, but Julia quickly and unobserved turned the dish round, and the good lady, who was somewhat short-sighted, thought the fault was in her own eyes, and was quiet. Emily had the bearing of a hostess, and that is a great deal. The Cornet was delighted with his sister, and with all the arrangements in the new house. Everything seemed Swedish ; the sofas, the chairs, the curtains, the china, &c. There was nothing foreign ; and, in his opinion, this was the reason he felt so much at ease, and at home. Julia was well pleased with Algernon ; for although he did not devote himself to his young wife, he followed her always with loving eyes, and it was plain that his soul was bound up in hers, and by dear and loving looks flew to meet it. How good coffee tastes, when snow blows without, and summer air within. So we ladies found it, when, after dinner, drawn up round a fire, in the enjoyment of our coffee, we entered into a long conversation, while Emily told us of domestic plans and arrangements, which she pro- posed to undertake, for the order and convenience of her household ; a part which she had already spoken of, and a part of which she should talk over with — with — her husband (this simple word Emily yet uttered with difficulty). Everything was indeed very prudent, very good, and very well adapted to the proposed end. We considered all these things exactly and maturely, in front of the fire, with our coffee-cups. We added and sub- tracted, but could think of nothing which would have been better than what Emily had proposed. A family resembles at the same time a poem and a machine. Of the poetry of it, or the song of the feelings which streams through all the parts and unites them together, which wreathes flowers around life's crown of thorns, and clothes " the bare hills of reality" with the greenness of hope, — of this every human heart knows. But the ma- chinery (without whose well-accompanied move- ments fopera della vita is entirely unsupported) many consider as unimportant, and neglect it. And still this part of the plan of domestic life is not the least essential for its harmonious operation. It is with this machinery as with that of a clock. If the wheels, springs, &c., are in good order, the pendulum needs but a touch, and everything begins its proper motion. Everything goes on in order and quiet, as if of itself, and the golden hands of peace and prosperity point out all the hours upon its clear face. This Emily felt, and she intended so to arrange her household from the beginning, that in spite of the little accidental shocks and blows of fate, it might remain in order and convenience until the end — until the weight had run down. One very important thing for attaining this end, is the prudent and careful arrangement of the money affairs of the household. In Emily's house this was placed upon a good and sensible footing. Out of the great common treasury, were arrayed many little treasuries, which, like brooks from one and the same source, streaming rapidly to different places, make fruitful the domestic plantation. Emily was to receive yearly, upon her own peculiar account, a certain sum of money, to expend for her clothes, and to defray other little expenses, not included in the household account ; and as her dress would remain as simple and tasteful as it had until now been, she would be able to expend the greater part of this money, to please herself to spend for what, judge and say, my fair readers, for you must know. A woman must have her own peculiar treasury, be it great or small. Ten, fifty, a hundred, or a thousand dollars — a proper proportion ; but her own, for which she need only account to herself. Would you know the " wherefore," you men, who oblige your wives to keep an account even of their pins to a penny ? Well ! it is for your own rest and convenience. You do not think so 1 Look then : — a maid breaks a cup, or a servant breaks a glass ; or suddenly at once, teapots, cups, and glasses fall 22 THE H- FAMILY. to pieces, which no one has broken, &c. The mistress of the house, who has no pocket-money, and who must keep iu order cups and glasses, goes to her husband, tells him the misfortune, and desires some money to make up the loss. He scolds at the servants, at his wife, who ought to see after the servants : " Yes, money — a little money — money does not grow up out of the ground, nor does it rain down from heaven — many little brooks make a great stream," and more of the same ; at last, he gives a little money, and gets into a very ill humour. Now, if the wife has her own pocket-money, no such little vexations come near him. Children, servants, and misfortune, remain the same, but no disorder is observed ; everything exists as before — everything is in order ; and the head of the house, who perhaps with the greatest ease can give away at once several thousand dollars, need not, for the sake of a twelve-shilling piece, lose the balance of his temper, which is a treasure as inestimable to the whole house as to himself. And do you account as nothing, (you nabob without feeling !) those little surprises, those little birth-day joys which your wife can prepare for you ! Those thousand little pleasures, which, unexpected as meteors, like them shine in the heaven of the house, and which will be given you by the tenderness of your wife, by means of money — which you have given to her in a large sum, to receive it back, a rich income of convenience and joy in small ones. Is it now clear ? Algernon had learned all this, and it had much influence on Emily's future hap- piness. To every true woman's heart there is an inde- scribable joy in giving; — in feeling one's self live in the prosperity and joy of another. This is the sunshine of the heart, which is perhaps more necessary here in the cold north, than elsewhere. Besides, the freedom of action is indeed refreshing. But where was I ? — with Emily, at the hour of coffee ! Let us go thence, and set out upon a longer journey on the wing of Time. Whoever undertakes to write stories, must take care to deal frugally with the patience of his reader. Sometimes he can easily give them ap- propriate intelligence of to-day, to-morrow, and the next day ; at times he must take time and events in a lump, if he does not wish the reader to do the same with his book, and skip from five to eight chapters. As I certainly wish that such should not be the fate of my honoured family, I hasten to make a leap over about three months, and to mention in a few words how my H friends lived through them. Julia and her lover passed it in going to walk. Every day, when the weather permitted, they went the whole length of Queen Street, exchanged greetings, and chatted with their acquaintances, examined the figures and dresses, with the agree- able consciousness how beautiful and marked were their own. At times they went into a shop, and bought some trifles, or ate tarts at Berend's. In the evening there was a supper here, or a play there, or a ball somewhere else ; and this always furnished something to talk about on the following day, so that the lovers had no want of food for conversation. Besides Lieutenant Arwid, who had everywhere admission into the great world, had some little thing to tell, some anecdote of the day, some word from this or that person, about this or that thing : and see, this was all very amusing — Julia thought. The Cornet had taken up some droll habits. He had applied himself to study. He studied the art of war, mathematics, history, &c., and continually found that as his bodily eye became practised in looking in all directions over the earth, and up to heaven, so was also his spiritual eye framed to look into the kingdoms of nature and knowledge, and recognise in them the light of heaven. It was peculiar, that the more he learned to see, the more afraid of darkness he became. He was very much afraid of ghosts ! Yes, gentlemen, it is certainly true ; and the ghosts which he feared have been known among men from time immemorial ; Igno- rance, a wonderfully large lady, clothed in glittering white texture ; Self-conceit, her long-necked child, who always treads in the traces of her dear mam- ma ; and Boasting, which must be the ghost of an old French language teacher, who in his lifetime had been connected with these ladies, and often been seen in their company. Besides, he was anxious for the companionship of older and viser men, was often at home with his father and Helen, and often allowed the young men of his acquaintance to knock in vain at his locked door. Sometimes, indeed, he was undecided whether to open it or not, thinking, " perhaps my best friend is here to pay me back my money ! " But then he thought again, " He would not knock so loudly," and remained quietly at his work. The Coi'net had two young friends for whom, at a given signal, his door always opened. These young men formed a noble triumvirate. Their motto both in war and peace, was, " forward ! march ! " Emily and Algernon took a journey in the be- ginning of April to Blekingen, where upon a great estate an old aunt and godmother of Emily lived. Emily received a letter from her, soon after her marriage, begging her and her husband to visit her as soon as possible. She had a short time before lost her only child, a son ; and she wished now, at the age of sixty years, to gladden her heart, or perhaps desired to animate it, by giving it some- thing new to love and to live for. She begged the young couple to pass the spring and summer with her ; she spoke of neighbours, and of good and pleasant things, which would make their residence there agreeable. She said she wished to make her will, so that her property might fall to them after her death, if they would look upon her as a mother. "'Pon honour ! a beautiful letter," said Uncle P. " Go there directly, nephew, with your wife — have the carriage ordered. I wish I were in your shoes, child of fortune! Wait till the beginning of April ! Madness ! What if the old woman should die ! That would be throwing away one's happiness ! I should not be di*awn into that. Dear Julia ! wake me when the coffee comes." When the travelling car- riage stood before the door, and the weeping Emily sat by Algernon's side, exchanging tearful glances and sad words of farewell with her parents, and brothers and sisters who were standing around the carriage, Algernon seized her hand and said, "Would you prefer to stay with these, or follow me 1" " You," answered Emily gently.—" With all your heart 1" THE H- FAMILY. 23 "With all my heart!" "Drive on !'* called Alger- non to the coachman ; "Emily, we will accompany each other on the journey — through Ufe !" The carriage rolled on. 0, may the carriage of every marriage be tossed on such springs ! Quietly and sadly did the blind girl pass her dark days. Her health visibly decreased. Her soul was like the fii'e in a charcoal heap, whose flames are not visible, but silently and surely con- sume their dwelling. Only in song did she, at times, express her feelings, when she thought she was alone. She composed the words and the music. Both bore the stamp of an unhappy and unquiet heart. In company she hardly spoke a word, and only by her incessant occupation of winding a rib- bon or a cord round her hands or fingers, did she betray her inward restlessness. There is a certain disposition of mind in woman, which makes her do well whatever she does at all ; which causes sweet peace to follow her wherever she goes, like a quiet spring day, so that, wherever she dwells, grace and comfort, which is shared by every one who approaches her, dwell with her. This disposition of mind proceeds from a pure and devoted heart which fears God. Happy are those who possess this, happy beyond all others (however richly endowed in other respects) ; — and happy was Helen, for she was thns purely/ endowed. In a letter which she wrote about this time to a friend, she herself represented her happy condition. " You ask me what I am doing ?" she wrote at the end of her letter, " I enjoy life every moment. My parents, my brothers and sisters, my work, books, flowers, the sun, the stars, heaven and earth, all give me pleasure ; everything makes me feel, with indescribable joy, the happiness of existence. You ask me what I do when dark thoughts and despair overpower my soul. My dear, I never feel despair — never have dark thoughts. I cannot have them : for I believe in God, I love him, I hope in him. I know no care nor anxious fear: for I know he will do all things well, that everything will be, at some time, good and clear. Since I think thus and feel thus, I must indeed be happy." " CurrOf curriy currum, currere,^' repeated the little Thickeys, and " Curro, cucurriy cursum^ cur- rere, you scape-goats !" corrected the master, and in this way they passed nearly three months, (I never exaggerate). " Slow and sure," said the master in a consoling and confident manner to the mother. The lady of the house — God bless the excellent lady ! but if our journey into the country could only have taken place without so many cares, and so many bundles, so many " Ho ! Ho's ! " and so many trunks. The Colonel said a word or two, half in joke, about this. "That is easily said," answered the lady gravely. The Cornet, who never permitted the least re- mai'k upon his mother, in whose doings and lettings- alone he did not see the least fault, was in all her cares on her side, and contradicted us, who thought them unnecessary ; and when it became altogether too troublesome, he went round singing " God save the king ! " (the only English which he knew,) to distract our attention from the lady. A month before, and a month after the expe- dition, she laboured and worked for the good of all — and on the day of the journey itself — heavens ! What packing, what trouble, (To describe who is able?) In the cellar, the kitchen. There a chair, there a table ; Was ever such bustle Seen under the sun ? How the mistress is scolding. And how the maids run ! The breakfast is over, the visits are made. The packages close in the carriage are laid. But how much is still to be done ! The talk turns to chickens, to friendship, to beef. But nowhere the mistress can turn for relief. She dresses, sighs, longs to be gone. The carriage drives up, quick they rxm, loudly call. Now forward— but stop— I 've forgotten my shawl ! Notwithstanding all this trouble, we resolved to set out upon the journey ; — And fly now to Thorsborq, the paternal estate of the Colonel, where we arrived in the middle of the month of May. THORSBORG. If I had a single drop of the fountain which sprang up from Walter Scott's inkstand, spread through all countries, and moistened with histori- cal and antiquarian ink the pens of a hundred authors, I would now give a pompous description of the magnificent castle of Thorsborg, which was built during the Thirty Years' War, in the space of nine months, by a high-spirited excellent lady, surrounded with walls as strong as the hearts of that time, and with leaded window-panes as small as the rays of light which emanated from the clois- ters of that day. I would relate how the lady Barbara Goholm, the wife of the Admiral Stjer- nebjelke, (whose bust at Thorsborg shows her to have been a proud and dignified woman,) surprised her husband, who was fighting for the cause of freedom in Germany. During his absence she erected on a hill, where it still sits enthroned in princely grandeur this noble edifice, overlooking immeasurable fields and meadows, extending for several miles ; and on occasion of the return of her hero, she caused lights to be placed in all the windows of the castle to charm or dazzle his eyes. I would also add, that this did not delight him as she had expected, and that the story goes that he was equally displeased at this proceeding of the Lady Barbara. I would relate farther something of the fate of their descendants, who afterwards resided on the estate, one of whom having a poeti- cal talent, to keep herself in remembrance, and for our edification, engraved upon a pane of glass, which remained in the parlouf of the castle at the time of Colonel H : « The lady Sigrid, and her spouse. The greatest fools are in this house." And if I had descended the stream of time, from the volcanoes which burst out in the middle ages, to the quiet position of things at the present day, I would, searching about among the ruins of those times, spying into the remains of the streams of lava, and into the urns of remembrance, collect the ashes of extinguished fires, and strew them over these pages ; (which means, to speak in a ! 24 THE H- FAmLY. less figurative manner,) I would tell all about the old harnesses, helmets, and lances, which were still preserved at Thorsborg, and which Cornet Charles regarded with peculiar satisfaction ; of the bloody garments, swords, deadly balls, &c., and would point out the doors of the sleeping apart- ment of Gustavus Adolphus the Second, which were ornamented with a thousand wooden figures, ti-ansf erred to them from the ancient castle. More- over, the immense hall, with the oaken floor, and the oaken rafters overhead, the bust of the Lady Barbara, sitting with the mason's trowel in her hand, her spinning-wheel, &c,, and, not to leave the salt out of my soup, I would not forget to re- late the ghost visits which have been made to the castle, and of which no one knew so much as the master. He often heard frightful tones, like a mingling of the bray of trumpets and the howling of wolves. He sometimes heard people in the night, tripping lightly round the billiard-room, the balls rolling, the bells ringing, &c. I might tell how the people in the house used to describe a ghost, who walked about the great oaken hall, of a clear moonlight evening, without a head ; or, how often, of a dark night, lights would suddenly stream from all the windows ; and there was not one of the family who had not heard tables and chairs moved about with great noise in the rooms, where there was nobody ; and that even the lady of the house herself .... Ah ! but I am begin - ing to get frightened, and I see clearly that I am only capable of describing common things with every-day ink. It is therefore more safe and plea- sant to relate how the little Thickeys, happy beyond expression at being in the country, sprung about over tne ditches anc* stone walls, the remains of the old house, to look for treasures, and found gold beetles ; how Julia, like a butterfly, ran after her winged sisters, in spite of her betrothed, who ran races with her, till she said that it did not pay for the trouble, for he did not try at all. " It was too warm." He preferred to anything sitting on a soft sofa, with his little bride, resting comfortably on the plump cushions, in a sort of meditation — the com- fortable side of life. He sometimes employed himself in hunting, alternately on the estate of Col. H and that of his own father. The latter was a cheerful, kind-hearted old man, who held in high honour five things on this earth ; namely, his own noble name, his son, the friendship of Col. H , his span of white horses called the " Swans," and his pipe, for the pui'pose of lighting which a fire was kept constantly burning, summer and winter, on his hearth. He was delighted with his little future daughter-in-law, who, how- ever, played him many sly tricks, at which he was very angry, but soon relented. He was fond of telling stories, exaggerated not a little, swore stoutly, and was finally what is called a man of honour. At Thoi*sborg the family ari'angements were quiet and orderly. Madame H , to be sure, still went about with her bunch of keys and her cares, but no one was disturbed by them, for she was so thoroughly kind, that she never troubled or inter- fered with anybody but herself. The evenings were particularly agreeable. We then all assembled in a little green cabinet, richly provided with pictures and flowers, and where the reading of the works of Franzen, Tegner, Stag- nelius, Sjoberg, Nicander, and other Swedisli authors, — which we learned to prize more highly from the expressive eloquence and fine declama- tion of Professor L., enriched us with fresh ideas and feelings. A book was often chosen from among them, the design of which is to give clear- ness to the human mind on those most important subjects, — God and immortality. I soon remarked that this was done with particular reference to the blind girl, on whose marble face the eye of the Colonel always rested during the reading of pas- sages, where the rays of the Godhead broke out most clearly and warmly, though obscured by the veil of human weakness. The evening was often spent in conversation on such subjects. Professor L., the Colonel, and Helen, for the most part, shared in it. The measures which the Colonel, in common with the Professor, took for the moral improvement of his tenants, by means of schools and other aiTangements, made for their advantage and pleasure, gave an easy occasion to these con- versations. Man — his organisation, his education, his destiny, his dignity, his weakness, God's strength — the advancement of man, by means of a rightly preached gospel : to bi'ing this life into union with the future ; these wei'e subjects which were treated with equal animation, beauty, clear- ness, and power, by Professor L. His animated and energetic manner, which so well expressed the fulness of his mind, the happy skill, which he possessed in a remarkable degree, of making clear the most abstract ideas, by examples drawn from the dominions of history, morality, and nature ; the quiet, beautiful wisdom, which was the result of his doctrines, the benevolent power of which went irresistibly to the hearts of all his listeners ; the fine tone of his manly voice, the dignity and im- pressiveness of his fanner ; all these were com- bined in such a way, that we listened to him with delight for whole hours. And when he, entering moi-e deeply into his subject, with increasing warmth and more energetic language, expressed still higher and bolder ideas, we felt, as it were, raised from the earth, and brought nearer to heaven. It was an apotheosis of thought and feeling, and the heavenward journey of the moment always left behind it, in the soul, some sparks of the eternal fii'e. It was on such evenings that I perceived in Julia something higher and more noble than until now I had seen in her childish and flighty manner. I saw her bosom heave, her cheeks grow red, while she listened to discourses on truth and virtue ; and while her expressive eyes hung upon the lips of their noble interpretei*, to draw in every word he might utter, she would answer her lover shortly and with indifierence, when he sometimes asked her opinion on certain little pasteboard labours, in executing which he had certainly considerable skill. The blind girl gene- I'ally remained silent, during the conversations, and her statue-like face seldom beti'ayed any of the emotions which were given to her inner feelings. We had also, on some evenings, conversations of another kind — lighter, but still not unimportant. In these Madame H and Cornet Charles dis- tinguished themselves. One evening when Professor L. and the Colonel wei'e absent, Lieutenant Arwid made a long address upon th« best manner of THE H- FAMILY. 25 salting venison, and ou the sauce which was best suited to it. Julia asked whether Arwid's speech had not given an unusual desire to eat an early supper, and go to bed soon. All agreed that it had. One day, as Julia and I were sitting at work, by an open window, a pot of roses standing on the table between us, after we had been sitting in silence for some time, Julia said hastily, " Do not you think — " and then was again suddenly silent. I looked up at her, and asked, « What then ?" " Yes — that — Professor L. has something noble in his countenance, especially about the forehead." " Yes," I replied, " we read there his noble soul, his mild wisdom." Julia bent her head over the rose-bush, a bud of which, at this moment, seemed to strike her cheek. " Aha," thought 1. Julia resumed ; " Do you not think—?" Anew pause. " That professor — " said I, leading the way. « Yes, that— that Professor L. has a very melo- dious voice, and speaks extremely well. He makes everything so clear, so rich, so beautiful, it seems as if one were made better by listening to him." " It is true. But do you not find that Lieute- nant Arwid has a very handsome moustache, and an uncommonly fine voice, particularly when he says ' The Thous—'" " Now you are wicked, Beata," said Julia, blush- ing deeply, and, getting up, she ran away. As she passed by, she awoke Lieutenant Arwid, who was taking his afternoon nap, on the sofa, in the next room ; whereupon he grumbled a little, while he stretched out his arms and legs with nonchalance ; he demanded a kiss, by way of satisfaction. He received— nothing. Meantime Julia grew more serious every day ; her former constantly gay and kind temper became variable, and sometimes unkind ; her manner was more quiet and earnest, and sometimes a light trace of grief rested on her charming face. But for a long time no one of the family observed this change. The members of it had all too many affairs of their own to look after. Madame H , whose active nature and indus- trious kindness always kept her employed, found, when in the couuti-y, every hour occupied. She was the comforter, the counsellor, and the teacher of her dependants, in great as well as in small mat- ters ; and was, besides, the physician of the whole neighbourhood. She did all this with an ease and presence of mind which one would hardly have attributed to her, when the careful way in which she managed the smallest affairs of her household were borne in mind. She went her- self to the people with drops and encouragement, soup and good advice, and the former gave to the latter spirit and strength. She was the favourite of the whole region. Old and young, rich and poor, they all praised her : she was " too good," « too kind." The Colonel applied himself apparently more in the passive, but he was in fact more active, more busy, with the welfare of those who were subject to him. He was, to his tenants as well as to his house servants, a good and just, but severe master. He was everywhere more feared than beloved ; but all acknowledged, that, during the time he had governed the estate, immorality, drunkenness, and all crimes had every year decreased ; and that, on the conti'ary, good order, morality, social inter- course, and consequently prosperity and content, had increased, and even spread to neighbouring places. The excellent establishments he had made, the schools he had founded, and which he endeavoured every year to improve, gave hope of the advancing cultivation and happiness of the rising generation. Professor L. was now a most valuable fellow-worker with him. This is the place to say a few words of farther explanation respecting Professor L. They shall be short and good. Professor L. was the son of a rich man, and was himself in easy circumstances. He had become a clergyman, as being, in his opinion, the way in which he could be most useful to his fellow-men. He was, in the most beautiful mean- ing of the word, the father of his flock. It was singular that he was as attentive, and perhaps even more attentive, than I was to Julia. His eye followed her so kindly, so earnestly, so inquir- ingly. Helen had the oversight of the girls' school in the parish — an important office, which she fulfilled with as much pleasure as diligence. The Cornet had tiie supervision of the boys' school does any one believe it ? No, heaven forbid ! And it was as well for him as for the school that he had not. He was suddenly seized with a violent passion for botany ; went out early in the morning, was often absent all day, and came home at evening very tired, his pockets full of weeds — flowers, I should say. He talked a great deal of the interest, the value, and the uses of botany ; pointed out to Julia inces- santly the difference between Pentandria and Octandria, &c. He was particularly anxious to find the Linncea borealis, which he had heard gi-ew in that neighbourhood, but which he had not been able to discover. For this he was seeking early and late. " It is strange to see Charles," said Julia ; '^ when he comes home from his botanising pro- menades, he is either so gay that he embraces everybody, or he is cross enough to bite one." " He is getting too crazy after his botany," said the Colonel. Helen laughed, and shook her head, and I did the same ; and you will certainly do so too, my fair young reader. I guess, I guess, he was but silence, silence, until — We will not betray the secret ; it will come to light in due season. In the meantime, we will go in the great family car- riage to make some VISITS. The Colonel, Madame H , Julia, the Cornet, and I. Madame H , who sometimes had ideas which seemed to have fallen from the moon, had lately taken up the opinion that I was beginning to grow melancholy, which she thought proceeded from my having brooded too much over the Book of Revelations. She had sometimes found me with the Bible in my hand, open at the last part, where the coming of the New Jerusalem is de- scribed. Now, nothing made Madame H. more anxious than brooding over books. She some- times thought my reason was in danger : and, to 26 THE H- FAMILY. divert me, and withdraw me from « such things," she wished me to accompany them in the visits they were making in the neighbourhood. On a fine afternoon, we started all in good health and spirits. We drank coffee with Madame Mellander, who, with her husband (the pendant to his wife) rented a little place of the Colonel. Madame Mellander was uncommonly ugly : she was pock- marked, and had a bearded chin ; she turned up her nose very high over her silent husband, who acknowledged most humbly her worth and her power ; and harangued her two pretty, but some- what awkward daughters, whom the Cornet com- pared to drooping birch-trees, the whole day long upon their manners and morals. Beyond this, she was regular, moderate, and domestic ; kept her household, her husband, her daughters, a maid, and three cats, in good order ; and thought that, on this account, she possessed an excellent head for management. ** Yes, yes," she would sometimes say, with a sigh, " now people say Count Platen is dead ! Next year they will perhaps say, Madame Mellan- der is dead !" « That would be terrible," said the Colonel, if he were present. While Mr. Mellander conducted the Colonel into his little garden, to show him a new plan, or some newly-made arable land, which had been reclaimed from an old potato-field, we learned all the news from Madame Mellander : first, that she was reading a very pleasant book, about a young man named Fritz. •* Is it a romance ?" said Madame H *' Yes, it is a romance. It is very neat. The lady whom Fritz is in love with is named Inge- borg." '• Who wrote the book ?" asked Madame H ** Oh, I do not know, indeed ; he must be a preacher ; and it is so pretty — how she goes out to sea, and how she clasps her little white hands." <• Can that be Frithiof ?" cried the Cornet aloud, in surprise. " Frithiof — ^yes, Fritz or Frithiof, that is his name." « By Tegner ?" said Madame H " Ten— yes, yes j I believe I have heard such a name." Julia raised her eyes to heaven. Madame H , who now first saw that it was de- sirable to turn the conversation from such subjects, now asked Madame Mellander whether she had heard that the Countess B. had already come to her estate in the country. " No," answered Madame Mellander sharply and decisively, "I know nothing about her. There is no intercourse between us now. Can you imagine, my lady, that she and I were brought up together ? Yes, we were every day together when we were young ; and she had a straw hat with yellow ribbons, and I had a straw hat with red ribbons ; and I said to her, ' Do you hear, Jeanette V and she said to me, * Do you hear, Lisette V and we were the best friends in the world. Then she went her way, and I went mine — to my uncle. Counsellor Strissberg, at Norrtele. Your grace certainly knows him." " No," answered " your grace.'* ** Oh, my good, ness ! not know the rich Strissberg, who married Mamselle Britmund, of Stockhohn ? Your grace must know certainly the brother-in-law of Lonn- berg — he who lives near the market." " No, I do not know him," answered Madame H , smiling, but somewhat confused. " Indeed, indeed," said Madame Mellander, somewhat displeased, and perhaps with decreased consideration for the acquaintance of the lady. "Well," she continued her narrative, "then it happened that we did not see each other for seve- ral years. But, after I married Mellander, I saw once, at a concert at Stockholm, the companion of my youth, who had now become the Countess B. I bowed and bowed to her ; but — would you be- lieve it ? — she stared directly at me, and never bowed at all, and behaved as if she did not recog- nise me. Aha ! thought I. Now, when she passes my house, here in the country, she will stick her head out of the carriage-window, and bow and nod. But I — I mind my sewing. What do you think of that, Madame H ?" What that lady thought, Madame Mellander did not find out then ; for, at that very moment, her better half came in with the Colonel, who pro- posed taking leave, as it was already five o'clock ; and it was nearly a mile to Lofstaholm, where we were to make the next visit on the Landholder D. Each of the company, meantime, were com- pelled to take two cups of coffee, with the excep- tion of the Cornet, who begged to be excused. He and Julia had, during this time, done their best to amuse and enliven the Misses Eva and Amalia. The Cornet, in a gay, good-natured way, paid them all sorts of little compliments. Julia praised their flowers, promised to lend them books, pat- terns, &c. ; all which had the eff'ect of arousing the pretty drooping birches, as if they had been shaken by a fresh breeze, or enlivened by a re- freshing rain, to raise their branches and begin to wave their leaves — that is, Amalia and Eva were quite animated, and the apples of their eyes moved east and west. At Lofstaholm, the Colonel and his family were received with the most lively and clamorous joy. Great attention was paid to Cornet Charles, who, from his cheerful character, his gay humour, and his pleasant manner, was universally beloved by all the neighbours, and stood in especial favour at merry Lofstaholm, where balls, plays, and amuse- ments of all kinds were constantly following each other, and where he sometimes danced twenty- four dances in a night with twelve ladies, and sometimes took part as Captain Puff",* or Cousin Pastoreau, or the Burgomaster in Carolus Mag- nus, and gave universal pleasure. He " never had been able to play the part of a lover," which was very natural, because he had never been in love, and could not represent what was so oppo- site to his nature. To celebrate the birthday of Mr. D., his three gifted sons gave this evening a little concert, to which a tolerably numerous assembly of listeners were invited, and to which the H family made a welcome addition. Madame D., who had the reputation of a highly- educated woman, who talked about Weber and Rossini, of education and instruction, poetry^ * " Captain PufiF," a favourite comedy of the Swedish comic poet, Oloff Kexell. THE H- FAMILY. 27 colouring, taste, tact, &c., set about making a speech to Madame H , upon her views in education, and the system on which she had brought up her children, and in which Weber, as well as Rossini, — education, taste, tact — tact more espe- cially — were all brought in. The concert began. Eleonora D., timid and blushing, sat down at the piano, and played " con tutla la forze delta desperazione.^' In every chord she struck, she gave the ears of the listeners two or three notes into the bargain ; and the trills — thanks to the bass pedal — went over the key-board like a stroke of India-rubber over a drawing. The conclusion was very effective— the whole piano groaned. The blue-eyed Theresa then sang an air from the Barber of Seville : splendid staccati tones, powerful trills, produced with great strength of hand, called forth loud expressions of gratitude from the audience, in return for so much labour. Landman D., a little fat and gay old man, fool- ishly attached to his children, whom, in his pater- nal heart, he compared to the seven wonders of the world, went immediately up to Col. H , and, nibbling his hands, asked, with sparkling eyes — *' Now, brother, what do you say ? what do you think? what— what?" The Colonel, who had a good natural taste, and had in his life listened to too much good music not to know what it was, had recourse to his good- natured, roguish laugh, and to an equivocal speech — " She plays confoundedly well — she plays wonderfully ;" which expressions the happy father received with the most lively pleasure. In the duet which followed between Adolphus D. and one of his sisters, they " fell out" (as the Colonel called it) somewhat ; and a duet of ungra- cious glances took place between brother and sis- ters, during which the song sometimes ran into this accompaniment. The finale, a chorus, sung by all the seven vir- tuosos together, about " loves and doves," " blights and delights," and many more singular rhymes, which with the rows of words placed before them, were composed by Adolphus D,, I thought would shake the house down. Madame H ,who had sat through all this, as if she had been at evening mass, with a devout and somewhat plaintive countenance, did her best to satisfy the thirst for praise of the musical family. The Colonel repeated his strong expressions, and the company sung a chorus of bravos, in many cases given with somewhat equivocal glances. This conduct displeased the Cornet ; he could get along easily, for he could and did say merely, that he knew nothing of music, and could not, therefore, give any opinion. Others, who, on account of their musical taste, (or for their sins,) are called upon to give their opinion at such concerts, are badly enough off. Artists by trade may venture to criticise— they have purchased this right ; but amateurs can only praise — to this they are held pledged ; and if they cannot do it with a good con- science, the truth is not always well received, or it is received, perhaps, with a wry face. It was not to be thought of that we should re- turn home before supper. It was eleven o'clock when we were seated in the carriage. It was a mild and uncommonly beautiful spring night. Madame H soon fell asleep, lulled by the gentle motion, and our conversation ; — we were all silent. The Colonel's face was shaded ; the Cornet sat and looked at the moon, which looked down pale and mild over the green, quiet earth. There was a sort of enthusiasm in his expression, which I had never remarked before. Even Julia was thoughtful. The coachman and horses must also have been thinking of something, for we passed very slowly through forests and plains. It was about midnight when we came in sight of the Parsonage, the residence of Professor L. We saw lights glimmering from one of the windows. The Colonel saw it and said, " There sits L,, watching and working for the good of his fellow-men» He hardly allows himself his night's rest — and yet it may be fifty years and more before his works will be rightly understood and valued. And such nights follow days, the hours of which have all been devoted to the various duties of his office." " He is like his hght," said the Cornet ; " he consumes himself to illuminate others." " He must be a most noble man," said Julia, with tears in her eyes. " Indeed he is," replied the Colonel ; " 1 know no one more so — but he cannot live long as he now lives." " Has he not," asked Julia, " any sister or mother, or some one with him at home, who looks after him, loves him, and takes care of him ?" " No, he is solitary." " Solitary !" repeated Julia, in a low and sad tone ; and while we made a circuit about the par- sonage, she leaned out of the carriage window, and held her head still turned in the same direction, " What are you looking at, my child V asked the Colonel. « At the light, father — it glhnmers so beautifully in the night." The next day there were some visits to be made in the neighbourhood — but it was altogether im- possible for the Cornet to accompany us. He had heard a report that the Linncea borealis was to be found in a wood, about half a mile east of Thors- borg, and, to convince himself of the truth of it, he was obliged to leave us before noon. " I do not understand," said Julia, " on what Charles Uves some days. He never takes any food with him, although I beg him to do so, when he goes on his botanical pilgrimages, and it seems to me he is really growing thin." " He is running again now into the woods," said the Colonel, when he saw his son taking great strides across the court, " I fear his Linnaa borealis is turning his head." Our visits this day were less fortunate. At L. and Vik, the little childi*en had the measles, and on account of our little boys, we turned away immediately on receiving this intelligence. At M. the Countess was not at home. — In a little summer-house in the garden her canary birds were singing, starving in splendid cages, and seemed with their thrilling tones, now plaintive, and now joyous, to endeavour to draw attention to their wants. Madame H gave them corn, water, sugar, bird's grass, and said a thousand kind words to them. " With all these things," remarked the Colonel, « we shall get no tea to-night." Not to get his tea between six and seven in the 28 THE H- FAMILY. evening, was a real deprivation to the Colonel, and Madame H , who well knew this, sat in the carriage with an anxious mien as we proceeded on our homeward ride, which would take us at least another half-hour. To shorten it, as he supposed, the coachman took a new road, from which we had, too, some new views of the country. We stopped to let the horses breathe at a wild place, overgrown with shrubbery. On the right, and at a distance from the road, we saw over the tops of the trees, a slight pillar of smoke rising, which a gentle breeze blew over toward us. " Indeed," said the Colonel, " I could almost think they had tea ready for us there. Look, Julia, can you not see a white wall through the woods 1" ** Yes, I see something of a grayish white — there is actually a house there, the smoke appears to come from it. It is plain there is a fairy there who is expecting us, to entertain us — a fairy and tea — how charming !" "My opinion is," said the Colonel, "that if there is a fairy there, there are also real men. and women, who would give us a cup of tea in their best manner, if we, — what do you think, Charlotte ? Shall we not make a visit to the little inviting castle in the woods ? We can tell the inhabitants that we wish to make their acquaintance, and that we — in a woi'd, that we are thirsty." Julia laughed heartily. Madame H looked quite shocked. " My dear," said she, " that would not do." " It would do desperately well for me," said the Colonel, "• to get a cup of tea." •* Besides, dear mother," said Julia, " we might perhaps make an interesting acquaintance. Think, for example, if Don Quixote did not die of his loss of blood, as has been reported, but travelled to the North, and should be living here with his fair Toboso, and should now receive us— or if we should meet a hermit, who should tell his story, or a disguised princess." " What and whom you will," said the Colonel, " if he will only be christian enough to give us a cup of tea." Though the Colonel brought out for the fourth time certainly, his cup of tea, yet Madame H recoiled so much from this visit to Don Q,uixote,as she called it, that the thoughts of it were given up, and it was concluded to proceed on our journey. Just as the carriage was again put in motion, crack ! off went one of the back wheels, the carriage sunk slowly down, and, with different exclamations, we, one over another, rolled down into the road. Madame H lay upon me, but made an effort before she thought of getting up, to draw out her I'eticule, which by accident was under me, which I assured her it was entirely impossible to do, as I could not move a limb. At last we were all on our feet. Madame H was very pale, and we all surrounded her, and anxiously asked her a thousand times whether she was bruised, very much frightened, &c. But as she answered all these anxious questions with "no," and as we on our side were able to say that we were neither frightened, nor had suffered any fractures or bruises, (I could not say so much for squeezing) ; Julia burst out into such a hearty and ringing laugh, that all the company were obliged to join her in it. The coachman and the maid. though uninjured as well as ourselves, did not immediately recover their smiling faces. With their assistance the Colonel now attempted to raise the old heavy coach. The sand on the road was very deep, and the carriage was, as it were, buried in it. The coachman was an invalid, the maid superannuated ; they strained and cr^d " Oh, oh !" — the Colonel alone worked, and the coach did not move from its hole. A visit to the gray house, (the only human dwelling visible,) was now necessary ; and the Colonel, who was so fixed upon this visit, and his cup of tea, was quite merry about the accident to the carriage, and saying, " We must all go together in sorrow and joy," gave his wife his arm, and led her with unusual cheerfulness and good humour through the narrow path which wound through a grove of pines and firs, and appeared to lead to the gray house, which has been so often men- tioned. " It is going to rain," said Madame H , look- ing anxiously up to the sky — "my bonnet ! could we not wait here under the trees, while Gronwall runs along and gets some people for the carriage V " It is not going to rain," said the Colonel. "It is raining now," said Madame H "Let us make haste to get shelter," cried the Colonel, and hurried gaily forward, holding liis hat over the head of Madame H . At last we reached the little gray house. It had a dark ruinous appearance, and with the exception of a small kitchen garden, everything about it was wild and uncultivated. The silver sources of a stream glimmered at some distance through the dark pine wood. Just as we entered the hoijse it began to rain violently. A door stood open which led directly to the first story. It opened upon the temple of cookery. As the Colonel went in, a girl started from a corner like a hare from his hole, stared at us with sleepy eyes, and stammered — " Be so good — please to walk up stairs, the family are at home." We ascended a narrow and dark staircase, and when we reached the top, the Colonel opened a door, which gave us a view of a small room, which on all sides was filled with clothes. Tables, chairs, and baskets were filled with ironed and unironed articles. The air was moist, and hot as that of a heated oven. " Forward, just go forward," said the Colonel kindly to Madame H who paused upon the threshhold. " My deax*, I cannot step into the clothes bas- kets," answered she, somewhat displeased. The Colonel and I cleared the way, and we passed through the laundi'y to another door, on opening which we all stood still for a moment, in astonish- ment and wonder. A perfectly beautiful woman,of a majestic form, dressed in black and rich laces, stood in the middle of a room, which was tastefully ornamented with beautiful crystals, vases of flowers, mirrors, and other articles of luxury. Something stood behind her, though it only seemed to float on the air ; a young,— yes, actually only a young girl, but so en- chanting, so angelically beautiful, that one might well doubt if she were of terrestrial origin. She could not be more than sixteen. Her bright hair was confined with a golden arrow, and she wore a white crape dress, which floated Uke a bright cloud THE H- FAMILY. 29 round the lily-white, lovely, ideal-shaped, angelic creature. The elder lady came forward to meet us, while her dark blue eyes looked proudly and inquiringly on the unbidden guests. Madame H stepped backwards and trod upon my toes. The Colonel, whose noble beai'ing, and open and free manner, made a pleasant impression on every one, soon brought an amiable smile to the lips of the beau- tiful lady of the wood, while he related to her, in a manner as polite as it was comical, the cause or rather the causes of our unexpected visit, pi'ayed her to excuse it, mentioned his name, (which seemed to make a peculiar impression on the fair unknown) and presented his wife and daughter. He forgot me ; but I forgave him. Who speaks of the gravy to the meat ? that follows of itself, like an appendix. The fair lady of the wood answered in broken Swedish, but with a voice which was music itself : " You are very welcome, you shall have assistance to repair your carriage, and you must take some tea — such as I have." " My daughter, my Herminia," added she, while she stroked the locks of the sylph from her forehead. While Madame H was advancing to the sofa, she stopped and bowed very politely to a gentle- man, who had stood until then half hidden by the window blind, but who now stepped forward, took the hand of the amazed Madame H , shook and kissed it, while, smiling, but not without em- barrassment, he said, " Dear mother ;" it was — the Cornet ! Madame H exclaimed, and seated herself in haste and in great surprise upon the sofa, folded her hands and looked up at her son. The Colonel stretched open his eyes, made a highly comical grimace, but said nothing — a somewhat perplexing restraint arose in the company. The Cornet, who seemed to be standing on pins, soon went out to look after the carriage. The fair lady of the wood also went out, and we remained alone with the sylph, whom the Colonel regarded with apparent delight. He, with Madame H and Julia, sought to make her talkative by questions and remarks upon different subjects, but it did not succeed. She said but little, and avoided answering their questions. Childlike innocence, inborn grace, and an almost divine repose appeared in her whole person, and impressed everything which she said. She spoke tolerably good Swedish, but with an accent the melody of which betrayed the Italian language. Julia was charmed, and was constantly whispering to me, — " She is an angel, an angel, see her mouth — no — see her little hand — no — see her foot — her eyes — ah — brother Charles — now you are fixed — she is a veritable angel." A harp and a lyre stood in the small, tastefully arranged chamber. To Julia's question to Her- minia, whether she played one of those instruments, she answered by taking the harp and playing a canzonetta of Azioli, with such grace, and sung the words with such feeling and beauty, that the eyes of all present filled with tears. She had hardly finished, when her mother en- tered ; soon after came the Cornet and tea. The business to which this last gave place made the pauses which occurred in the conversation less remarked. I could not avoid noticing, (and this may be pardoned in a housewife) the meanness of the furniture of the tea-table. The cups were of Rorstrand's* coarsest ware, (three were tinned,) the sugar was ordinar-y, very dark brown ; of bread or cake I saw not a trace. I was afraid that our fair hostess remarked that I looked round a little, and that Madame H did the same, and exchanged glances with me ; for her face exhibited a painful confusion, and she stammered out something about the difficulty of getting wheat flour. With her usual kind fore- thought, Madame H offered immediately to send her some of her treasures, but she received for answer a cold and decided "No," at which Madame H was somewhat discouraged and troubled. The Colonel was sipping with satisfaction his second cup of tea, when all at once a violent noise was heard, and some one hastily ascended the stairs. Our hostess grew fii'st red, then pale, rose and made some steps toward the door, when that was hastily pushed open, and a rrfan with a wild expression of restrained anger, a pale, powerful and decided countenance, came violently in, proudly and carelessly saluted the company he found in the parlour, and seated himself by a window where he remained silent, often throwing wild, angry, and penetrating glances toward our fair hostess, .... who, visibly trembling, took her place again silently beside Madame H . Yet by degrees her manner became more quiet, and she twice answered the angry look which was thrown upon her, by a returning glance of pride and even scorn. The Colonel who measured the new comer with searching looks, addressed him some question about the weather. At the sound of his voice, the unknown turned hastily round, looked sharp at the questioner, and while a pale red coloured his sunken cheeks, answered, as it seemed, without knowing what he said " Yes, yes, it does not rain any longer — people can go their ways !" He looked again out of the window and repeated, " It has entirely left off raining — there is no danger in going out now." The Colonel,who seemed on that day to be possessed with the spirit of contradiction, said against all probability, for the sky was becom- ing still clearer every moment, " Oh — it is still dark, and it is beginning to rain worse than ever." Madame H now turned a somewhat beseech- ing look toward him, and at this silent prayer he rose, and saw at last that the rain had ceased, and that we might be on our way. With thanks and apologies we took leave of the lady and her daughter, who had great tears in their beautiful eyes, and silently bowed to Mr. Deerslayer, (as Julia named him) who shot at us with his eyes and appeared to wish us fai'ther. "Are you going with us, Charles ?" said the Colonel to his son, " or are you still seeking for the Linncea bo — " " I will run on before, and see whether the carriage is in order," cried the Cornet, and rushed off like a tornado. When we were again seated in the carriage, the Cornet was stormed with questions. He declared he knew no more of the fair foreigners than we did ; he had made their acquaintance during a wandering in their neighbourhood — he knew that they were beautiful and amiable, that they lived * Rorstrand, a great manufactixrer of porcelain in the neighbourhood of Stockholm. '60 THE H- FAMILY. apart from everybody, and appeared to be poor. More than this he did not know — nothing more. " Poor !" cried his mother, " and so dressed, with such laces." The Cornet blushed and said, *' They are always well dressed." " But who in the world was that rude man V asked Julia. "The master of the house," answered the Comet ; *' he seems to have an unhappy and irri- table temper — I do not know anything more of the family." The Colonel looked sharply at his son, who was visibly confused. We were still in the carriage. Madame H shook her head as an accompaniment to her thoughts. The Colonel suddenly broke the silence by say- ing good-huraouredly, while he smiled, *' I have still her Kling, Kling, in my ears." " Kling, kUng ! " cried the iCornet, blushing. " Yes," answered the Colonel, drily, and silence again prevailed. Julia, to be sure, had her heart and her eyes full of animated words about the two fair foreigners, but she did not well know on what footing her brother's acquaintance with them stood, and she seldom dared, in presence of her father, to let her transports take air, for fear of his sarcastic ex- pression, of which she had an almost panic dread. *' It is remarkable," said the Colonel again, " that just in this foreign region, west of Thors- borg, the singular Linncea ho — " '* Do you not think, father," interrupted the Cornet, hastily, " that I had better draw up the window, or perhaps, father, you had better not — speak much — the cold fog comes in 1 " " Thank you for your caution, my son — there is no danger for me — I am more afraid for you — lest in your botanical excursions you should make yourself ill, that you should get cold — have chills—" " Chills ! " said the Cornet, laughing, but at the same time blushing, " one would expect to have a fever rather." " I will be your doctor," said the Colonel ; ** and as I see very decided symptoms of illness, I order you — " " Most humbly thank you, my dear father, but there is as yet no danger — that I assure you — I have, however, still much — respect for the reme- dies ! " The Colonel was silent. Madame H sighed — Julia winked mischievously at me. The car- riage stopped. We had reached home. It was already very late in the evening. During supper the Colonel said to his son, " Now, Charles, when were you so fortunate as to find your Linncea borealis ? " The Comet replied, with precipitation, " This very day, father." At the same moment he drew from his pocket-book a little plant, saying, " This little northern flower, which, except in Sweden and Norway, is only found in Switzerland and on a mountain in America, has a peculiar odour, par- ticularly at night. This is beginning to dry, but it still smells good — smell of it, Julia." « My dear Charles," exclaimed Julia, " this smells exactly like wormwood — but no — what am I talking about — it smells — " " Wormwood ! " said the Cornet, surprised, and looking in confusion at his sprig of wormwood, « I am mistaken — I have lost — I had — " The Colonel laughed sarcastically ; " It must be confessed," said he, " that this LinncBa borealis is a very singular plant." But the person who first succeeded in finding out more about the Linncea borealis was Madame H . Between the mother and son there pre- vailed such extreme tenderness, that the questions of one always called out the confidence of the other, if it were not before given voluntarily. " Above all her children, Madame H was attached to her eldest son, though she would never allow that she made any distinction between them. He was the one among them most like herself, as well in person as the intrinsic goodness of his heart. Beside that, the very careful nursing which she had devoted to his extremely delicate and sickly child- hood had cost her much of her own health and strength, and this had, perhaps, more than any- thing else, chained the child to the heart of the mother, who had preserved him through so many sacrifices. What costs us much, becomes more valuable to us. She was now rewarded by the most affectionate love of her son. If Madame H did know a secret, it did not help the rest of us out of the dark. The Colonel did not seem to know any more than we did ; for he often, in a playful manner, joked about botany and the Linncea borealis, of which words the Cornet stood in most righteous fear ; and the conversa- tion on which he always endeavoured to interrupt by bringing on the tapis some new subject — the first was the best. Meantime, he continued his peregrinations un- disturbed — undertook even a little pedestrian tour through the neighbouring country, which lasted about a week, and for — but of this here- after. The Colonel said, in his usual quiet manner, "In fourteen days, the young gentleman goes to camp. The expedition will then keep him in Koslapsen all the summer ; his love for botany and the Linncea boreoUs will pass away in that time." Meantime Julia, for her part, was in consider- able trouble. Lieutenant Arwid, who, in the country, missed the subjects of conversation to which a city life alone gave occasion, began, in his tete-a-tetes with his bride, to have nothing farther to say than " My little Julia." After the lovers had sat near each other for some time in silent observation, Julia began to yawn. Then Arwid would say, "You are sleepy, * little' Julia." *' Yes," she would reply ; " and thanks to you for it," she thought. " Lean on me, my angel, and take a little nap," said, in a tender voice, her future earthly sup- port ; " lean on me and the sofa cushion, which I will fix ; I will lean on the other cushion, and take a nap too — that will be divinely beautiful !" With a somewhat troubled look, Julia followed his advice ; and soon morning and noon the lovers were seen together fast asleep. Julia said, some- times, it was a sin and a shame to sleep away one's life so ; but her bridegi'oom was of opinion, that it was the best way to enjoy one's self ; and that whoever would make a good wife must, while betrothed, follow the wishes of her lover ; so he held Julia to her morning and afternoon naps. THE H- FAMILY. 81 She was once heard to answer, half in joke and half in vexation, to Lieutenant Arwid's prayer, that she would consider him a cushion, ♦* I assure you that 1 begin to think so in reality." THE BLIND GIRL. <• I see only darkness." Madame H , who had fully assured herself that the reason of my supposed melancholy was a tendency to consumption, ordered me a milk diet and long walks in the open air early in the morning. Perhaps she did this to keep me, without the appearance of restraint, as a companion for Eliza- beth, for whom the physicians had prescribed the same diet. Be that as it may, four things were decided : I was melancholy — I was in a consump- tion — I must be cured — and I must go to walk. I began also to drink milk, and went with Elizabeth, during the early morning hours of spring, into the beautiful park, where the birds, at this hour, joined in a concert, which was dis- turbed neither by the gentle steps of the two wan- derers, nor by many words from their mouths. Elizabeth's demeanour was at first cold and un- friendly. She was almost always silent ; and the few words which she did utter, bore the impress of a weak and sensitive spirit. She often asked, " What o'clock is it ?" and, at my answer, there was always an impatient sigh — " No later ?" I was silent, because I — ^because I actually did not know what to say — because I feared I might trouble her anxious, sensitive, unhappy soul by an inconsiderate word. I saw that she was suffering — would most willingly have consoled her, but did not know what tone to assume to carry consolation to her heart. Besides, it seemed to me that human words could be no more fitted to alleviate her sorrow, than the mild, fresh, life-giving spring air, which surrounded us — than those melodious chorusses which rose from the murmuring hedges — than those rich, lovely, fragrant odours, which seemed to be the breath of young Nature di-awn into our inmost soul. Ah ! what could I say which could be more penetrating, more full of love, more soothing, than this beautiful and won- derful poetry of Nature ? By degrees, Elizabeth's demeanour became more mild. My quiet but unobtrusive attentions were no longer opposed in an unfriendly manner. She talked often, and more quietly. One day she said to me, " You are calm and friendly, like Nature ; it does one good to be with you." As 1 had never sought to penetrate into her inmost soul by a single question, she seemed to forget that she was surrounded by anything else than this nature, into whose bosom the most unhappy being is not afraid to pour out his sor- row, and which is often the best and the most consoling friend. She often expressed half-uttered sounds, which were now full of deep sorrow, now fearfully wild and murmuring ; at times they were monotonous, but a sort of lullaby, as if she wished to calm the stormy feelings of her heart. This melancholy song often created in me that very illness which Madam H wished to cure. In her gestures, Elizabeth showed the same relaxation of feeling hitherto repressed. She often stretched out her arms, or made gestures with them, as if she was motioning away some- thing frightful ; at times she pressed her hands against her breast, or folded them over her bosom with an expression of indescribable suffering. Often her motions were so quick and wild, that she seemed nearly bursting out into madness ; but as we finished our morning walk, and ap- proached the house, she immediately resumed her cold, reserved, and unnaturally stiff manner. One morning, when we were sitting upon a bank, she suddenly said to me, " We are sitting in the sun, are not we ? I feel the warmth. Let us go into the shade. I do not love the sun ; it has no sympathy with me." I led her to a bank, where a luxuriant hedge of elder kept off the rays of the sun. " It must be very pleasant to-day," said Eliza- beth — " It seems to me I have never felt such a delightful breeze." And now, she began to ask me questions about the colour of flowers, about trees and birds, about everything around us whidi was beautiful, but invisible' to her, and in a tone so gently mournful, that my heart was over- powered with deep inward emotion. A few tears, which I could not restrain, fell from my eyes upon her hand, that was resting upon mine. She drew her hand quickly away, while she said — " Are you weeping for me 1 Do you feel compas- sion for me ? No one shall do that — no one shall pity me, no one shall commiserate me ; I do not deserve it ! You must no longer be deceived in me ; learn to know me — learn to despise me ! This heart has planned crime ! this hand has committed murder ! I am going now. I know it ! I feel it ! — to meet death ! but a silent death, almost without suffering ; and I have deserved to end my days upon the scaffold, under the execu- tioner's hand." At these words, I felt as if day had grown dark around me. I was silent with horror. Elizabeth also was silent, but with an expression of wild despair, and with a smile of scorn upon her pale lips. At length this changed to an expression of dark dejection, while she softly and slowly said — *' Is any one near me V " I am here," I answered as quietly and mildly as possible, for I felt how much more the unhappy guilty woman needed the kindness of her fellow-creatures than the innocent sufferer. " Soon," said Elizabeth, Avith her hands upon her breast, " soon will the flames of hell which are raging here be let loose ! Silent death ! I feel your friendly approach. This tormented head will soon rest benumbed in the cold earth : mother earth ! you will press to your bosom the tired child, who through all the long, long days of life, has learned to know and to bless no mother's heart, no father's breast, no friend's supporting arm ! But why do I complain ! For the sake of receiving as charity mere contemptible compas- sion ! And I do not even deserve that ! I am a wretched creature !" She was silent, but began again, after a short pause : " It is strange — to- day — to-day — after so mamy hundred days of misery borne in silence, my heart will speak out — will, like an enchained prisoner, breathe a freer air, will go forth into daylight, indifferent to the feelings of disgust and horror which the sight of a wretched criminal excites in others. The flame will once more biaze up, and spread around itself 32 THE H- FAMILY. a horrible brightness before it is extinguished for ever." '• Turn your face away from me, Beata ! follow the example of the sun — it is no matter — or rather, it is better so — I have still something to lose — your compassion. Well, I deserve this punishment." She was again silent ; sorrowful feelings seemed to shake her very soul, and an indescribable expression of enthusiasm and melancholy was painted on her beautiful countenance, while she stretched out her arms with longing, and called out — " Father-land, freedom, honour ! could I have tried, struggled, and died for you, I should not have been the wretched, degraded being I now am. Had I beeu a man, my heart would not in vain have beat for you —for you, the worthy goal for the soul's eagle flight. This flame, which now con- sumes my wicked breast, would then have been kindled upon your altars — would have blazed up on high, a clear and holy sacrificial flame. But now — Oh, how unhappy is the woman to whom Na- ture has given a soul full of fire, strength of feeling, and enthusiasm. Unhappy the woman who sees in the narrow circle in which she is called upon to live and to work quietly and monotonously, only a joyless station, a prison, a grave of life ! " I was this unhappy one. Oh, how I suffered in the struggle with destiny ! This was the dragon against which I strove — which I thought I was chosen to conquer ; and he has thrown me down to the dust — has dashed me in pieces — has tram- pied me like a worm ! " In the overflow of youthful feeling, I was proud of the fii'e, the depth, the strength of my perceptions, and disdained to walk circumspectly — to recognise as law any other power than my own will. 1 felt that I had wings, — I wished to fly, to rise over everything. I — am fallen ! " that my dying voice might be heard by every woman, who, ardent and full of passion believes that she was created to become something great, splendid, and wonderful ; who believes that the breadth and strength of feeling with which she is endowed, justify her in despising the quiet world in which her lot is cast, with the rest of the human race ; in despising the modest holy reserve of feel- ing which divine as well as human laws command; — and could she see me how I have fallen by trampling upon these laws, and hear my warning voice say : Bewildered, pitiable ci'eature, struggle against yourself ! Your passionate soul is the dragon against which you must strive : — whose fire will consume you, and become the de- struction of others if it is not suppressed. Yield to destiny and human laws — struggle against your- self, or you will suffer as I have suffered, and be dashed to pieces ! " It is too late for me to struggle — the power has gone — the will has gone ! The fire has gained the victory — the temple burns, burns, burns, and will bum — until the wind finds nothing else but ashes. I have myself lighted my funeral pile — I shall be consumed — and I suffer ! " Thou world full of harmony, beauty and song, now surrounding me with caressing arms, like a waking, smiling child — in vain thou smilest, in vain thou flatterest — I understand thee not— I suffer ! « When I was young— that was a hundred years ago — heaven and hell ruled alternately in my breast ; still I was somewhat nearer the first ; now I no longer see heaven. When I was young, still very young, I loved with the whole strength of passion. My first love was my fother-land. You smile ; perhaps you think this feeling laughable in a girl — others have done so — and yet — my father- land ! Noble, beloved soil of Sweden ! had all thy sons possessed my heart, the heart of a tender maiden, thou wouldst have still been what thou once wast, the home of heroes, the lion of Europe. " You have read and heard of martyrs, of the frightful sufferings, the almost incredible horrors, which the friends of freedom and of country have suffered at all times, and you turn away your eyes and thoughts with horror. I also read them, and I also heard the fate of each ; but I thirsted to share it, — I pondered over all their sufferings and hellish torments ; they seemed to me heavenly blessings if suffered for thee my father-land ! Blessed of heaven the glory, the pleasure of the same sufferings. While the blossoms of my youth were unfolding, and my feelings were swelling like the spring flood, the murderous chariot of war thundered through Eui'ope — only an echo of the sound of weapons which flashed forth from con- tending masses reached our peaceful land. But this reached my heart, and awakened the wildest, most overpowering feelings. Ah ! 1 was only a woman ! they laughed at, and mocked my enthusi- asm. I wept tears of the bitterest indignation, and concealed my fire in my breast. " Peace was declared, and the words father- land^ freedom! which had shone so brilliantly in the brightness of the flames of war, lost many of their dazzling beams under the shadow of the olive- branch. Their beautiful names also lost their magic power in my breast, when thoughts of dan- ger, strife, and honourable death were no longer bound up with them. Peace was declared — the hearts of all wex^e relieved. The world around me became still more common-place and mono- tonous than before. But my heart remained the same ; it wished to live and to act. I was even more desirous than before to seize upon the glit- tering heights of life, and was pushed back to my non-existence by men, by arrangements of society, common-place customs and forms. No galley-slave was ever so unhappy as I was. My soul was agi- tated, as restlessly as the spirit of the tempest ; it grasped at the world ; it wished to rise to the stars ; penetrate the veil of all feeling, raise the curtain of all knowledge, — and my body and my attention were enchained by the smallest and the most trivial things of life. I lived two existences in one, — and one was the torment of the other. " The world allows to woman one only passion — its unfolding is generally promoted by the read- ing of romances, sentimental poetry, and the like. It is love. I learned to know it. It is said to ennoble woman, to create her happiness ; it has brought me to crime — it brings me now to the grave. " My father died. He never imderstood me, never loved me, never made me happy ! Why did he give me life 1 Had my mother lived, oh she would have understood me, and would have loved me ! I have heard much of her ; she suffered much — struggled much. I was the offspring of her last sigh, which I drew in with my first breath ; THE H- FAMILY. 33 in the first and last mother's kiss. For this rea- son, perhaps, has my whole life been like a death- struggle, a combat, an eternal conflict. It is nearly over. '* My uncle, from whom I had until now been separated, took me home. You know him — but no ! you do not know him ! You take him for a God upon earth, and he is a severe inflexible man ; an implacable, harsh, judge. Oh, how severe has he been to me I How I loved him ! I had no one, and nothing upon the earth. He was my all. I saw no one and nothing but him : I told him this. Oh, if he had only had some kindness, some mercy for me ! But he was too severe. His look was cold, his word a punishment : I despaired, but adored him. •* I was beautiful, intellectual, full of youth, and life and feeling. As the waves beat in vain against the rock which opposes them and throws them back, so in vain all my feelings ; all my natural gifts were sacrificed upon his altar. Ah ! the waves are permitted to moisten with tears the hai^d breast I which breaks them and pushes them back : I dare ! not wet with my tears the hand which repulsed I me — which extended to me the cup of death. He I whom I honoured and loved above all things — he ! called my passion for him a crime. 1 do not know ! whether it was so then. Perhaps it was not fit for i earth. Formerly, I should not have feared to have angels look into my heart ; they would have understood me. The angels in heaven love indeed, and must love in a higher degree than the children of the earth, for they love the highest j good — they love God ! Ah ! he was a God to me ! Why was he only an angry, severe avenger ? His condemnation made me despise myself — and adore him still more. •* Worldly pride arose for a moment in my heart. I wished to conquer my passion, and to punish the inflexible harshness of the object itself. " I was betrothed to a young man — good and amiable, I believe, who loved me. I remember but little about it. I wished to punish, and believed I could do so by this means, for I enter- tained for a time the belief I was beloved by him, who was everything to me. Was love the only flame that did not possess the power to warm the object upon which its burning rays were collected? And besides I was so beautiful — and he was, I knew, I saw, weak in his admiration of female beauty. What do I say 1 When was he ever weak 1 When did I ever see him waver ? — him, the pi'oud, noble, strong one ? O, I — I was the weak — the erring, the foolish, the wretched one !" " Preparations were made for my wedding. The I wedding-clothes were ready ; I was surrounded j with presents, caresses, and flatteries. I looked i at him whom I loved ; he was very pale. j " The wedding-day came, the hour for the cere- j mony arrived. I looked at him — he was pale, ' a dim flame burned in his eyes, but he said nothing. j At the last important moment, I looked at him. He i turned his face away from me ; he turned from ! me his beautiful, noble, beloved face — with a look — O, memory ! 1 said " Alone I have lived. Alone I have loved. Alone I have suffered. Bitterly, how bitterly ! •' And now in death 1 love all alone. •• O mother, O mother I Take me, O take me Away from the earth. Away from its misery ! # * * * « THE H- FAMILY. 46 " O wake from its load This glimmering spark, O snatch me from darkness, Raise me to light !" A more violent clap of thunder, that echoed through the whole house, mterrupted her song. Others more violent and more frequent followed this ; and at the same time a wild tempest began to rage. *'Is no one here ?" asked the blind girl. I drew nearer to her. She said, " I hear a sound of mu- sic that pleases me. Take me to the window." When she came to it, she crossed her arms upon her breast, and turned her eyes towards heaven. A flash of lightning streamed across her pale, beautiful face, while a fearful clap of thunder seemed to threaten with destruction the being who with a kind of trusting joy met the spirits of devastation with an unmoved brow. By degrees Elizabeth's feelings, more and more excited, seemed to be longing to break forth, and the struggle of nature found an echo in her soul. She cried out suddenly, " I see ! A fiery hand presses its burning fingers upon my eyes !" She stood for a long time, as if in intense expec- tation, and then as with a kind of hushed ecstacy : " How nobly, how nobly, they sing beneath the clouds I Listen ! harmonies call to you, my heart ! Here in my breast is the first voice ; there swells forth now the second. Now there is unison ! — now come love and joy. Flame of heaven ! 0,my mother's breast ! Clasp me in thy burning arms ! Mother, is it thy voice that I hear— thy hand that I saw ? that I see — that I shall always see ? Dost thou beckon to me ? Dost thou call me ?" " Air ! " she cried wildly and imperiously ; " take me out into the free air ! I will hear the voice of my mother — I will fly to her breast and be warm again. There are wings of fire there — they shall carry me away. A chariot is there — hark, how it rolls ! It shall bear me away. Away, away ! seest thou not the hand ? it beckons me. Hear the voice ! It calls, ah, hearest thou ?" I embraced her tenderly, and begged her to be quiet. She broke from me, and then said solemnly : " God will not listen to thy last prayer, if thou deniest mine. He will bless thee, if thou grantest it. Take me into the free air ! It will be the last time that I ask anything of you. You know not how my whole weal and wo are bound up in this hour. Take me out into my kingdom — into the kingdom of the storm — there, only there, can I ob- tain rest. Beata, good Beata ! see, I am quiet and calm ; I am not mad. Hear me — listen to my prayer ! I have been in chains my whole life long — let me be free but one moment, and all my many bloody wounds will be healed !" I had not the strength to resist this voice, these words. I took her out upon the terrace, which was built upon the rock that projected round the castle. Elizabeth's waiting-woman did not accom- pany us, from fear of the thunder and lightning. I soon repented my compliance. We were scarcely in the midst of wild, excited nature, when Elizabeth broke loose from me, leapt forward some steps ; then remained standing while she burst forth into loud cries of scornful, frantic joy. The scene was fearfully beautiful. The lightning crossed the whole country, with its glowing streaks; the storm raged around, and the thunder, now rolling, now crashing, increased above our heads. The blind girl stood upon the cliff", as though the spirit of the storm, with a wild, terrible coun- tenance. Soon she laughed and clapped her hands in fi'antic delight, then she turned round with out- stretched arms, and in a voice growing more and more strong and clear, she sang : — "Lightning and flame I Fiery floods from the blazing world ! Ye storms, ye raging thunders. All ye universal powers. Behold in me your queen. In me, a woman ! and hearken To the cry of my voice. *' Your lightning flames bring A song of rejoicing ; Hail to the day of freedom * * * * « The song of victory rings around. Life spreads her wings ! * * * * I am free ! " Again she laughed wildly and cried aloud, " How noble ! how noble ! how majestic ! How joyous am I ! Now my day of power has come ! A crown — a crown of fire will fall from the dark clouds to be placed upon my head. My day is at hand, my hour is come ! " At this moment, to my indescribable comfoii;, the Colonel stood by the poor girl. " You must come back to your room," he said. With an impetuous motion, Elizabeth freed her hand from his, and, instead of becoming, as always before, submissive to his will, she stood now proud and scornful, with the air of a Medea, and repeated, " My hour is come ! I am free ! Must ? Who dares to utter that word to me, here on this spot ? Do I not stand in my king- dom ? — Does not my mother hold me to her bosom ? See you not how her arms of fire em- brace me, and would bear me away 1 " The Colonel, who feared an increased outbreak of her frenzy, was about to take her in his arms to carry her back to the castle ; when Elizabeth suddenly flung her arms around his neck with great tenderness, and said, " Now, while I clasp you in my arms, and you embrace me with yours, my mother will take us both to her castle of fire. What pure, heavenly happiness ! To-day is my day — my hour is at hand 1 I am free, and you are the prisoner. I defy you, I defy you ; you shall never more be free ! " Whether it was the word " defy," that awakened his pride as a man, or whether it was a feeling of some other nature, the Colonel hastily shook him- self from Elizabeth, and stood as if terrified, a step from her. *' Yes, I defy — I defy you," she went on. " You have fettered my body, you have bound my tongue ; and now I stand before you, powerful and strong, and like the pale lightning will hurl down upon you the fearful words, * I love you ! ' You can no longer forbid me — your anger is powerless. The storm is with me, the thunder and lightning on my side. Soon shall I be with them for ever. Like a cloud in yon heaven, will I follow you through your whole life ; like a pale ghost will I hover over your head, and when all others are silent to you, you shall hear my voice cry aloud, • I love you 1 I love you I ' " 46 THE H- FAMILY. A strange and deep emotion seemed to have stolen over the Colonel ; he stood immovably, with crossed arms ; but a dim Ught glowed in his eyes. With a hushed transport Elizabeth continued : " 0, how have I not loved you I More deeply, more ardently, has mortal never loved ! Ye heavens, which rage above me — earth, that will so soon open for my grave — I call upon you as witnesses ! Hear my words ! And you, dearly- loved anguish of my life, noble, high object of all my thoughts,— my love — my hatred, — yes, my hatred — listen now while I say, * I love you ! ' With the most fervent, the holiest life of my whole being, I have loved you — deep as the sea, but pure as heaven, was my love. You could not understand it, — no one upon earth can understand it — my mother knows it — and He, who is above all. Had we lived in a world where word and deed could be innocent as feeling and thought — O, there might I, like a clear warm flame, have embraced and beamed round thy being — have filled you with happiness — have burnt for you only, like a holy flame of sacrifice. Such was my love. But you understood me not — you loved me not — you thrust me from you, scorned me — and I was guilty — but I loved still— and love now — and shall ever — and eternally — and alone ! " " Alone ! " cried the Colonel, while a powerful emotion seemed struggling for utterance. " Yes, alone ! " the blind girl began again, alarmed and trembling ; " who, besides is there ? I have sometimes longed for it— but — my God, my God ! were it possible ? O say, is it possible ? By that eternal happiness, which you deserve — and which can never be mine, — by that light, which you can see, but I can never behold, — I conjure you, — tell me, tell me ; have you ever loved me ? " A deep silence for a moment ruled all nature. It was as though it was longing to hear that answer, which I, too, awaited in trembling anxiety. Only the pale, lingering lightning hovered above us. Suddenly, with a strong compressed tone, the Colonel said : — « Yes ! " The blind girl turned her face upwards ; it beamed with an unearthly ecstacy, while the Colonel continued, with deep, violent feeling : — " Yes, I have loved you, Elizabeth, loved you with all the energy of my heart ; but the power of God in my soul was more mighty, and preserved me from ruin. My harshness has saved you and me. My love was less pure than youra. It is not the poison that your hand prepared for me, that has broken down my life — it is the struggle with suffering — with longing — it is grief for you, Elizabeth ! Elizabeth ! you have been infinitely dear to me — you are so still, Elizabeth " Elizabeth heard him no longer ; she sank, as though the weight of happiness had bowed her down ; and at the moment I rushed towards her, she fell like a corpse to the ground, while her lips, with an indescribable burst of happiness, mur- mured—-" He has loved me ! " The Colonel and I could scarcely bear her back to her room. I trembled — his strength was, as it were, palsied. Drops of anguish stood upon his brow. Elizabeth did not for a long time recover her consciousness ; but, as she raised again her eyelids, and the stream of life again i-an through her veins, she whispered only, « He has not despised me ! — he has loved me ! " and she continued calm and quiet, as though she had closed her account with the world, as there were nothing left to wish for. During the rest of the night the storm raged fearfully ; the lightning shone upon the face of the blind girl, beaming now with fervent ecstacy. From that hour, and during the few days that she lingered, everything in her was changed. All was tranquillity and gentleness. She spoke seldom, but pressed, kindly and thankfully, the hands of those who drew near her bed, where she lay im- movable. We heard her frequently say, in a low tone, " He has loved me ! " One day Madame H was standing by Eliza- beth, who appeared not to be aware of her pre- sence, when she repeated, with a peculiar sweet delight, the words so dear to her. I saw an ex- pression of pain upon the gentle, kind face of the dear woman. I saw her lips tremble, and a tear steal down her cheek. She turned hastily and went out ; I followed her, for she had forgotten her bunch of keys. She went through the draw- ing-room ; the Colonel sat there, his head leaning upon his hand, and he appeared to be reading. He sat with his back turned towards us. Madame H slid gently behind him, kissed his brow, and as she went into the bedroom, stifled a rising sigh. The Colonel, astonished, looked after her, then looked upon his hand, which was wet with his wife's tears, and sank again into his thoughtful posture. After a moment I followed Madame H to the bedroom, but she was no longer there ; her prayer-book lay open upon the sofa ; the leaves bore the traces of tears. At last I found her after I had passed through all the rooms to the kitchen, where she was reproving the cook for forgetting to cut off" the cutlets from the breast of lamb that was crackling over the fire. This over- sight was, indeed, unpai'donable, for I had told her twice already, that we should have the breast of lamb at noon, and the cutlets at night. " One can never depend upon any other as upon one's self," said Madame H , with a slight insinuation against me, as I gave her the bunch of keys. I now left Elizabeth neither day nor night. Her earthly being appeared to hasten toward its dis- solution with unwonted suddenness. It seemed as though the first word of love that she had heard, had been a signal for the release of her weary soul. So is it with many children of earth. They struggle against the sharp sword of suffering, many, many years — they live, sufi'er, and struggle. The sword is broken, and they fall powerlessly down. Success reaches to them the goblet ; they touch their lips to the purple edge — and — die! Besides Helen and myself, Professor L. was constantly by the side of Elizabeth. Part of the time he read aloud, and at times he conversed with us about the means by which we might quicken the fear of God slupabering within her, and strengthen her faith in those dear truths, which, like angels, stand around the bed of the dying. Once he questioned her upon the state of her soul. She answered, " I have not the power to think clearly — I have not the power to examine THE H- FAMILY. 47 myself. But I feel — I have a hope — and look forward to light ! " " The Lord shed down the light of his counte- nance upon you!" said Professor L., with a gentle voice of trust. The next day Elizabeth begged that the whole family might be assembled. When all of us, including Professor L., had gathered around her in fearful silence, Ehzabeth called him by name, and begged him to come up to her bedside. She seized his hand, kissed it, and uttered, in a supplicating tone, the word " for- giveness." It pierced us all. No one had power to speak ; and the sad word — " forgiveness ! for- giveness ! " was the only sound that broke through the murmuring of deep sobs. The Colonel and his wife stood together at a little distance. Elizabeth was silent a moment, and breathed heavily ; and, with difficulty, at last she said, " Will my uncle come to me I " The Colonel drew nearer ; she stretched her arms to embrace him ; he bowed down to her — they kissed each other. Such a kiss ! the first and the last — the kiss of love and death ! Not a word was heard. Pale as a corpse, and with tottering steps, the Colonel retired. With a trembling voice Elizabeth said : *' Lift me from the bed, and bear me to my aunt." We obeyed. She seemed endued with an unusual strength ; and, supported by two persons, walked towards the other end of the chamber, where Madame H , who did not seem to per- ceive her purpose, sat weeping. " Help me to kneel," said Elizabeth. Madame H rose hastily to prevent her ; but Elizabeth, still more quickly, threw herself at her feet, kissed them, and sobbed convulsively, " For- give ! forgive !" We bore her almost lifeless to her bed. From that moment the Colonel never left her. During the night, and the following day, she lay quietly, but seemed to suffer bodily pain. Towards evening, as Professor L., the Colonel, and I, sat silent at her bedside, she awoke from a gentle slumber, and said aloud, in a clear voice : ** He has loved me ! Earth, I thank thee !" She sank again into a kind of slumber, or stupor, which lasted perhaps an hour. Her breathing, which had been quick, became fainter, by degrees. A long pause, then a sigh — a still longer pause, and then again a sigh. At one moment, her breathing seemed to have ceased. It was a fearful moment ; a slight spasm convulsed her limbs — again a heavy sigh, followed by a mournful, plain- tive sound — and all was still. "She is dead !" said the Colonel, in a choked voice ; and he pressed his lips upon her death- cold brow. " She sees now !" cried Professor L., as he raised a radiant glance to heaven. The wandering breeze of a summer evening played around the open window, and the birds sang gaily on the hedge beneath. A soft, roseate glow, a reflection from the sun, now setting, lighted up the chamber, and shed a glorious radiance upon the lifeless one. Calm and untroubled she lay there now ! she who had struggled and despaired so long — peace- ful, quiet, now ! Her rich brown hair floated over the v/hite pillow to the ground. A strange smile. expressive of a higher consciousness, hovered around her hps. I have seen this smile on the lips of others, after death : the angel of eternity has pressed them with a kiss ! Peaceful moment, when a heart, that has throbbed long with trouble and sorrow, lies calm in rest ? Peaceful hour ! when every enemy is reconciled to us, every friend brought again to meet us ! when forgetfulness steals over our faults — beams of glory hover over our virtues ! when the eyes of the blind are opened, the bonds of the soul loosened ! Beautiful, peaceful hour ! borne, as it were, on the wings of an angel of light, thou smilest upon me like the glow of morn- ing ! and many times, when I have seen thee summon others, have I longed that thou mightest have come to claim me ! THE EIGHTH CHAPTER. Elizabeth was no more. She had risen like a dark thunder-cloud, and had shadowed the clear heaven of those about her. She had gone. All felt a sensation of peace and tranquillity. Many tears were shed to her memory, but no heart called her back. Unfortunate Elizabeth ! the first moment of peace that was granted you, your heart enjoyed, alone, in the grave ! We see, every day, those who were in life good and peaceful, though undistinguished and unim- portant, go forth from the world more loved, more regretted, than one of greater talents, more richly endowed, who has misused his powers — who, with all his beauty, his genius, his warmth of heart, has not made a single being happy. The Colonel for a long time remained gloomy, and was more reserved than usual towards his wife and children. Their tenderness and constant attention, and the beneficent passage of time, were by degrees dissi- pating his gloom, when an event in the home circle occurred, which agitated his tranquillity anew, and excited the more powerful emotions of his nature. One day, Arwid's father. General P., rushed into the ColoneFs room, in a great rage. At first he gave vent to his feehngs in a load of curses ; and when the Colonel asked coolly what was the matter, he burst out with — " What is the matter ? What is the matter 1 Thousand d — Is ! The matter is, that your — your — your daughter is " General P. !" said the Colonel, in a voice which brought the angry man to his senses. He went on, somewhat more calmly : " The — the matter is — that your daughter has trifled with truth and faith ; has played a false game ! May- seven thousand — that she wishes to break her troth with my Arwid — to return him the betrothal ring — may seven — that Arwid is beside himself — that he will shoot himself — he is so wild and vio- lent — and that I shall be a miserable, childless old man !" Here two tears ran down the cheeks of the old man, while he went on, in a voice in which anger and sorrow strove for utterance : — "She has been sporting with the peace of my son — with my gray hairs ! I loved her — like a father ! I had placed upon her all my hopes of peace in my old age — it will be my death ! She 48 THE H- FAMILY. said almost in my Arwid's face, that she would not have him — to my son's face — may the seven thousand — ! He will be the laughing-stock of the whole country ! He will shoot himself ! he will shoot himself ! and I shall be a childless, miserable old man !" &c. The Colonel, who had listened to all this in per- fect silence, rang the bell hastily. I went into the room, to reconnoitre a little, and that Julia might prepare for — what she already anticipated. The Colonel's air expressed anger and deter- mination. He bade me tell Julia to come down to him. I found Julia in great anxiety, but prepared, from tliis visit of the General to her father, for what was coming. "I knew, I knew — " said she, growing pale at my message ; '* it must come — it could not be otherwise." "But have you actually," I asked, "broken with your betrothed ?" « I have— I have, indeed," answered she, dis- tressed and anxious. " I cannot tell all now ; yesterday evening, words passed between us ; he was cold and insulting ; I was hasty — he was pas- sionate, and rode away in anger." Again the Colonel's bell was heard. "My God!" said Julia, as she pressed her hand upon her heart, " I must gather up my courage, and go. Ah ! were it not for his scorn- ful look. Say, Beata, was my father very angry ? " I could not tell, but begged her not to be hasty, and to remember her promise, solemnly given, as well as the strong feeling of the Colonel, respect- ing the sacredness of such a promise. *' Ah ! I cannot, I cannot," was all that Julia was able to say ; while, trembling and pale, she went down the stairs that led to the Colonel's apartment. At the door, she stood a moment, as though summoning up her courage, then said, " I must," and went in. After the lapse of about half an hour, Julia came into Helen's room, where I was sitting, and seemed utterly disconsolate. She threw herself upon the sofa, laid her head upon Helen's knee, and began to cry loudly and vehemently. The kind-hearted Helen sat silently, while the sympa- thising tears streamed from her eyes, and fell, like pearls, upon Julia's golden ringlets. When Julia's grief seemed to be somewhat allayed, Helen said gently, while she passed her hand through her sister's fair locks, *• I have not put your hair in order to-day, dear Julia. Sit up a moment, and it shall be soon done." " Oh, cut off all my hair ! I will be a nun ! " answered Julia ; but she got up, \viped her eyes, and arranged her hair, partly with Helen's aid, partly herself ; and became more calm. So true it is, that the little employments of everyday life have often a wonderful power in softening the burst of grief. Julia answered our questions as to exactly what had happened : " This has happened, that I am doomed to suffer during the rest of my life for the indiscretion of a moment ; to become a most miserable being, that is, if I submit to my sen- tence ; — but this I will not do ; in spite of my father's displeasure — in spite of — " « Oh, Julia, Julia," interrupted Helen, " think of what you say." " Helen, you know not how I have suffered ; how long I have struggled with myself. You know not how plainly I foresee the wretchedness of my lot, if I am Arwid's wife. ! 1 went for- ward, as in sleep, and sleeping I gave him my hand ; now I have awaked, and should not dare draw back, but that I see, that I am a — " " Arwid is good, Julia ! " " What do you call good, Helen ? One who is not bad ? Arwid (I have tried and proved it), appears good, because it is not possible for him to be base ; calm and quiet, because he troubles himself about nothing but his own ease ; sensible, because he sees no farther than the end of his nose ; and he is made up of negations. Why, then, should we fear to add to the collection, and to give him my * No 1 ' Do not imagine that it would trouble him long ; he loves not ; he cannot love me ; he has no feeling. Ah ! he is like a wet stick of wood, which my little jflame would strive in vain to light ; the flame would gradually turn to smoke, and at last be wholly extinguished." " Dear Julia, if Arwid is not such a man as you deserve, and whom you could joyously make your husband, — why could not your flame burn clearly t Arwid is not indeed so bad, as to become a spirit of torment to you. How many women there are, who, although united to men, that beyond all com- parison fall far below him, yet live an honourable and excellent life, procure for themselves pros- perity and ease, and enjoy a life of happiness by a beautiful consciousness of performing their duty. There is our cousin, Madame M.jis she not worthy of love and esteem ? And what a husband she has ! Look at Emma S., and Hedda R." " Yes, and look at Penelope, Sisters and Co. Ah, Helen, these women have my deep respect, my esteem, my admiration. I might be like them, — but I know plainly, that I cannot. That indepen- dence of opinion and understanding, that calmness, that clearness, and severity of firm principle, which is so necessary, if we must take the leading part in marriage, — all this I have not — none of it. I am a vine, and require the oak for a support. Just now, I feel clearer ideas of life bursting forth. I feel a higher being waking within me, — a new world opens to me ! Would I could wander through it, hand in hand with one whom I could love and esteem ; who with his own heart should reply to the pure flame in mine ; who with the clear light of his understanding should illumine the twi- light of my soul ;— [' Aha ! Professor L.,' thought 1] — Then might I become a noble being, and reach a goal which I now long for, rather than see. But with Arwid, Helen, with Arwid— my world would become a store-room— I, myself, a mouldy piece of cheese." " What a comparison, dear Julia !" " It is truer than you think for. Ah, marriage is a sad affair. It is with many, as it may now be with me,— they have drawn up the marriage bond in a foolish moment of fancy — have believed they should reach the island of blessedness— and are stranded, and all life long sit upon a sand-bank ; like oysters, they crawl about in their shells, to seek a little sunshine — till a merciful breeze comes " " Julia ! Julia !" « Helen ! Helen ! It is a sketch of everyday life, — each day confirms its truth. How many noble natures have there not fallen in that way ? THE H- FAMILY. 49 And so will it be with me, if I cannot in time sail by the sand-bank." " Julia ! I am afraid that this cannot be, our father's prejudices are immoveable. He will allow no contradiction. I believe, too, that he is right. In what concerns the violating a troth, the retract- ing a given promise of marriage, there lies some- thing so deeply wounding to womanly delicacy, that I believe " " Delicacy ! nonsense ! I consider it wholly in- delicate, and besides wholly absurd, to sacrifice the happiness of a whole life for mere delicacy." *' Could you be happy, Julia, if you should lose the affection of your father, your friends — the esteem of the world ?" " The esteem of the world — I should care little for that — but the esteem of those I love. Oh, Helen Beata ! — is it possible for one to lose that ? j If so, it were indeed better, that I should doom myself to be unhappy." " You would not be unhappy, Julia," said Helen as, with tearful eyes, she threw her arms around her sister, — " you would not " *' You know not that, Helen," Julia interrupted, with decided impatience ; " I know that I should be unhappy ; there is something besides Arwid's unworthiness which will make me so. It is the consciousness of having failed in my destiny, — the consciousness that I might have shared a higher, happier lot, — that I could have lived upon earth for the enjoyment of a nobler, more elevated state of being. Yes, I am sure of it. I might, like a lark, have soared aloft in freedom, light, and song — and now, now shall I, as I have dreaded, crawl about the sand-bank of life like an oyster, dragging my prison with me !" Upon the repetition of this terrible comparison, a new and more violent attack of melancholy over- powered Julia. She threw herself again upon the sofa, and remained there the rest of the day, with- out eating, or consenting to listen to any consoling words. Madame H , going sometimes herself sometimes through me, was constantly sending up- stairs, drops and Cologne, Julia was indeed ill, though not seriously, and continued in her room three days, during which she did not see her father. Neither Lieutenant Arwid nor the General, to Julia's great comfort, sent to inquire for her all this time. Madame H always had at hand her own pe- culiar house tactics or politics, for disputes arose frequently between her husband and her children. If, for instance, she were talking with him, then good words were always on their side ; and she argued with, and proved to them that he must indeed be right. Her heart was, I think, often a deserter to the side of the weak ; for while she was attempting to make an impression upon the iron determination of the Colonel, Madame H always caressed her children with redoubled ten- derness. She had now spoken to her husband on Julia's side to free her from her betrothal, but had found him inflexible, and when she saw Julia so unhappy, she became, unconsciously, towards him — not harsh — God forbid ! but yet somewhat less gentle ; this apparently (I said* to myself, it was not so indeed,) somewhat troubled her tranquillity and pleasure in a multitude of little things. A want of ease, a something, till now entirely unknown to the family, pervaded the house for some days. "The mountain will not come to Mahomet — Mahomet must come to the mountain I" said the Colonel to me one morning, with a good-natured smile, as he turned to go up the stairs that led to Julia's chamber. At the same moment horses' feet were heard in the court-yard, and Cornet Charles, excited, and with a disturbed countenance, sprang up-stairs, embraced his father, and mother, and sister, with silent impetuosity, and immediately begged for a short conversation with his father. An hour passed before the Cornet, with pale and troubled countenance, came out alone from his father's room. As if unconsciously, he passed through the parlour and the hall, came into Madame H 's room, and without appearing to be aware of her presence or mine, sat down in silence, leaned his elbows upon a table, and covered his eyes with his hand, as if the daylight were painful to him. Madame H watched him with a mother's anguish, then arose and stroked his cheeks caress- ingly with her hand, as she said, " My dear boy, what is the matter ?" " Nothing," answered Charles in a low, choked voice. " Nothing !" repeated Madame H . " Charles, you make me anxious — you are so pale : are you unhappy ?" " Yes," answered the Cornet, in the same low voice. " My child — my son ! What has troubled you 1" « Everything I" " Charles ! and you have yet a mother, who would give up her life for your happiness !" " My dear mother !" cried the Cornet, and he clasped her in his arms, " forgive me !" " My dearest child, tell me what can I do for you — tell me what is the matter with you, tell me all ! There must be some way — I cannot live while I see you so wretched," " I shall be wretched unless I can have to-day, the sum or security for the sum of ten thousand dollars. If I do not obtain this, then Herminia — my Herminia is in a few days the bride of another ! Good God ! I can buy the happiness of my whole life, and that of another being, for a paltry sum of money — and it is denied me ! I have spoken to my father, I have opened my heart to him — have told him all. He has this sum — I know it — and he—" « Has he refused it ?" " Decidedly. He says that it is the portion of the unfortunate, the needy : and, for the sake of un- known sufferers, he makes his oWn son unhappy !'* The Cornet rose impetuously and walked up and down the room with heavy strides, while he ex- claimed, " What vile being has dared to slander my Herminia to my father— that holy angel of God ? Could she deceive me ! Could she love that hated G. ! Only he or his creatures could " The Comet here dashed to pieces a wagon with horses attached, (an equipage of the little Thickeys,) and Madame H , terrified, saved from her son's approach a vase of flowei's, while, attentive to his grievances, she asked : "But how? where?" « Ask me nothing now !" cried the Cornet im- patiently. " I can say only this ; the whole happiness of my life depends upon my obtaining to-day the sum I have told you. I can become 50 THE H- FAMILY. the happiest being upon earth, or the most wretched, and not I alone—" " Charles," said Madame H , solemnly, "look at me ! God bless those honest eyes, my son ! Yes, I know you ; you would not let me take a step whose consequences I should repent 1" " Mother ! could you repent having built up my happiness for life !" *' Enough, my child : I am going to speak to your father. Wait here for me." The Cornet awaited the return of his mother in a deeply excited state of mind. I saw that he was in one of those moods of youthful wilfulness, when it seems impossible to bear any opposition to one's wishes or determinations. In such moments, the word "impossibility" cannot be conceived of. We fancy we can command the sun, we fancy we can root up mountains, or, what is the same, the deeply-rooted prejudice of men's souls. It was long before Madame H returned. Julia and Helen followed her. She was pale. Tears glistened upon her eyelashes, and her voice trembled when she said, " Your father will not — he has his prejudices : he means to do what is right — and to do it firmly. But, my dear child, I can help you. Take these pearls and jewels ; they are mine ; I can do without them, — take them. You can obtain a considerable sum for them in Stockholm." " And here — and here, dearest Charles !" said Julia and Helen, as they with one hand gave him their jewels, and threw the other around his neck ; "take these too, Charles, we beg of you — take them, sell all — and be happy !" A deep red glow stole over the countenance of the young man, and tears rolled down his cheeks. At this moment the Colonel came up, stood at the door, and cast a piercing glance upon the group within the room. An expression of anger, mingled with scorn, lowered upon his face. " Charles !" he cried in a deep voice, " if you are so base as to profit by the weakness of your mother and your sisters, to satisfy your own blind passions, you have my contempt : I will not acknowledge you my son !" Utterly wretched before, and now so entirely misunderstood, a most bitter torrent of anger swelled in the heart of the young man. He grew pale as death, pressed his lips together convul- sively, stamped violently, and went through the door like lightning. In a few minutes, he was upon his horse, and rode at full speed from the yard. THE CORNET ! THE CORNET I THE CORNET f « HaUo ! it echoes through the wood ! " Hallo ! the echo ! the hunted flies, and the hunters follow. What is the game ? — a wretched human soul ! And who are the hunters ? The furies, hatred, despair, and rage. How they ride ! A matchless hunt ! The hunted flies, but the hunters follow. They spare not the spur, — they follow him through the thickest wood — over hill and through vale — halloo ! Onwards ! onwards ! the hunted spurs on his snorting steed, which leaps, foaming, over brake and hedge. A wild fury burns in his soul. Wrapped in a cloud of dust, he bounds over the nighway, through gloomy, forest-grown regions, all the time seeking to stifle each feeling— each thought of his soul — and hearing only the warning " Onwards ! onwards ! " that rings out with every throb of his pulse. The quiet inhabitants of the cottages which he passed like a storm-wind, stood amazed at their doors, and asked in wonder, *' what horse passed so fast I " and one of them (Stina Anders, of Rarum,) declared he had seen a hound and a hare come forth, one from a hut, the other from a wood, who, crouching opposite each other, gazed at the wild rider with staring eyes, and then, confused and alarmed, ran back, the hare to the hut, the hound to the wood. The wild rider. Cornet Charles, stopped not till he reached a well-known house in the forest, threw himself from his horse, and sprang up- stairs. All the dooi*s in the second story were shut — all was still. He sprang down-stairs again. All the doors below were shut — all was still and silent. He crossed the court-yard to a little out- house and opened the door. A little shrivelled old woman sat in a little room, humming a psalm tune, and spinning flax at her whizzing wheel. " Where is the master of the house ? Where is the Lady Herminia ? " cried the Cornet, panting and almost breathless. " How ? " answered the old woman, spinning. " Where is the master of the house ? " cried the Comet, with a tremendous tone and glance. " Eh, what ? " answered the old woman, as she stuck a suufi'-box into his face. The Cornet stamped his foot. (A plate fell clattering from the cupboard, and the glass on three broken shelves rattled.) "Are you stone deaf?" cried he, fortissimo, " I want to know what road your master took from the house ? " " The road ! — does the gentleman mean — to Thorsborg ! — it goes right over the field yonder, and — " " I ask," cried the Comet, with the whole col- lected strength of despair, "where your master has gone from here ? " " To Wreista ? Why, here, — there it goes—" " Is she* mad ? " cried the Cornet in despair ; " one might as well talk to the toothache ! " " Just so ; oh, indeed ! " ejaculated the old woman, puzzled and terrified when she perceived the Cornet's anger, and she went back to pick up the pieces of the broken plate. The stranger flung in her face a six-shilling piece, and vanished. " God preserve me ! God guard me ! " mur- mured the terror-stricken, but now pleased, old woman. Another door in the same building sprang open before a powerful blow of the Cornet's hand. By the hearth in the room sat a stout-looking gossip, who was feeding her little shock-headed boy with pap. The Cornet repeated his question with violent impetuosity, and received as an answer : " Yes, yes, they are gone." " But where ? say where — hov/ ? Was there no message, no letter left for me 1 " " Letter ? yes, I have got one to give to Cornet H , and I was just thinking of going down to Thorsborg with it, as soon as I had given a spoon- ful of pap to the little one — poor little worm — eat, little one!" THE H- FAMILY. 5) " For God's sake give me the letter ! quick, go this instant ; I say, go — " " Yes, yes, I am going ; only let me give the little one one more mouthful. He is hungry, poor little worm. Here, little one ! " " I will feed the child ; give me the spoon : go, bring me the letter ! " At last the woman went to her chest ; the Cornet stood upon the hearth, took a spoonful of pap from the pot, blew upon it with an assiduous air, and put it in the open mouth of the boy. The old woman rummaged round her chest — sought and sought ; snuff-boxes and earthen dishes, stockings and petticoats, her prayer-book, and a loaf of bread, came out one after the other, and lay on the ground at her feet— the letter came not. The Cornet raged, and stamped his foot, in im- patience. " Quick ! What are you doing there ? eh ! " " Presently, presently ! Wait a few minutes — here — no, here— no, wait a little— only wait." Wait ! It can be easily imagined whether the Cornet was inclined to " wait a little," now. But the letter came not. The woman answered in a low voice, between her teeth, " It is gone — it is lost ! " " You can't find it 1 " cried the Cornet, and in his anger he thrust a spoonful of hot pap down the throat of the youngster, who set up a loud shout. The letter could not be found. " It must have fallen into the hands of the little one, and been torn in pieces or burnt." And the mother, who cared more for the wants of her little one than those of the Cornet, said angrily to the last, " Go to Lofstaholm, that is your message. My master has gone there, and Lady Agnes was to-day with Lady Herminia ! " The Cornet reached her a dollar, as a plaster for the burnt throat, cursed, half aloud, the goose and her gosling, and threw himself upon Blanca, who had, meanwhile, been feeding on the yellow autumn grass, that grew here and there in the court-yard. Now for Lofstaholm ! A mile farther to ride. Blanca feels the spurs, and dashes on at full gallop. A torrent crosses the road ; the bridge has been carried away, and is not yet restored. There is, indeed, another road ; but it is four miles' circuit. Blanca now panted above the waves, that washed the froth from her neck and nostrils, and touched the feet, too, of the rider in the saddle. Two travellers looked from a distance upon the scene. " Do you know, friend," said one, with a thoughtful countenance, " I believe it is the Nick himself, who crossed the stream on his black mare." " But, do you know, friend," said the other, " I think it is a bridegroom, who is riding alter his beloved." " Believe me, gossip ! " ** Believe me, neighbour ! " And believe me, reader, the rider now stands on the other bank, and onward, onward ! rides again through wood and wold. Poor Blanca ! as the white walls of Lofstaholm glistened through the green trees, you 'ere just ready to fall to the ground ; but at sight of them the violence of the rider abated in some degree, and upon approaching the house, Blanca dared to stop and take breath, at the side of three other horses, which showed there were strangers at Lofstaholm just now. Mr. D. sat in his room and contemplated, with the air of an unprejudiced critic, a head done in crayon by his much beloved daughter Eleanor ; and Madame Emerentia D. (formerly J.) stood by, and was reading, with pleased attention, a poem upon the charms of a country life, and solitude, written by her hopeful son Lars Anders, (who, in the family, was called the young Lord Byron,) when Cornet Charles hastily entered the room. After a slight apology, and without troubling himself with what they would think of him, his abruptness and his questions, he begged that they would tell him what they knew of Baron K., and the sudden departure of his family. "Nothing more," said Mr. D., as he knit his brow, ** but that yesterday noon they passed by | here, and that Baron K. was so good as to come i in and speak to me with great readiness, and to ! pay me a fourth part of the sum that I lent him, out of pure good-nature for ever. A Dido — Cornet H , of my Eleanor's ! " Madame D. joined in : " the Baroness, or she whom they call so (for it is my opinion that she is no more of a baroness than I am), did not trouble herself, yesterday, to take any notice of me from her carriage. — Yes, yes, one has fine returns for all the civilities one bestows upon people ! no, she sat as stiff' as a princess in her carriage — her car- riage, did I say ? Nay, I think — it was the equi- page of young G. ; he sat there himself like a bird imprisoned in a cage ; and this was what made her so haughty." " G.'s chariot ! G. with her ! " cried the Cornet. « Herminia ? " " Sat there and looked around her like a turkey- cock. Yes, I have been sorely deceived in that girl. I took some pity upon her, and allowed my daughters to take some little soin with her, and to encourage her musical powers. Therese, too, was quite engouee with her. But I soon found I had committed an imprudence, and that she, as well as the whole family, were not suitable society for my daughters ! Besides, there are certain reports about, among people of rank ; she has conducted herself in a way " A servant came in now with the pipes, which he placed in a comer of the room. Mr. D. took this opportunity to put in a sentence, in French. " Oui, c'est une vraie scandale," said he, " une forgerie de tromperie ! un vrai fripoh est la fille ; je sais 9a, — et le plus extreraent mauvais sujet est sa pere." "Son pere," said Madame D., correcting him, " et la pire de toute chose c'est son mere, un con- duite, oh ! Ecoute, cher Cornet ; dans Italie le mere et le fille et la pere." There now arose from the adjoining chamber a fearful crying, screaming, laughing, roaring, and rejoicing, all at once. There was a sound of fiddles, a clashing of shovels and tongs, a singing, a whistling ; and amid this hubbub, and outcries of all kinds, these sounds were heard with peculiar distinctness : " Papa ! papa ! We know the piece now ! the play is ready ! Hurrah ! hurrah ! " The shouting troop now rushed into the room like a raging torrent ; but as soon as the excited E 2 52 THE H- FAMILY. band saw Cornet Charles, their joy knew no bounds. A unanimous cry burst forth : " Iphigenie ! Iphigenie ! Hurrah ! hurrah ! Cor- net H , Cornet Charles shall be our Iphigenie ! hurrah ! Long live Iphigenie the Cornet ! long live Cornet Iphigenie ! Long live " *' Death and hell ! " thought the Comet ; while the wild band all seized upon him, crying out — '* Come, Iphigenie ! come, Cornet Charles, quick, quick ! we want to have a rehearsal ! The Cornet may read his part ; — come, do come ! " " Hocus pocus, Cornet Charles ! fall upon your knee, and rise up Iphigenie ! " This shout was trumpeted forth by the charm- ing little Agnes D,, who stood on tiptoe, to hang a veil over Cornet Charles' head ; but she could not reach above his face. Lieutenant Ruttelin came to her help. Eleanor D. and Mina P. had already thrown a great shawl over his shoulders, and three young men attempted to fasten a table- cloth round him, to answer for the skirt of a dress. Among the assistants of Miss D., Lieutenant Arwid might be seen. The Cornet resisted ; it was in vain. He raised his voice, cried out, — in vain — he could scarcely be heard amidst the noise, still less make himself understood. Despair and vexation utterly overpowered him, and brought him to adesperate resolution. Usingall his strength, certainly not in the most courteous way, with both ai'ms, he flung the crowd from him to the right and left, and — ran off, — ran through a door which he saw open, came upon a long succession of rooms, looked neither right nor left, — but ran, on, on, on ! He overthrew a maid-servant, three chairs and two tables, passed from one apartment to another, till he reached a dining-room. On the other side of this room was the entry. This the Cornet knew, and was upon the point of hastening there, when he heard, with terror, the shouting multitude coming through it, to meet him with the loud cry of " Iphigenie ! Iphigenie ! " In great anguish of mind, and just as he was turning back, the Cornet perceived, near him, a door half open, which led to some narrow spiral stairs. He shot like an arrow through it. The stairs were very dark and long, — now turned to the right, now to the left. The Cornet's head was growing dizzy, when his foot at last touched the ground. He stood in a little narrow entry. A ray of light shone through an ii'on door close by. The Cornet went through this door. The faint autumnal rays of the setting sun gleamed through an iron barred window oppo- site, and shone upon the gray, cold stone walls of a little vault I The Cornet found himself — in a prison ? No, in a store-room ! The Cornet looked round for some outlet. He found indeed a door in the little entry, which led to the smaller cellar ; but this required a key to open it, and there was no key there. The Cornet looked and looked — in vain. He seated himself upon a chest of bread in the little cellar, shook oflF the shawl and veil, and heard with joy that the wild hunters were rushing round above, and that they went into distant parts of the house to seek traces of him ; yet they were always near enough to prevent the Cornet from making his exit. Un- happy, indignant, tired, at enmity with the whole world, he sat and looked thoughtlessly around him. A dish of pastry, the remains of a pie, some roast veal and currant jelly, which stood on a table in the sunshine, kindly and invitingly attracted his attention. The Cornet experienced a singular emotion ; in the midst of his despair, and although a prey to a thousand painful thoughts, he felt — hungry ! Poor human nature ! man, crown of creation ! Clay — king of clay ! Though heaven and hell roll around in your heart — still you must eat ! One minute an angel, the next an animal ! Poor human nature ! And yet — Happy human nature ! Happy bond, which alone can preserve the unity of being. The animal refreshes the fpirit, the spirit the animal, and so only can the man live. The Cornet lived, was hungry, saw eatables, and was not long in allaying his hunger. The pastry must suffer for the Farce. Pardon ! pardon, young reader ! I know a lover, the hero of a romance besides, should not be so prosaic, so earthly ; and our hero is perhaps in danger of losing all your kind sympathy. But think, think, ye lovely creatures who live upon the scent of roses and sentiment ; he was a man, and, what is worse, he was a Cornet ; he had had a long ride, and had not eaten a mouthful the whole day. Think of this ! " But is it proper that he should eat, in this way, in other people's store- rooms ? " Ah, my dear mistress of ceremonies ! when we feel provoked and tired with the world, we easily believe that everything is proper, that is proper and agreeable to us, and offends nothing but the conveniences of others. Every one takes at such a time real pleasure in treading such conveniences under foot like weeds, and in such a frame of mind nourishes a real, cosmopolitan spirit, that would say to the whole world — " Make way for me !" Cornet Charles had made some way through the pastry, when the hubbub above, increasing in strength, renewed the loud cry for the luckless " Iphigenie ! " This, together with a rattling and noise upon the stairs, showed that the band of hunters was on the track. He sprang madly against the window, seized one of the iron bars with all his strength, to loosen it, and, cost what it would, make his escape. The bar shook, but remained firmly in its place. The shouting troop came nearer and more near. At this fearful moment, a key that lay in the window-seat shone in the sunlight. blessed sunlight ! The Cornet seized the key, fitted it to the lock ; the door opened, and as though chased by furies (the Cornet, at this moment, called up in his mind a confused image of the lovely, pleasing Miss D., with a Medusa's head), rushed through a long passage to the hall, threw himself down the steps, across the court- yard, and upon Blanca's back. He was hardly seated in the saddle, when, like a swarm of bees flocking out from the hive, the shouting band broke forth from the door, singing in chorus, or rather screaming out : " Iphigenie ! Iphigenie ! Tell us what is the matter, say, Lovely maid, why hasten away ? Come back and stay with us, Iphigenie ! ** The Cornet dashed off, and soon vanished among THE H- FAMILY. 53 the trees, from the sight of the chorus singers* The three young men, who in the joy of their heart saw in all this nothing but an uncommonly droll joke, in the twinkling of an eye were mounted on their horses, and followed the deserter. But when the Comet saw the chase was con- tinued, he suddenly slackened his pace, much to the astonishment of the triumvirate pursuing him, who soon caught up with him, and surrounded him with loud laughter, and cries of — " Aha ! aha ! we have the Cornet now, there is no escape ! Deliver yourself prisoner. Cornet H , and return with us ! " And one of them snatched the reins from his hand. But his arm was thrown off suddenly, and the Cornet, looking proudly and haughtily upon his pursuers, said in anger, — ** If you gentlemen had possessed the slightest penetration, you would have seen that I am in no mood for joke, or for being joked. You would see, indeed, that all your foolish tricks are no joke to me. I wish they were all at the devil, and you too. Let me alone !" " 'Pon honour, that was rudely enough said," cried one of the triumvirate, as he forced his horse to keep pace with the Cornet ; while the two other young men stopped a few minutes, and after a short consultation, rode back, laughing loudly. The Cornet rode on slowly, and cast angry and inquiring glances upon his uninvited companion, who from a pair of clear blue eyes returned his glances with a kind of ironical calmness. The two silent riders came at last to a place where a cross-road led off. The Cornet turned haughtily to his companion, and said — " I presume that we separate here ; good night, sir!" "No," answered his companion, carelessly, " I have a few words to say to you. " " When and where you please ! " said the Comet impetuously. " Oho ! oho ! " returned the other, ironically, " do you take the matter so to heart ? * When and where you please ' are words we use to lead on to a challenge — for when and where you please to take another's life. Now, for my sake, this can hardly be done ' when and where you please.' But I will look upon it not quite so much in ear- nest. I will follow you only to keep you com- pany, to see whether I cannot cheer you up a little, excite you a little, talk with you about those — " "With certain people," said the Cornet, " I can talk with sword in hand ; it keeps at a distance — " "A. sword?" said his companion, carelessly; " why a sword ? Why not rather pistols ? They speak louder, and answer better for the purpose of keeping people at a distance ; I seldom draw my sword." " Perhaps you prefer a pin ?" asked the Cornet, disdainfully. " Yes, a pin ; or perhaps a hair-pin," his com- panion answered, smiling, as he took off his hat and loosened from it the richest tresses that ever adorned a maiden's head, and took from them a long hair-pin, to which he, or rather she, attached a little billet, which she delivered to the Cornet, and said, in an entirely different tone — "If you should find it more painful than a Kword-thrust, you must at least pardon those who must needs bring it against their will." And the blue-eyed rider, Therese D., cast a kind, compassionate glance upon the Cornet, bade him farewell, turned her horse quickly, and soon disappeared from before his gaze of astonishment. Another feeling followed this, as soon as he re- cognised, in the address of the note, Herminia's hand-writing. With sensations that can be easily imagined, the Cornet opened the note, and read — "My only friend on earth, farewell ! farewell ! You come too late. I have yielded to the des- pairing entreaties of my mother. To-day I go to Stockholm ; to-morrow, I am the wife of Genseric — if I live. My brother, friend, my all — ah, forgive me ! Farewell ! " Herminia." The letter was dated the preceding day. " How, at Stockholm ? " said the Cornet, forming the desperate resolution, either to win her — or to die ! " Heaven be praised, there is yet time ! " The evening was growing stormy and lowering. The Cornet observed it not, heeded it not — but rode at full speed to an inn. " A quick, swift horse ! this moment ! " said the Cornet, with a voice of thunder ; " I will pay what you please. " A snorting stallion, soon panting beneath the wild rider, who, with voice and spur, yet more excited his mettle ; and, with the fury of blind impatience, drove onwards, ever on. — But let us take breath a moment. HOOT ! HOOT ! It was night. The silver moonbeams streamed silently upon the castle of Thorsborg, where everything seemed hushed in repose ; for not a ray of light glimmered through the deep casement to give signs of a wakeful eye— of a heart that could find no rest. And yet, in the Colonel's room, a night-lamp beamed, and shed its dim rays upon some family pictures, in gilt frames, whose fonns, by the gleaming of its pale blue light, seemed to awake to life from the night of the past, in whose shade their joys and sorrows, their hatred, their love, and their prayers, had long ago expired ; and who now seemed, with a peaceful, dreamy smile, to look down upon the struggles of their descendants with the darker powers of life, and to whisper — " Thou Shalt forget, and be forgotten ; The conflict of day in night shall cease ; Rest shall follow the strife of earth ; Soul ! think on this ; in this take peace." Peace ? Gentle spirits ! you would fill us with trust ; but there are moments when, at the thought of these words, " grave" and " Heaven," the bit- ter tears flov.\ The Colonel was standing by the window, and looked out upon the moonlight night. His lofty brow was paler than usual, and a dim light shone out from his deeply-sunken eyes. A gust of wind rustled now and then across the castle-yard, and bore along heaps of autumn- leaves, that recalled to the people of the castle the gay dances that their gloomy-looking princes used to enjoy in the old fortress. The tower- flags flapped heavily, and a fearful restless whist- ling, such as accompanies storms in large build- ings, sounded mournfully here and there through 54 THE H- 5AMILY. the house. Such tones might well serve as omens of misfortune, for they called up gloomy forebod- ings. Clouds of peculiar, fantastic shapes were coursing the heavens ; they hurried on, like armies, with tattered streamers flying. Cloud- veils floated over the queen of night ; she broke through them soon with her blessed rays ; and they gathered, at last, in dark gray masses, far away, above the horizon. With disturbed, gloomy thoughts, the Colonel watched the wild struggle of Nature. He felt, with bitterjiess, that the spirit of discord had dis- turbed, with her poisonous breath, the peace of that family before so happy and united. He, who loved his own so dearly, who would be loved by them so tenderly, had become, at once, like a stranger to them. Wife, children, kept themselves at a distance — turned their glances away from him ; and it was his fault ; he had denied their prayers ; they were unhappy through him ; and, in this moment, when his conscience bore him witness that he had been firm in his opinions of what was right, and had acted, without wavering, on the same strict but elevated principles, at this moment there arose painful feelings in his heart, that seemed to accuse him of having erred in the application of these principles, and of having thus caused suffering that he might have prevented He had embit- tered the hfe of beings whom it was his duty to bless and make happy. A physical pain, under which he had suffered for a long time, and that was felt most when his soul was most deeply excited — a weight upon his lungs, that made his breathing laborious, came on with unusual power, along with these sad thoughts. He was alone : no one to show now a feeling of kindness for him ; the thoughts of not a single being hovered above him, on the peaceful, dove-like wings of prayer ; he w^as alone ! A tear trickled fx'om his manly eye, and he looked up on high, with the gloomy desire to leave at once an earth where sorrows reign. A white cloud, which assumed the form of a human being with outstretched arms, hovered alone in the starry vault, and seemed to be sinking lower and lower ; and its extender* misty arms seemed to approach him. He thought of Elizabeth — of her love — of her promise to be ever near him after her death. Was it not her spirit that would embrace him now, when all others had Forsaken him ? Was it not her spirit that now, when all voices of love were silent to him, had risen, and, alone, called to him through the night, " I love you ! 1 love you V The epirit-like cloud came nearer and nearer ; with sad longing the gaze of the Colonel followed it, and unconsciously he raised his arms towards it. It was now suddenly caught by a strong wind ; the extended arms were torn from the cloud-body, and in a strange, wild form, the white cloud floated like an image of phantasy over the tower. The room was desolate : the Colonel laid his hand upon his breast — all was desolate there 1 A deeply-laboured sigh went forth. In this bitter moment some one approached him with light step, an arm wound itself within his, and he felt a head sink gently upon his shoulders. He did not look down — he asked not ; he knew that she was near who, so many years, had shared his joy and grief. She alone could care for his secret sorrow — she alone would come to him in the still night» with consolation and love ! Silently he laid his arm around the companion of his life, and pressed her head to his heart, where soon all outward and inner pain was hushed. The two stood there long, and saw the storm pass over the earth and chase the clouds. They spoke not a word in explanation of what had happened, not a word of exculpation. Reconciliation held them in her heavenly arms. Heart throbbing upon heart, they stood there j they were one. The storm, that was now increasing, raging, flapped its wings around the tower, the clock of which now struck twelve. The strokes fell heavily on the ear. The Colonel pressed his wife closer, and shuddered involuntarily. She looked up to him — his eye was fixed upon one spot ; and hers, following the direction of his, soon remained fixed there too. On the high road, which from this place was visible at some distance from the castle, there moved a black body, which, as it drew nearer the castle, assumed a greater extent, and a more sin- gular shape. Soon, by the light of the moon, it was apparent that it was composed of a nimiber of persons, pressed closely together in a strange manner, and who moved forwards slowly, but in company. Now it was hidden by the trees in the avenue, now it appeared again, and nearer. A number of men seemed to be carefully carrying something very heavy. "It is a funeral procession!" whispered Madame H . "Impossible! at this hour," answered the Colonel. The dark mass came nearer and nearer. Now it entered the castle- yard. The wind raged wildly, and carried off the hats of some of the bearers, but they did not turn to recover them. The procession continued towards the principal building ; now came up the steps slowly, carefully, — a thundering knock at the door. All remained perfectly quiet, and the pro- cession entered the house. Without uttering a word, the Colonel left his wife, went quickly from the room, closed the door, and sprang down-stairs. The bearers laid down their burden between the pillars in the hall. It was a bier ! A dark mantle covered it. With a sad air the bearers stood around. "Whom have you here?" said the Colonel, in a voice that struggled to be firm. No one answered. The Colonel drew near, and raised the covering. The moon beamed down through the high Gothic windows. A bloody corpse lay there ! The Colonel recognised his son ! Oh, a father's grief ! Oh, angel of Heaven ! cover with thy wings thy smiling face ! look not down upon the grief of a father ! Beaming lights of heaven, expire ! Come, dark night ! hide with thy holy veil that grief that knows not tear or word ! Oh, never may a human eye profane with cxirious glance the sorrow of a father ! Noble, miserable father 1 as we saw thee fix thy gaze upon thy son, we turned away, but offered up for thee our heartfelt, ardent prayers. All the people of the house, as well as myself, were aroused by the arrival of this sad news ; we stood silently around the bier. At a sign from the Colonel, and the words, " A surgeon !" all were put in action. A messenger was sent to the city for a family physician, and the lifeless body was borne from the bier to one of the apartments. THE H- FAMILY. 65 The tears of the bearers fell upon their dear young master. The Colonel and I followed the slow, sorrowful train. I dared not look up to him, but heard the deep, gushing sobs, through which he breathed with difficulty. When the body was placed upon the bed, we began hope- lessly to try all the means that are ever used for the restoration of those who have fainted, or are senseless. His feet were rubbed, and his temples, breast, and hands were bathed with spirit. Blood ran slowly from a wound in the head ; it was bound up. Occupied in this way, I ventured to throw an anxious, inquiring look upon the Colonel — but I turned away again, shuddering. His face was deathly pale ; a spasm had convulsed and dis- figured his features ; his lips were pressed closely together, and his eyes were fixed. Suddenly I felt a light, sudden shudder pass through the stiffened limbs ! 1 could scarcely breathe ; it was repeated. I looked up to the Colonel. He pressed one hand closely to his breast, and placed the other upon his son's mouth. He seized my hand, and placed it there ; a gentle breath was felt. There was a slight pulsation around the tem- ples — a sigh, the first intimation of restored life ; his breast heaved, and a faint glow of life shone upon his face. The Colonel looked up to Heaven. Oh, what an expression! Oh, a father's joy! Thou art worthy of it, worthy to have bought it with thy sorrow ' Look down, oh angel of heaven, with beaming eyes upon the blessed heart of a father ! This is the moment for your smiles ! The eyes of the slumberer were now opened, and met his father's gaze, that rested upon him with the deepest expression of anxious joy ; they remained a moment open, then slowly closed. The Colonel, again alarmed, placed his hand above his son's mouth, to feel if his breath had become more faint ; the pale lips moved as if to kiss his father's hand, and an expression of peace and re- conciliation played upon the face of the young man. He continued, with his eyes still closed, to lie like one asleep. His breathing was weak, but gentle ; and he made no effort to speak. While the careful and tender Helen sat by the bed of her brother, the Colonel left it to go and seek his wife : he made a sign to me to follow him, and I hastened up-stairs, pinching my cheeks, that I might not look like a messenger of death. Madame H sat fixedly, with hands folded ; by the light of the moon, she looked not unlike one of those old pale forms, that, from their family circle, looked down upon her. As we approached her, she said, with smothered anguish, " Something has happened ! What is it 1 Tell me ; tell me all !" With wonderful coolness, with heartfelt tender- ness, the Colonel prepared his wife for the sight that awaited her, and attempted at the same time to infuse a trust, a hopefulness greater indeed than he himself felt. He led her to the chamber ; without uttering a word or cry, without shedding a tear, the unhappy mother went up to her son, who seemed now nearer death than before. The Colonel stood at the foot of the bed, and still pre- served his unmoved, manly bearing. But when he saw his wife bend her head to the bloody pillow of her son, and, with an entirely indescribable ex- pression of motherly love and a mother's anguish, kiss his pale lips, while the unusual resemblance of the two faces was growing more striking, be- neath the shade of death that seemed gathering above them both ; he bowed his head, hid his face in his hands, and wept like a child. Yes, we all wept bitterly. It seemed as though the spark of hope that we had at first nourished had now expired, and none of us believed that the mother would survive her son. And yet, earthly cares, wasting sorrow, those sharp swords that pierce the inmost soul, do not kill ! the wonderful germ of life can draw nourish- ment from sorrow — can, like the polypus, be cut apart, grow together again, and live, and suffer. Mourning mother, wife, bride, daughter, sister ; hearts of women, which care ever crushes and ( wounds the deepest, bear witness to it 1 You have seen your beloved one die, have longed to die with him, and yet live, and cannot die. What do I say ? If you can resign yourself to live, is it not true that a breath from heaven will pour consolation and strength into your soul ? Can I doubt of this, and think of thee, noble Thilda R., mourning bride of the noblest of husbands ? Thou didst re- ceive his last sight ; thou lost with him thy all upon earth ; thy fortune was dark and joyless, and yet thou wert so resigned, so gentle, so kind, so good ! Thou didst weep, but saidst, trustingly, to thy sym- pathising friends, " Believe me, it is not so very hard to bear ! " Ah, that was a peace which the world cannot give. And when thou saidst, to dis- sipate thy grief, "I will not disturb this peace with my sadness," we believed that he from his grave cared yet for thy happiness, encompassed thee still with his love, and strengthened and con- soled thee : " And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him." Patient sufferers, blessings on you ! You re- veal God's kingdom on earth, and show us the way to heaven. From the crown of thorns, we see eternal roses spring. But I go back to the sorrowing mother, who had subdued the first sudden pang of grief. She supported herself during a long time of trial, for her loved one hovered long between life and death. But she wanted sufficient strength and resolution to nurse him constantly. Had it not been for Helen, had it not been for the Colonel, had it not been for me, (I blush to say it,) then, — but we were all at hand, and so (and through God's mercy,) the Cornet continued to live. In the time of sorrow and care, souls draw near to one another. When outward adversity storms around us, we gather together, and the most beau- tiful flowers of friendship and intimacy spring up and grow beneath the tears of sorrow. In the family circle, the common source of grief destroys all little dissensions and disagreements, and brings all hearts, all interests, to one point. Especially if the death of one of the family is threatened, then all discords are silent ; then all hearts throb harmoniously though mournfully, all thoughts agree and form a soothing garland of peace, in whose bosom the loved invalid rests. After Cornet Charles's accident, and during his sickness, all uneasiness, all variance in the H family had vanished ; the care, the feelings, the thoughts of all were united upon him ; and when his life was out of danger, and he began to grow better — O how joyous evei-yone felt, how all loved each other, and felt such a longing to make each 56 THE H- FAMILY. other happy, how we all feared to darken in any way the heaven now growing so clear ! It was touching to see. But I do not know what has possessed me, that I grow so pathetic, and would fain bring my reader to tears over my joys, as though there did not fall enough unnecessary tears into the urn of sentimentality. Let us make a visit to the D. family, and see if we cannot meet with something more lively. By virtue of my magic wand, (the wretchedest goose-quill on earth,) I will bear us, that is my reader and my- self, in a moment, to Lofstaholm, It was the breakfast hour. The table was sur- rounded with people. Bowls were standing upon the table, and it was proposed to drink healths. « The thousand take me ! " said a voice, (which the reader will probably recognise,) « I shall be delighted to drain the glass to Lady Eleanor's heafth." , ,, ^ ._, . His neighbour, with a deep blush, said, m a friendly warning manner, " What will Julia H sav to that 1" , , , , « Julia H ? I care very little, the thousand take me ! about what Julia H says. Lady Julia must take care how she takes whims. I may take it into my head, the thousand take me ! to send her back, some day, the ring of betrothal ; yes, yes." « Skal * Ai'wid !" cried Lieutenant Ruttelm ; *< Skal for independent men." "And for their upholders," cried the little Lord Byron : « I meant upholdresses," whispered he to Eleanor, « but it did not sound well ; do you imderstand 1" « Ah, I am not troubled," answered she. « Lieutenant Arwid, Lieutenant P., may I have the honour of di-inking your health?" called Mr. D. « And I, and I, and I !" repeated many voices. "Fill your neighbour's glass, Eleanor." «' Gentlemen and ladies, I propose the health of Lieutenant Arwid's lady-love ; that she may recol- lect herself, and receive him again to favour." All. Yes, yes, that she — One Voice. Gentlemen and ladies— the thou- sand take me '.—Gentlemen and ladies, that is something which I do not wish. I should take great pleasure in not receiving her into favour. I_but— but— in sending back to her the rmg of betrothal ; the thousand take me ! All. Skal for independent men. Skal for Lieutenant Arwid. .011 « And Skal for maidens without whims ! bkal for my Eleanor and her sistei-s," shouted Mr. D. All. Skal! Skal! . , t .. « Very well ; very well !" added the little Lord Byron, with a grimace. TEA AND SUPPER. I HAD the honour of seeing my readers at a little breakfast ; I would now beg the honour of entei*taining them at a little supper. Nay, nay ; do not be frightened ; it will not be great nor magnificent ; not like a visit to his Excellency * Skal. is, in Sweden, the common expression in drinking healths. Ennui, which will keep you till "midnight in waking torment. I disclose a little table in the blue room at Thorsborg. In the middle of the table Helen has placed a basket of grapes, and wreathed it with asters, gilliflowers, and other flowers which have been coloured under the pale beams of the autumn sun. Around this splendid Bacchus crown is seen every kind of simple dish, which can be found in the story of Philemon and Baucis, as well as in all the Idyls, where suppers are the subject. I will not waste paper in an enumeration of the milk and cream, and other rural dishes.* The lady of the house will not, I fear, forgive me for passing her so silently. A dish of honey-comb, fi'om which dropped a fragrant juice, or a plum tart, (in the preparation of which she had busied herself,) lighter and more delicate than — the Colonel, in- deed, asserted, that after he had eaten a piece, it oppressed him a little. " You never know what oppresses people. Men have curious notions." At the moment, for which I have invited the attention of the reader, the lady of the house had just left off, the fifth time, attempting to rub from the stopper of a decanter a spot, which at last was discovered to be a blemish in the glass itself, and therefore immovable. In the lighted room, assem- bled one by one, Julia (without the betrothal ring). Professor L., the Mastei', with his pupils, and at last entered, between his father and Helen. Cornet Charles, who now, for the first time since his fall from his horse, joined the family circle at the evening hour. His mother met him with tears in her eyes, kissed him, and gave him no rest until she had placed him upon the sofa, between the Colonel and herself, comfortably supported by soft cushions, which she wished to place around his head, in a way in which they could only remain by the help of the flying cherubs. The Colonel ob- served, with a malicious pleasure, and a laconic " There, there ! " how the cushions rattled down, right and left. The lady asserted he blew them. When she had arranged them, in some measure, as she wished, she seated herself silently, gazed with a tender, sad smile, at the pale face of her son, whilst tears, which she herself did not observe, slowly trickled down her cheeks. The Colonel looked at her, with a mild, grave expression, so long, that she was induced by it to recollect herself, and conquer her emotion, so that she should not disturb the quiet of her sick favourite. It was pleasant to see "the little Thickeys," with open mouth and longing eyes, carrying to their brother some of the good things which Helen had placed upon the table ; and how very unpleasant it was to them to give up the dish. Julia kneeled by her brother's side, and chose from a dish which she placed upon the sofa, the largest and most beautiful grapes, to hand to him. I should like to ask Professor L. what book he was reading so attentively and devotedly. He would either have answered, " Julia," or he would have been embarrassed, and have turned to the title-page of the book ; which would have seemed very suspicious as to what the reading in the book * " Ah ! God hless me." I remember now that Baucis, •when she received some unexpected guests, ran to sacrifice her only goose for their entertainment. And I— who invited a crowd of guests to supper— cannot serve them with either a calf or turkey. I am ashamed to death ! I THE H- FAMILY. 57 amounted to. There was, in the faces of the greater part of the little company, something uncommon — an intensity of expectation ; in a word, something like that which sparkles in children's eyes when, on Christmas eve, they are looking forward to the celebration of that joyous season. Cornet Charles alone was dejected and quiet. The indifferent, languid expression of his eyes testified to a joyless heart ; and although he an- swered gently and mildly to all the proofs of ten- derness by which he was overwhelmed, there was something so sad in his smile, that it called fresh tears into the eyes of his mother. Meanwhile the master went about, attempting to fish out some one to play chess with him. He had more than once placed and displaced all the chess- men upon the board, and coughed at least seven times, to give a kind of signal that rivals desirous of combat might now present themselves ; but as no one seemed desirous of the contest, he set out on a crusade to choose and challenge one. Profes- sor L., who was himself first threatened with a defiance, stuck his nose so deep into his book, that the Master lost courage to venture upon him, and turned to Julia, who escaped to the other end of the room. Then he turned to Helen, but she was busied in helping at table ; he came now with a determined expression to me. " I must look out," said I, " to see if the moon shines this evening." (The night before was the last of the moon !) The poor Master then, with a deep sigh, cast a look upon the little Thickeys, who were busied with the tarts, and told them to be quick, because he proposed to teach them the moves of the chess- men ! The Colonel, who sat blowing his tea and looking with a smile at the motions of the little company, now raised his voice, and said, with a peculiar in- tonation to every word, " I have heard to-day that our neighbour. Lieu- tenant Arwid P., is about to seek for (and will also find), in Miss Eleanor D., consolation for the incon- stancy of another young maiden." Oh, how Julia blushed ! Professor L. let his book fall to the ground, " I think," continued the Colonel, "that this will do very well. Eleanor D. is, I believe, a sensible girl, who is clear in her own mind, and knows how to manage in the best way with others. Arwid P. is a good match for her, and she a good match for him. I wish them all possible happiness." "And I too !" said Julia, half aloud and bending towards her father, delighted to find in his words a consent to the dissolution of her betrothal. She looked at him for some time, with an expression in which hope, joy, tenderness, and despair alternated; but when his smile of fatherly kindness met hers, she threw her arms round his neck, and gave him more kisses than I can count. Professor L. threw his arms round himself, (per- haps feeling the necessity of embracing somebody,) and gazed at the little group with a look — oh, how eloquent a iook is at times ! " Give me a glass of wine, Beata !" called the Colonel, "I wish to drink merry healths full of joy. A glass of Swedish wine, of course !" (Friendly reader ! he meant berry wine, pre- pared by me. Pardon this little boasting.) I filled the Colonel's glass. " Your health ! son Charles !'* cried he, with beaming looks. At the same moment there was heard the beau- tiful music of a harp from the adjoining room. An electrical shock seemed to afiect all in our room, and a kind of illumination was kindled in every eye. The Cornet wished to jump up, but was restrained by his father, who laid his hands upon him ; whilst his mother, in anxiety at his wild excitement of mind, poured over him more eau de Cologne than was pleasant or agreeable. This music of the harp was followed by another and still another air. Like the fragrance of a spring morning was poured out, by degrees, a ravishing stream of beautiful and pure melody, which now rose, now sunk in infinite beauty; and pressed to the innermost heart, so that it seemed as if an angel was touching the strings. To these tones was soon added another still more ravishing — a young female voice, pure, clear, and lovely, which at first trembled, but at length gained security and ever-increasing expression : — « When first thy heart another found. Thou can'st remember well A glow on all life's waste around. From Love's clear simshine fell. " It was so sweet, it was so bright, The world it was so fair, That both our burning hearts' delight Burst forth in thankful prayer. " Then came the bitter hours and broke Thy heart from mine away ; And tearfully the words we spoke, We were so loth to say : — " • Farewell, farewell, O world so fair, Farewell, O joy of soul ! ' — But now farewell to all despair. For peace now crowns the whole. " See thy beloved one is near. With overrunning heart ! She lingers now, and whispers here, And we shall never part." What did the Cornet do in the mean time ? Joy and rapture sparkled in his eyes. His feet moved, he stretched out his arms ; but, restrained by the arms of his father, his prayers and his looks, he could not move from the sofa. His soul was calmed by the song ; sensations of quiet happiness seemed to overpower him, and he looked up to the ceiling as if he saw heaven opening. His mother, who in the meantime had left the room, when the song ceased, came back again, leading by the hand the enchanting singer — the beautiful Herminia. The Colonel arose, and went to meet her. With true fatherly tenderness he embraced the charming being, and presented her to the company as his fourth, his beloved daughter. Let no one blame the Cornet, that he did not immediately spring up and throw himself upon his knees, before his beloved. He could not do it. The feeling of intense happiness was too strong for his languid powers — and momentary faintness came over him when he saw his mother lead in the be- loved being, whom he had thought lost to him for ever. His mother emptied a whole bottle of eau de Cologne over him. When he again opened his eyes, they met those of Herminia, which were resting upon him full of tearful tenderness. The Colonel took the hands of 58 THE H- FAMILY. the two lovers and joined them. The whole family formed a circle around the two happy ones. No word was spoken ; but those looks, those smiles of love and happiness — oh, how much better are they than words ! CHORUS OP ALL MY READERS. « But how V « What ?" « Why V « When ?" ** How happened it 1 " " How did it come to pass ? " I shall do myself the honour immediately and in order, as becomes a family counsellor, to give my EjFplanation. When a jelly is nearly made, they put in the white of an egg to " clear " it (as it is called in technical language). So also when a romance, a little narrative, or any other literary medley, is near its termination, then we add an arrangement or explanation to " clear " the muddy sediment ; and this has commonly much of the properties of the white of an egg, namely, it is glutinous, clear, and clarifying, and nearly as tasteless. I see already what faces will be made over my white-of-an-egg chapter, and I am myself some- what restless and anxious, as about everything tough. 1 believe I shall succeed best if, instead of my own twisted words, I lay before my readers a conversation which took place on a beautiful Novem- ber afternoon, between Madame D. and Madame Mellander, who was a newspaper and advertise- ment to all the country round. To prevent my reader from being misled by the errors and false conclusions of the two ladies, 1 will (unknown to both) bring upon the stage a prompter, that is, a breath from the spirit of truth, which is always an important assistant, who cannot be bought too dearly, either to travel over the history of the world, or to go through the smallest crevice in the door of domestic life. My prompter is unlike those who are employed in the royal theatre, for he does not bring the actors, but the audience, into the right track. But to the business. The Scene is at LS/gtaholm, in Madame D.'s parlour. {Madame D. is sitting at her coffee, after dinner. Madame Mellander enters.) Madame D. Now, my dear Madame Mellander, at last — welcome ! I have waited at least half an hour. The coffee is nearly cold, I must have it warmed. Madame M. My dear madame, cold or warm, it's all the same to me. Madame D. (While she fills the cup.) Now, Madame Mellander, is there any news ? Madame M. Yes, my dear lady ; and now, God be praised ! I understand everything. A little sugar, if I may ask. Madame D. Now tell it, tell it ! I have heard that the little woodbird there— Herminia, has been received into the H family as their own child ; that she and the Cornet are betrothed, and will soon be married. The Prompter. "Three years from now," Colonel H says. The Cornet must first travel and see the world ; and Herminia, Mrs. H says, must learn Swedish housekeeping, and three years are necessary for that. Madame M. It seems to me as if somebody spoke near us, — are we alone ? Madame D. No living soul can hear us. Madame M. Then I must tell you, my dear lady, a frightful story,— just see — 1 do not wish it to be said, I said it Madame D. No living soul shall hear it. iThe Prompter doubts. Madame M. Well, then ! this is it. The present Baroness K. was married in a foreign land to a Swedish nobleman, and had by him a daughter — that pretty thing there — the Herminia, about whom both father and mother were much troubled — for you see they wanted a son, and the maiden was unhappy at home. Now comes Baron K. to Italy — or wherever the place was, and happens to see the beautiful woman— Herminia's mother ; he gets mad in love with her, and she dying in love with him. This the husband sees — a fx'ightful confusion ensues, and it came to a brawl between the two lords. Prompter. A duel ! Madame M. The end of it was, the baron must leave the land. He came back to Sweden, and led such a wicked life, played and was so dissipated, that his affairs fell into disorder. He learned one day, that the husband of the beautiful woman had died abroad, and immediately he travels off, and thinks he shall get a pretty wife, and with the pretty wife money to pay his debts. Now he sues for the widow — she gives her consent — marries him in secret, and expects to be forgiven afterwards by her old father — but he (a rich and eminent nobleman) is enraged, and disinherits her. Yes, the newly mar- ried pair had not the least thing to live upon, there in a foreign country. Then they came here — and at the same moment a mercantile house became bankrupt, in which were the rest of Baron K.'s possessions. And now his creditors assailed him on all sides — and he was obliged to hide himself from them, and for this reason, he lived in the little house in the wood there, and would not see dog nor cat — and if people accidentally came there, he was like a mad bull, and was cross to his wife, who, he thought, enticed people there. Yes — it must have been an unhappy and wretched life. Madame D. But how came young H there? Madame M. God knows how ! I have not been able to get behind that — but he came — and the two young people fell in love with each other. About the same time the handsome and rich Commis- sioner G. came, and fell in love with Herminia. Madame D. That is entirely incomprehensible ! The girl is not beautiful — no fratcheur— no colour Madame M. Ah ! what is she by the side of the sweet Misses D. 1 Like a radish near red turnips. Madame D. {offended.) Madame M., you mean possibly roses. Prompter. Peonies. Madame M. Yes, I mean so — of course — where was I ? Ah, I know now — young H went a journey in the mean time, and was gone the whole summer, and G. went constantly to the K.s, and one day he offered himself, and what do you think 1 Herminia would not have him, and straight- way gave him the bag. Now there was trouble enough in the house. Madame D. The girl always seemed to me a romantic fool. Madame M. In the autumn, all Baron K.'s THE H- FAMILY. 59 creditors thronged around him, and would have their money, or put him in prison. You see, my dear lady, this is the business ; through the sum- mer he went secretly to Stockholm, played and won : with part of this, he defrayed his household expenses, and with part kept off the creditors for a time. But all at once his fortune turned, and he was in frightful distress. Then he swore a strong oath, and said to young G., " Pay for me immediately ten thousand dollars, and you shall have Herminia for your wife." And he answered, ** As soon as she is my wife, I will pay the sum in a moment." At first the baron wished to intimi- date Herminia into giving her consent. But that did not succeed. Then he threw himself upon his knees and begged, and the baroness did the same — and the maiden wept and only said, *' Give me three days for deliberation." The parents did not wish to, but were obliged to yield ; and during this time she wrote to Cornet H that he must come home immediately. Prompter. Not entirely true. Madamk M. That he might pay the money and have her for a wife. Prompter. She did not write so. Madame D. An intriguing creature ! Madame M. Yes, truly ! Now, the Cornet went home, out of his senses, rushed to get the money from his father, who said, No. Madame D. The old man was miserly. I know the rest ; words were exchanged between father and son, Madame joined in, and foolish things were said. Prompter. False ! Madame D. Yes, there was a real family quarrel. The Cornet rode away desperately, came to the woodland cottage, found the K.sgone away, became nearly mad, rode hither and thither the whole day, and met at last an acquaintance whom he challenged. Prompter. False ! Madame D. Yes, and at night was carried home like one dead, to his parents. But where were the K.s gone 1 Madame M. That's the thing. There came some people who wanted to take Baron K. prisoner. Then he and the baroness besieged Herminia with prayers, so that at last she consented to say ' Yes' to all. G. spoke with the creditors, and promised to pay them in a few days. And so he carried her to Stockholm, that the banns of marriage might be published on the following Sunday, and soon after to be married ; all was going on quietly and hastily, for all, especially G., were afraid of young H . Madame D. But how came it that nothing came of the marriage 1 Madame M. Yes ! because Herminia became ill, and was nearly half crazy, like Clementina in Gran- dison (a romance, you know, dear lady), and was on the point of putting an end to her life. Prompter. False ! Madame D. How wicked ! Madame M. Then her mother became anxious, and allowed Colonel H to come, with whom she had been before very well acquainted. Prompter. False ! false ! false ! As the prompter seems to be one of the three speakers, who knows the course of the piece the best (possibly because he holds the manuscript in his hand), he may come alone upon the stage, and set the affair right. Prompter. My good friends, the affair is thus. Herminia's mental sufferings, under which she had long struggled, caused actually on the appointed day a silent wandering of mind, which frightened all who saw her. Genseric G., who learned in Stockholm the desperate state of K.'s affairs, and observed Herminia's dislike to him, withdrew him- self from the business, and disappeared for a time, without any one's knowing whither he had gone. Baron K. soon saw that nothing could save him from destruction, and resolved to fly. In this hour of hopelessness a new star rose to the hus- band and wife. They drew near to each other, they wept together ; the veil of forgetfulness was thrown over the past, they vowed to support each other upon the painful wandering ; their early love was reawakened, and made them feel that if they could guard its fire, they should be able to find, even in the depth of misery, some happiness. The baroness's heart, whose ice appeared to be melted by suffering, bled for Herminia, and she shuddered at the thoughts of her wandering over the world with her parents, a prey to necessity and misery. One evening she was sitting by her, and, ob- serving the beautiful, pale girl, wasted by grief and mental suffering, who was now lying in a quiet sleep, she felt her heart breaking. She seized a pen, and wrote the following lines to Madame H : "A despairing mother calls to a mother for mercy. In twenty-four hours I shall leave Stock- holm, to fly from Sweden. I will not, and cannot take my daughter with me, for I go to encounter misery. Your estimable character, the kindness which I myself have seen shine from your face, have given me courage to turn with my requests to you. (0 could you hear them from my trembling lips, could you see in my breast the torn and re- pentant mother's heart, you would grant my re- quests). Take her, take my child into your house, into your family. In mercy take her ! Take my Herminia under your protection, take her as a maid in waiting, for your daughter ; for that, at least, the Marquis Azavello's grand-daughter must be fit. Now she is weak and ill, weak in body and mind. Now she is not fit for much ; but have patience with her. Ah ! I feel it, I am bitter, and I should be humble. Forgive me ; and if you would save me from despair, hasten, hasten like an angel of consolation, and take to your protect- ing arms my poor child. Then will I bless you and pray for you. O may you never have a moment as bitter as this ! « Eugenia A." Madame H received this letter a few days after her son's accident. She showed it to the Colonel. They both travelled immediately to Stockholm, and returned with Herminia, whom they looked upon from this time with parental love, and who soon, in the atmosphere of peace and love which surrounded her, bloomed beau- tiful and full of joy. The Prompter goes out to make room for Charlotte Beata, who seems anxious to speak. Few persons like dumb parts upon the stage of life. Each one wishes to come forward and say 60 THE H- FAMILY. something, if it is no more than, " I am named Peter" — or, " I am named Paul ! look at me." And as I, Charlotte Beata, will not be so unjust to myself as to appear more modest than I am, I come forwai'd and say, " Listen to me ! Baron K. suddenly disappeared from Sweden with his wife. They dii-ected their course to Italy, where the baroness wished to make an attempt to be reconciled to her father. They expected, in this journey, to be obliged to struggle with all the difficulties which want and labour can create ; but it was very different. In many places on their journey, many people, unknown to them, came out to welcome them entirely unexpectedly. In various places, money was placed at their hands ; a good angel seemed to accompany and watch over them. This news was contained in the letters of the baroness to her daughter. " All this is the work of my husband," said, one day, Madame H to me, with a beaming expression of pride, tenderness, and joy; "K. was, in their youth, his enemy, and did him much injustice. Although they have been separated since this time, I know that my husband has not forgotten it, for he cannot forget ; but this is his vengeance. He is a noble man ! God bless him. " I said " Amen 1 " THE LAST CHAPTER. August, 1830. The Provost's widow, Madame Bobina Bult, sat in her chariot, and held the reins and whip fast in her hand. Around her, and in the straw at the bottom, in baskets and buckets, was packed a mass of provision ; and, in the midst of all this, your good friend Charlotte Beata. The August even- ing was mild and lovely, the road good, the horse lively ; and yet it looked badly for Madame Bobina's progress ; for, just before her, was a country boy, with an empty baggage-wagon, who seemed to have made up his mind to try her patience, for he drove his wagon at a walk, and prevented us from passing him ; when we turned to the right, he turned to the right ; and when we tried to pass on the left, he was there before us. All the while he was singing, at the top of his lungs, disagreeable songs, and looking back upon us, and laughing scornfully. I looked up to Madame Bobina Bult, for I, alas ! am a very small body, and she is as tall and as strong as a mast— and I observed that her under lips pro- truded in a way that I knew expressed anger ; I saw her chin and the end of her nose assume a deeper red, and her little gray eyes shot forth arrows of displeasure. We had several times, with kind and unkind words, exhorted the boy to leave the road open, but in vain. The Provost's widow, Bobina, bit her lips, without saying a word — gave me the reins to hold, took a long stride, and one, two, three stood by the side of our tormenting spirit, with a strong arm seized him by the collar, threw him from his wagon to the ground before he had time to think of resistance, and gave him a blow upon his head with the heavy end of her whip, while she told hira to beg pardon and promise to amend, or he should prove still further the strength of her arm. Pro- bably he had become sufficiently convinced of that strength, itself not very ordinary ; for he was sud- denly submissive, and repented, and promised everything that was wished. The Provost's widow permitted him now to stand up, held forth a short but forcible sermon of repentance, the conclusion of which was so fine, that it moved me, herself, and the country boy too, who wiped the tears from his eyes with the brim of his hat. " I know you," added Madame Bobina, at last ; " your father has been sick a long time, and you can come to me on Sunday morning, at Lofby, and I will give you something for him. " We went on now undisturbed, but here and there met with some delay. In one place, we helped an old woman who had been overturned in her cart : in another place, the Provost's widow alighted to let loose, with great trouble, a great swine that had caught in a hedge, and whose inharmonious screams touched her to the heart. We saw the beams of a sunset glow shining upon Lbfby. Slender pillars of smoke rose from the chimneys of the houses, dispersed in the clear evening air, met in a light transparent cloud, and hovered like a rose-coloured canopy above the little village. Its neat cottages, green gardens, and its murmuring, clear stream, presented a charming picture, while we were slowly ascending a hill, where the road soon separated into two branches, one of which led to our house, about fifty paces' distance from the village. The cows came home in a long file from the pasture to be milked, with their bells tinkling, and with peaceful countenances. The horns rang in the woods. The country maidens sang, with clear, loud voices ; and with these sounds mingled the ringing of the church bells, which bade "good night " to Saturday evening, and announced a day of rest. Madame Bobina Bult's countenance was serene and calm. Every one greeted her cour- teously and respectfully, and she returned all their greetings kindly. As we passed by our little school-house, a swarm of children burst forth with loud cries of joy, and embraced her with evident delight and tenderness. Caresses and gingerbread were given to all. Many affairs now demanded the attention of the Provost's widow. Oue of the maids had begun to weave a fresh piece ; another had just finished one. The Provost's widow must see to all this. . A servant had cut himself to the bone ; the Provost's widow must bind it up. A sick little fellow, in a neighbouring house, could have no peace (so his mother declared) till he should see the Provost's widow. A loving husband and wife had fallen out, and had come to blows ; the Pro- vost's widow must bring them to terms, &c. The Provost's widow spoke to all her little scholars, and prayed with them ; wept with a little one who was profoundly repentant of a serious fault that he had committed ; exhorted a second, praised a third, praised and blessed them all, and then went to other duties about the house. When the clock struck eleven, she had bound up the wound ; first reprimanded properly the husband and wife, and then reconciled them ; had consoled the little boy, &c. When she came back, she looked at the weaving, arranged what should be done for the next morning, ate in haste two pota- toes and salt, and then went to the other end of THE H- FAMILY. 61 the village, to bear to a sick and wretched mother the joyful intelligence of her child's returning from the ways of sin. I sat meanwhile in my room. Four little maidens, with rosy red cheeks, lay in bed near me, and slept soundly on the snow-white sheets. The peaceful, beautiful summer night, which was so warm that I could have my window open, the silence and quiet around me, the gentle breath- ing of the sleeping children, diffused something lovely and peaceful, and awakened in me those deep, sad feelings, that spread a calm over the present, and hover around us with the remem- brances of past years. The moon, that friend of my childhood and my youth, rose, and beamed pale and kindly over the beech grove into my room. Its light streamed lovingly on the closed eyelids of the children, then shone upon a face that the day of life had left to wither — upon a breast, whose fillings the passage of years had not yet silenced. Oh, how wonderful I in the friendly beams hovered all those joyous and sad circumstances of my past life, to me so dear — how clearly they rose up in the night, and pressed upon my heart, living and warm ! All those with whom I had dwelt in intimacy during my life, and who had become dear or of importance to me, seemed to collect around me, and again to shed their influence in word and look. The H family, with whom I had spent nearly a year, came at this moment so near to me, that it seemed to me I could speak to these lovely friends, ask them if all was well at home — if they were happy, and whether they remembered me still. Yes — whether ? for I had not for a long time received fi'om them the slightest token of remembrance — not a line, not a word. That childish, painful dread of being forgotten — of not belonging to any one — of being to those whom we respect and love, so little — so nothing, almost — for a moment took possession of my heart. I wept — and I was still sitting with my handkerchief before my eyes, when the widow Bult, who had seen me at the window, from the yard, came in. She asked me seriously what was the cause of my trouble, and I confessed my weakness submissively. She blamed me for this severely, exhorted and kissed me with motherly tenderness, and bade me go to bed ; and, for her sake, to preserve my health, lately impaired. She left me — but I obeyed her not ; struck a match, lighted my lamp, and sat down to write a moral lesson for myself. I heard during this, the clock strike twelve, and half-past; then there rose a sudden noise in the house, and it sounded as though there was some one on the stairs that led to my room. My door opened gently— and the Provost's widow, Bobina Bult, in her night-cap and slippers, with a shawl thrown over her shoulders — stood before me, her eyes sparkling with joy — and a thick letter in her hand, which she reached me. *'From the H s, the H s!" whispered she, " I was not a-going to sit up longer for the post, but just as I was going to bed, I heard him come — 1 had a presentiment! Good night! good night! God bring you joy !" and away went Madame Bobina Bult. And it was joy to me. Julia's letter ran as follows :— " August I3th, 183«. " It is a little parson's wife who writes to you. For months I have been — no longer Julia H , but Julia L. I had not the spirit to write sooner. For a long time I have felt a dizziness in my head, and anxiety at my heart. The cause ; in the first place a fearful awe, which I have cherished for my dear husband — yes, I knew not, for a long time, how I could reconcile my feeling of his superiority over me, and my own precious self-love, which would not allow Julia H , what shall I say ? — to fall in my estimation. And then — this rural economy ! — cows and sheep, and eggs and butter, &c., and a deluge of little matters — and then my mother, who would make herself uneasy, helping me. But — now — by degrees, all has come into such wonderful order, the little god with bow and arrow helped me. My good L. takes more pains, I believe, to please me, than I him, — indeed he was and he is, God be praised, truly in love with me. As soon as I discovered this, there was no more trouble. I took courage. Cows, calves, and hens prospered, a vigorous flame burned beneath the great household kettle— and my mother was at rest, thank God ; and my husband — then of course, he was happy, for I was happy with him. " Beata, do you know what I pray, morning and evening, ay, hourly, from the bottom of my heart 1 * God ! make me worthy the love of my husband, grant me the power of making him happy.' And I have received such power, for he is (so he says, and so he seems,) very happy. If you knew how well he looks, how gay ! This is because I take so much care of him ; then he does not dare take so little care of himself, as before ; and then he works no more in the night, he has weaned himself of this. And so he thinks and writes (he acknowledges him- self), more freely and powerfully than before. Then I am very careful not to interrupt or disturb him, when he is in his studies writing or reading. Oh, when I would just get a glimpse of him (he is so beautiful, Beata,) I steal in gently, and play him a little trick. I place a flower upon his book, kiss his brow, or do some such thing, and go quietly back again, and when I turn round to shut the door, I always get a glance from his eyes, that follows me as though it were stolen. " Besides, I labour to make myself a pastor's wife, truly worthy of esteem. I would that L.'s wife should be a pattern for housewives in the parish ! Do not fancy that, in the midst of all this, I forget or slight my little outward person. no ! I often ask counsel of the mirror ; but do you know what mirror I prefer to ask counsel of I That one 1 see in L.'s eyes. It is so pleasing to see one's self en beau. " Beata ! how ennobling it is to be united to a man who is esteemed and honoured, and at the same time is so good. As Arwid's wife, which Nothing I would never be, what a life of nothing- ness I should have led ! Now, with heartfelt peace, I feel myself every day rise higher in my own and in my husband's esteem. It is a glorious feeling tQ rise ! " Do you know that Arwid has been married the last three months ? His wife, Eleanor D., looks very wakeful, and he looks lively — if it can be called so — when he must. I fear that his dear peace is a little disturbed. Poor Arwid ! The THE H- FAMILY. young pair were married with feasting and ban- queting. Old P. passes every day (certainly in- tentionally), with hia span of horses, the Swans, and with his daughter-in-law, in the beautiful landau, and drives slowly past, as if it were to solemnise the funeral of my happiness ; but I feed my ducks with gay and careless heart, nod sweetly to Eleanor, and thank Eternal Goodness for my lot. " It is Saturday evening, I wait at home for my husband. In the shade of my window I have placed our little supper-table *, 'the meal consists of asparagus from our own garden, delicious rasp- berries and milk, his favourite dish. The angelic Herminia Linneea is now decorating the table with flowers. How beautiful, how good, how in- describably lovely, no one can imagine ! She has supplanted us with our father and mother ; but we forgive her so willingly. Ah, brother Charles, thou hast found a beautiful pearl ! Soon he leaves the shore of the southern seas, to enjoy the pearl of his life in his dear North, and to shut her up in the shell of married life. How came I upon such a strange figure ? Yet it may stay. If the sun of love only beams within the mother-of-pearl dwell- ing, it will toss to and fro on the stream of life, like an island of blessedness. Charles writes such beautiful and interesting letters. His soul is like a museum — among its jewels Herminia will dwell. Do you know what happened to my brother before he left us 1 He went to sleep one night — a Cornet, and woke — Lieutenant. Was not that charming ? To-morrow morning my father and mother, and sisters, visit us. It will be a day of joy. " I have told you how happy I am, and yet I have one wish, the gratification of which will fill up the measure of my happiness. My good Beata, here in our house there is a little chamber, pretty and agreeable, with green carpets and white cur- tains (just such as you like), with a view over the meadows, where fat cows are feeding, which give the most beautiful milk. In the chamber is a book-case, a . But it is tedious to describe ; come and see it, if you like it ; and if you think you can find yourself at home in it, call it yours. Come ! Now I hear L. coming in the distance. He comep into my room. I will appear as if I neither saw nor heard him. We must not spoil men, and make them think we listen to their steps. Yes, only cough — only embrace me. I will not move — will not let my pen fall. One must not always yield, and must not spoil " ..." his wife ; [L. writes'] and, for this reason, Julia must give me the pen ; and, while she sits upon my knee, I will write what will trouble her. " Our dear friend, Beata, come to us ! We await you with open arms. You must be happy in our house. Come, and see how I keep Julia in check. To give you a proof of it, she shall not write a word more, notwithstanding her great zeal." " I will write. — " August \\. " I weep, I laugh, I am beside myself— and still I must write. Do you know who is here ? who has just come ! Guess, guess ! Emily is here — my sister Emily ! the good Emi%, the gay Emily, the beautiful, the happy Emily ! And Algernon is here, and the little Algernon, the most mag- nificent little child in the world. Mother dances with him, father dances with him, Algernon dances, L. dances — . " Wait, wait ! I must go and sing, and I cannot write any more, as truly as I am called "Julia. " P.S. — Beata, come back to us, "Beg « The H Family." Amiable, happy family, I thank you, but Beata will not come. To-morrow I will write this answer. Innocent children, who are sleeping around me, I will stay with you, because I can do you good. A joy refused gives often a higher kind of contentment — gives peace. Oh, might I feel it uniformly, during the silent hours of each day, yet gently rolling on, and leading me quietly to the silent shore — and every day will be blessed ! Night mists rise over the meadows, announce the morrow, and warn me to repose. Over the hills of my life rises, also, a cool mist. When it comes nearer, 1 will write again, and take leave of The H Family. TUB END. NINA. BY FREDRIKA BREMER, AUTHORESS OF "STRIFE AND PEACE," "THE NEIGHBOURS," "THE H FAMILY," ETC. " In time past our misfortunes were of a rude kind ; now they are of a refined complexion." — Ehrensward, " Life is the development of a splendid drama." — B. PREFACE OF THE AUTHORESS. While Miss Ronnquist, of happy memory, lay on her death-bed in the extreme stages of an attack of the cholera, of unhappy memory, I received from her a parcel in which were inclosed the following words : — " Since thou art the best friend I have possessed on earth, I transmit to thee some observa- tions I have made on a family in which I passed the best of my days. With some further elaboration they may be made to form a continuation of my tale entitled ' The President's Daughters.' Shouldst thou consider the papers herewith inclosed to contain matter worthy of perusal, I am persuaded that thou wilt undertake to arrange and combine them into a whole. With the age of those who carry on the action of the story, the time of the action itself and its local accompaniments, scruple not to deal according to thy own discretion, with the same freedom with which I have acted. All this is of minor importance in a little book which has to do only with the history of the heart. Gladly do I resign to thee the filling in of Sketches which I have drawn with a feeble hand. Thou vdlt probably do it more skilfully than myself, for thou art older ; and life is a series of lessons, a school in which every year should bring with it our promotion to a higher form. Even at the present moment I am looking forward to high promotion, am going to learn — though probably to write no more. Farewell till — a brighter morning breaks on our meeting again. "Thy Emma." I have fulfilled the wishes of Emma Ronnquist ; how — it is for thee to judge, Reader. " And who is this ^ I ' ? " thou mightest inquire : kind Reader, " I " am — if thou art good ; especially if thou art unfortunate — with all my heart. Thy Humble Servant. NINA. OLD ACQUAINTANCES. "Are you all now assembled here?"— Bellman. We enter a room where soft sofas, beautiful car- pets, brilliant mirrors, elegantly draped windows, &c., present that picture of " Comfort," which the great Social Architect of the present day — Utility — labours by preference to establish among men. With a somewhat chafed expression of counte- nance the President — now his Excellency G. — is seated in the middle of a sofa, gazing on a chess- board before him. Time has but slightly impaired his excellent presence. Opposite to him we see his daughter Edla in the act of allowing herself to be beaten by her father, partly because she has already won one game, and partly because his Excellency is not in the best temper in the world. But the game and the President's temper brighten up all at once. " Edla," he observes, " the Queen is a valuable piece. Without her there is no spirit in the game. You must excuse my now taking yours to say check — and — mate !" " Checkmated ? Yes, checkmated beyond deli- verance," repeated Edla. " That was in truth an excellent move. How doltish my Bishops stand there!" His Excellency rubbed his nose, snuffed, and could not for his life repress a hearty laugh at his daughter's look of consternation ; at the conclusion of which he said, in a very friendly manner, " My good child, if you are not utterly checkmated, give me a cup of tea." " Immediately," said Edla, with cheerful promp- titude. The President stretched himself out at ease on the sofa. At some distance from this couple we see another group at the window. A very beautiful young lady is engaged in drawing some fresh flowers, which stand in a vase before her. Another lady, not young, and still less handsome, but dressed with most exquisite taste, is seated near her, em- broidering a shepherdess in tapestry. In front of them, with his large and penetrating eyes immov- ably fixed on the Madonna-countenance of the younger lady, stands a young man, whose stately form and air bespeak a person of distinction. The President — I cannot put off the habit of calling him by this name — after chess and the tea had got into an amiable temper ; with somewhat of emotion, he contemplated the group at the window, and said to Edla : — " It must be confessed that a handsomer couple than Nina and Count Ludvig can scarcely be con- ceived. It does one's heart good merely to look at them. When I reflect that Nina will shortly leave me, and that in all probabiUty you, too, my excellent Edla, may soon make a partner happy, I feel " " There can be no thought of that in my case, my good father. I do not wish to quit my present position in life. I feel happy, and will never leave my father." " I cannot," said the President, " possibly con- sent to that. I cannot allow you to sacrifice your- self on my account. No, my child ! However happy your tenderness has hitherto made me — however happy too it will ever make me, yet I durst in nowise be an impediment to you in the pursuit of that which is your natural vocation. And I— I shall " " My good, my excellent father," Edla inter- rupted him with emotion, " do not talk of this. I assure you that I only obey the impulse of my heart in wishing to continue in my present happy position. I do not seek, neither could I find, a lot more suitable to my mind than that which is assigned me in the home of my father." " You are the most excellent of daughters, but this home may experience a change — a-hem. Nina's marriage will probably be no distant event — and I — and I — and, my most excellent child, such a match as Professor A., so rich, so learned, so respectable a man, and one who really loves you, does not offer itself every day. In point of fact, I thmk, you do wrong in rejecting his hand." « I esteem A. heartily," said Edla ; « he still continues my friend, my best friend ; but a more intimate connexion with him would not make me happy. A.'s presence is frequently unfavourable to me. His scepticism — for such indeed one may call his almost wilful doubts respecting the most important and the highest interests of mankind — has something in it which is acutely painful. I am indebted to him for enlightenment on many points, for many a useful precept ; but he has also been the author of much disquietude and of many a pang in my soul. His perversely sub- tile, restless, and gainsaying spirit disturbs the quiet of my mind ; and for whole days I have often found it a matter of difficulty to overcome the impression which the conversation of an hour with him has produced upon my mind." « But, my dear child, that will pass away when you see and converse with him every day and every hour. With your knowledge and your stead- NINA. OLD ACQUAINTANCES. "Are you all now assembled here?"— Bellman. We enter a room where soft sofas, beautiful car- pets, brilliant mirrors, elegantly draped windows, &c., present that picture of " Comfort," which the great Social Architect of the present day — Utility — labours by preference to establish among men. With a somewhat chafed expression of counte- nance the President — now his Excellency G. — is seated in the middle of a sofa, gazing on a chess- board before him. Time has but slightly impaired his excellent presence. Opposite to him we see his daughter Edla in the act of allowing herself to be beaten by her father, partly because she has already won one game, and partly because his Excellency is not in the best temper in the world. But the game and the President's temper brighten up all at once. " Edla," he observes, " the Queen is a valuable piece. Without her there is no spirit in the game. You must excuse my now taking yours to say check — and — mate !" " Checkmated ? Yes, checkmated beyond deli- verance," repeated Edla. " That was in truth an excellent move. How doltish my Bishops stand there!" His Excellency rubbed his nose, snuffed, and could not for his life repress a hearty laugh at his daughter's look of consternation ; at the conclusion of which he said, in a very friendly manner, " My good child, if you are not utterly checkmated, give me a cup of tea." " Immediately," said Edla, with cheerful promp- titude. The President stretched himself out at ease on the sofa. At some distance from this couple we see another group at the window. A very beautiful young lady is engaged in drawing some fresh flowers, which stand in a vase before her. Another lady, not young, and still less handsome, but dressed with most exquisite taste, is seated near her, em- broidering a shepherdess in tapestry. In front of them, with his large and penetrating eyes immov- ably fixed on the Madonna-countenance of the younger lady, stands a young man, whose stately form and air bespeak a person of distinction. The President — I cannot put off the habit of calling him by this name — after chess and the tea had got into an amiable temper ; with somewhat of emotion, he contemplated the group at the window, and said to Edla : — "It must be confessed that a handsomer couple than Nina and Count Ludvig can scarcely be con- ceived. It does one's heart good merely to look at them. When I reflect that Nina will shortly leave me, and that in all probability you, too, my excellent Edla, may soon make a partner happy, I feel " " There can be no thought of that in my case, my good father. I do not wish to quit my present position in life. I feel happy, and will never leave my father." " I cannot," said the President, " possibly con- sent to that. I cannot allow you to sacrifice your- self on my account. No, my child ! However happy your tenderness has hitherto made me — however happy too it will ever make me, yet I durst in nowise be an impediment to you in the pursuit of that which is your natural vocation. And I— I shall " " My good, my excellent father," Edla inter- rupted him with emotion, " do not talk of this. I assure you that I only obey the impulse of my heart in wishing to continue in my present happy position. I do not seek, neither could I find, a lot more suitable to my mind than that which is assigned me in the home of my father." « You are the most excellent of daughters, but this home may experience a change — a-hem. Nina's marriage will probably be no distant event — and I — and I — and, my most excellent child, such a match as Professor A,, so rich, so learned, so respectable a man, and one who really loves you, does not offer itself every day. In point of fact, I think, you do wrong in rejecting his hand." « I esteem A. heartily," said Edla ; « he still continues my friend, my best friend ; but a more intimate connexion with him would not make me happy. A.'s presence is frequently unfavourable to me. His scepticism — for such indeed one may call his almost wilful doubts respecting the most important and the highest interests of mankind — has something in it which is acutely painful. I am indebted to him for enlightenment on many points, for many a useful precept ; but he has also been the author of much disquietude and of many a pang in my soul. His perversely sub- tile, restless, and gainsaying spirit disturbs the quiet of my mind ; and for whole days I have often found it a matter of difficulty to overcome the impression which the conversation of an hour with him has produced upon my mind." « But, my dear child, that will pass away when you see and converse with him every day and every hour. With your knowledge and your stead- NINA. fast conviction, you will easily bring him back from his mistaken views; you will convert him — will make a proselyte of him." " Ah, my father !" said Edla, sighing and smil- ing at the same time ; " that is a labour which far exceeds my powers. Besides, I am apprehensive that he who doubts of God and immortality will with diflBculty be led by arguments to faith. A. needs a partner who, by means of her beautiful spirit, her piety and love, shall infuse into him a living feeling of that truth which his understand- ing refuses to take in. She will not dispute with him, but her own infelt faith will communicate itself to him. The contemplation of her will open his eyes to Heaven. I know that I am not — possess not that of which A. stands in need. I should not be able to make him happy.'* « Well then ! if the thought of A. cannot be entertained, we have still the Stats-Raadet* to con- sider, who will certainly declare himself when the first opportunity ofiers. He has already spoken to me about you in very high terms. He has recently purchased a house in Drotting-gatan f, and really knows how to appreciate your worth." " I am grateful to him for his good opinion of me, but I do not believe he thinks to make me his companion ; in such capacity, moreover, I can think still less of him than of A." " Hear me, my excellent Edla, my good child, I see how matters stand ! You cannot think of them, because you think too much of me. But I assure you I can bear to part with you — besides this I have thought — yes, my child, on your account, and to afford you unlimited freedom, I have myself— in short, I am no longer young, and the grave " 1 my father, my good father, talk not of that !" Edla implored with warmth, placing his hand between her own. You are still in your prime, and will Uve long for the happiness of your children. As to myself, I can only repeat that I feel myself so happy in my present circumstances that 1 desire not to change them for any other. At my age, one does not so easily lay aside habits endeared to us by long indulgence. You, my father, and the quiet occupations to which 1 have so long accustomed myself, fill up the whole mea- sure of my heart's wants. Let me hope, my ex- cellent father, — say to me, that it is not dissatis- faction with me which makes you this day dwell on the subject of my marriage." ** No, good heavens, no ! How you talk ! How could I be dissatisfied' with you, Edla ? Well," he pursued in a tone in which satisfaction contended with ill-humour, " be it then as you will. I am only grieved for those poor men, and on your own account to boot ; for let people say what they choose, man is appointed to live in the wedded state. Moreover, I fear that you will in future be dull when Nina shall have married. I have thought that you fain would have an agreeable lady com- panion, and on your account I should hke " The President paused ; Edla evinced great attention ; but all farther conmiunication between them was interrupted ; for at this moment the Stats-Raadet P. was announced, and the President * Councillor of State, t That is, Queen-street, one of the most el^^t and fashionable streets in Stockholm. advanced to meet him with great courtesy, and bade him welcome in the most cordial manner. The Stats-Raadet was a cheerful, communicative man. He talked to the President, but his conver- sation was evidently meant for Edla, whose mien and looks were objects of frequent attention to him. Altogether, his demeanour towards her made you shrewdly suspect that he contemplated offer, ing her his hand and house. We will now pay a visit to the group at the window, and listen to what is there going forward. The Baroness Alexandrine, of rather slender capacity, rather conceited, rather affected, in a word, rather a mediocre person, is making some mediocre reflections on the signs of the times, and on the fact that people will " agitate " so much, and leave nothing at rest. Her cousin. Count Ludvig, who was wont to be- have somewhat proudly and summarily towards her, either answers her with disapprobation and haughty reserve, or says nothing at all. •' The gentlemen," says Alexandrine in a dulcet tone of voice, "always will lead and rule, and thereby they contrive to turn the world upside down. They kindle bloody wars merely for the gratification of their ambition, and think little of all the misery for which they are accountable, or of us poor women when harassed by the distresses thus brought upon us." " When a master-spirit is shaping itself a way," answered Count Ludvig, "all minor considerations must give place, and while fighting the fight in which the well-being of millions is at stake, it is not the business of the hero to inquire whether some few cats are mewing or women brawling at it." " Heavens ! how cousin Ludvig talks ! Nina, what do you say to this ? " " I think his views are right," answered Nina, in a faltering, melodious voice, " but " « Well, but " " But that they might have been better express- ed," pursued Nina, with heightened complexion. Count Ludvig, too, slightly blushed while he uttered these words : " Miss Nina does not belong to the class of women to whom such an expression can be applied. She would know how quietly to submit to what needs must be." " I know not— I fear I am as weak as any other woman ; — and the necessity of war seems a cala- mitous thing to me. Why must war be a neces- sity ! Why must there needs be oppressing and oppressed ? " " Because such is the course of the world," an- swered Ludvig coldly, "and we cannot alter it." *' If you did but continue to wage war with the Turks ! " said Alexandrine, " they are a frightful people, who ought to be expelled from Europe. Their abominable religion allows them, forsooth, to drown ladies, who have committed a,faux-pasf Oh ! Nina, have you read the anecdote in the last * Journal of Fashions' ? the thought of it really would not let me sleep for a whole night." " Perhaps the humanity and freedom of man- ners which prevailed in most Christian France, during the time of Orleans and Louis XV. are more pleasing to you 1 " said Coimt Ludvig, with a bitter, ironical smile. " I confess that on this score I rather coincide with the views of the Turks." Nina was again called upon by Alexandrine, but she refused to express an opinion. She asked herself internally whether there were no middle way between laxity and cruelty; and Count Ludvig's opinions and expressions on this, as on many previous occasions, produced in her a feeling of dejection. More visitors came. Nina was asked to sing. She complied instantly, and her voice, which was weak but inexpressibly sweet, awoke involuntary emotion in her auditors, and occasioned one of them to say, " Miss Nina has a tear in her voice." And in fact this expression might have been extended to her entire person, which was lovely but melancholy, and beguiled the beholder into a belief that the being before him was above mor- tality, but an alien from its celestial home ; that is to say, those who had a touch of the poetical in their composition thought thus, though we must confess, that one gentleman of the company, who was anything but deficient in corpulency, fancied she ''looked bad," by which he meant, with the best intention, to intimate his opinion concerning her health. When, however, Nina exchanged a few words with him, he could not help looking delighted and happy. In fine, Nina seemed wil- lingly and with facility to conform herself to the wishes of all ; you might have been prompted to ask whether she had a will of her own, and were in this world on her own account. After the impressions of the song had melted away and the minds of the company returned to their ordinary pitch, a conversation on the affairs of state was commenced, and sharp dis- cussions soon followed. During this debate Edla, as usual, was silent ; but while she lent her ear to the disputants with real interest, her eye followed Nina with maternal concern. When the voices grew louder, and the noise in the room increased, she saw the latter suddenly turn pale, an^i lean her head against the wall. Edla was speedily at her side, and she whis- pered : " You are fatigued ? " " Yes ! " was Nina's languid reply. In silence Edla took her arm, and withdrew with her sister. Edla soon returned to the company, but only the half of her soul was there, the other lingered with Nina. Count Ludvig drew near to her and asked in a tone of displeasure : ♦* What, now, was that again ? " " A faintness — she is not yet accustomed to be among so many people, she cannot endure the din of so many voices." " But, do you not think that imagination has a great share in these nervous attacks, and that somewhat of constraint to accustom her to com- mand herself would be salutary ? " " No, — Nina requires no compulsion. She has too much truth and simplicity of character to be at all conceited of herself or her sensibilities ; too much goodness not to control herself, if she were able, because in doing so she would afford others pleasure. Time, patience, judicious treat- ment working by love, will operate with certainty, though it be slow." " You know best," said Count Ludvig, *' but I am apprehensive " " Of what, of what ? " " That through excess of indulgence you allow Nina to dream away her existence. Without exertion we do not acquire the power of self-con- trol. I am sure your treatment of Nina makes her effeminate." Count Ludvig's words went to Edla's heart ; no reproof could have been more painful to her, and probably the impression it produced caused her to blend a degree of severity with the solicitude with which, after all the company had departed, she again sought her sister. Nina had imbound her soft, bright-coloured hair, but seemed to have forgotton to arrange it for the night. She sat there with her countenance buried in her hands, her elbows resting on the table. Her hair flowed down in full undulations over her finely-turned, snow-white arms. So she sat a long time, rather dreaming than thinking, and half- suppressed sighs at intervals heaved her breast. Her aspect touched Edla, the meditated severity melted in her heart. Nina had not observed Edla enter, but a hand which passed lightly and caress- ingly over her head, caused her to look up, and her eye encountered the friendly, inquiring glance of Edla. There was something unusually tender in Edla's glance, and in Nina's bosom there was a chord which moved responsive to the slightest touch of kindness. She rested her hand on Edla's arm, and looked up at her with her angelically fair but pale countenance, on which confidence and a sort of melancholy joy were depicted. " So pensive, and wherefore 1 " Edla asked ; and her calm voice, her clearness, and decision of understanding and manner, exhibited a striking contrast to Nina's character, which was almost resolved into loveliness and melancholy. " I do not know myself " answered Nina. " I would that you could enlighten me. I feel as if clouds were passing over my soul. They trouble me." " And these clouds — have they any distinctness of form, any significance ? " " No !— at least no clear form or significance ; but they come frequently ; I would I could pene- trate them : they veil from me a clearness which my soul presages. Ah, Edla ! tell me, what is life ? What is the signification of — ' to live' ? " Edla drew her arm softly from beneath Nina's head, and seated herself beside her. " Life, my good child, is a struggle. * To live,' signifies to develope the strength, and confirm the tendencies to good within us." " But happiness, Edla ; what is happiness 1 " "To have full command over one's self — freedom and peace of soul : that is happiness." "But, Edla, what is enjoyment; what is joyi How are they recognised ? Whence do they come ? I feel at times a thirst for them, and yet am I ignorant as to what they are. I fain would feel life to be buoyant ; I fain would be happy." " Be good ; be serene," said Edla, with tender- ness. " Happy — happy ! When I hear the little bird at his carol, I feel that he is joyous ! I have seen the countenances of men become serene as a lovely day ; I have seen the young of my sex full of laughter and pleasantry : they were happy ; with them life was glad. I would feel as they." "It is not difficult, Nina; but there is some- thing more elevated than such happiness, — some- thing which renders it an easy matter to forego happiness of such a character. Would you not NINA. like to resemble Him ? " said Edla, showing Nina a picture of our Saviour in the Temptation, at the moment when he is rejecting the pleasures of the world with calm and sublime composure. Nina gazed long on the splendid picture. " That is grand," said she : " yes, that is more than joy, — more than happiness ; or perhaps it is precisely this which is happiness to the strong. But, Edla, there are various gradations, as in strength, so in the capacity of enjoyment ; are there not many varieties in happiness, severally less elevated than this, but yet of a good and innocent nature ? " " I know no other worthy of the nobler man but that which lies in virtue, in active love to our fel- low-creatures, in the desire and endeavour to advance in knowledge and goodness." Nina supported her head on her hand, and a cloud of melancholy spread itself over her beautiful countenance. " I must be weak, indeed, Edla ! " said she. " I do not feel that power within me of which you speak, and which you possess. I admire and love it ; but why do I secretly long more for the cheerful enjoyment of life than virtue and perfec- tion ? Edla, my second mother, do you comprehend me?" " Yes ; and there was a time when I felt even as you do ; but it is sad weakness. I have over- come it." " Edla ! you felt thus, and have triumphed over it so completely ! You are so calm and strong ! How is one's weakness to be overcome, Edla ? " " By intimately connecting one's self with a spirit more strong and more elevated than our own — with God, or a clear-minded, vigorous human being." " Edla, preserve your affection for me undimi- nished. Let me ever be with you. I shall then never feel unhappy ; I shall become stronger ; I shall be what you desire me to be." Edla concealed the emotion with which she heard these words, and said : " I believe, Nina, that you will soon obtain a better support than me — a companion, with whose aid you will effect more good for your fellow-creatures. Count Ludvig loves you " A slight shudder thrilled through Nina. Edla remarked it, and said, with disquietude : " Why, you have no aversion to him, Nina ? " " No ! but he is so stern, so cold ; I feel some- thing like a dread of him." " Stern, cold ? " said Edla, repeating the words. " My excellent Nina, in our age of effeminacy, we may too readily regard in this light every one who is consistent and strong in will, and does not bow to the caprice of others. What I fear, what is re- pugnant to my inmost heart, is precisely that im- becility or remissness which now predominates in so many minds : it is this twilight of the soul which is the cause of their not knowing their own inten- tions ; which makes them only operative for the moment — perform everything in a half-feeble, im- perfect manner, and renders their whole existence a mere phantasmagoria. How entirely opposed to this is Count Ludvig's demeanour ! how firm, how clear, and what system in his activity ! I have known Ludvig from his infancy, and know no better, no nobler man. But life has treated him rudely, and the most painful experiences have wounded his heart, and infused something like acrimony into his temper. He well deserves to be blessed with a gentle and amiable wife, who shall reconcile him to life, and teach him to love mankind ; for whose welfare, indeed, he labours continually. Will not my Nina be his good angel ? " " Your will is mine, Edla," said Nina, imprinting a light kiss on the arm of her sister. " Talk to me about him ; say something which will make me love him. Oh, if he has been unhappy ; if he has been solitary in life — loved by nobody, and with nobody to love, I shall feel a tenderness for him, and will do my utmost to make him happy." With emotion Edla placed her arm about her tender sister ; but, when she felt that trembling which, in Nina, so easily followed any excitement of her feelings, she drew back, and said, calmly resuming her place beside her : — *' I will tell you what I know of Count Ludvig's life. He will not take it amiss ; and he needs and deserves a friend to lay forth his claims to you better than he can do it himself. You are aware that he is the eldest son of one of the wealthiest and most distinguished families in the land ; splendour surrounded, but no joy, no tenderness, watched over his cradle. Almost from the hour of his birth, his mother could not bear him. His home was a joyless, unhappy one. Vanity, laxity of morals, and capricious despotism prevailed there with all the unpleasant circum- stances which follow in their train. His parents were a mutual scourge to each other, and on this account wreaked their vindictive feelings on the child Ludvig. Violence and injustice were the first experiences he had of life. But in the midst of these examples of wretched laxity, in the midst of this cruel oppression, the heart and the intellect of the precious boy gained fresh vigour. He began at an early age to love truth and order. He firmly established himself in a tendency diametrically op- posed to the bias of those whom he saw about him ; and if he acquired too much reserve and sternness of character, it arose from his standing alone in the midst of temptations. But in a short time he no longer stood alone : he gained a friend — poor, indeed, and of humble birth, but one to whom Nature had been bounteous ; and who, while of a meeker character than Ludvig, seemed to love vir- tue as ardently and with equal strength. Ludvig beheld a superior being in him, and surrendered himself to him with his whole heart and soul. *' Count Ludvig had a younger brother, whose growth, alike in body and mind, was stunted through the father's harshness. He subsequently had a sister, too, and the manly boy early became a protector to the delicate, beautiful child. He would sit beside her cradle, kiss her miniature feet, and chase away the flies that disturbed her sleep. His heart desired an object for its affec- tions. When she grew up, he exerted himself to protect her from her parents, who were equally tyrannical in their harshness and their tenderness. His mother died, and Count Ludvig, at the com- mand of his father, must needs make the tour of Europe, to finish his education. In despair at being obliged to forsake his sister at an age when she most stood in need of a friend's aid, and with a view to give a support and a protector to her as well as to his brother, he introduced into his father's house the above-named friend in the capacity of preceptor. His firmness of character, his happy social gifts, his extraordinary amiability of dis- position, would, Ludvig hoped, operate as favour- NINA. ably upon his father as his brother and sister; and to his protection he committed the dearest of his earthly possessions. " After the lapse of a year he returned ; his be- loved sister had been carried off from her father's house, and become the victim of an awful death. I His father, dangerously wounded by the hand of I a traitor, lay on a bed of sickness ; and he who had compassed all this — the seducer, the murderer, and, besides, the purloiner of a considerable sum of money, was — his friend ; the friend whom he had so tenderly loved, in whom he put greater faith than in himself ! Ah, Nina ! after such ex- periences, no trifling amount of strength, no little virtue, is required to go steadily on in the pursuit of the good, and still to labour for the welfare of mankind. " Count Ludvig's guilty friend was arrested, and could not clear himself of the crime with which he was charged. Sentence of death impended over him, when he suddenly disappeai'ed from the prison in which he was confined. Count Ludvig pursued him not — he strove to forget him : such was his revenge. The death of his sister left deep traces in his soul. I saw him frequently during a period when, in consequence of the misfortune, gloomy hypochondriasis had got possession of his whole mind. I remarked, too, how at the same period the sight of you operated upon him ; that in your presence he was more calm and friendly. You were still very young when Ludvig lost his sister, and I believe that no intelligence of this shocking occurrence reached your ears. Ludvig has told me more than once that, from that time forward, you were ever his guardian angel ; that through you alone he preserved his benevolent feelings towards society and mankind generally. Often has he expressed his ardent wish to be allowed to call you his partner ; and only the state of your health, which is still so weak, and my en- treaties, have restrained him from declaring him- self to you and your father. But tell me, Nina, is not this man worthy of high esteem ; worthy to be made happy?" " He is so. 0/ he is so, Edla ! I would I were worthy to make him happy. I will become so. I will learn to love him. But, Edla, do not suffer him to solicit my hand at present. I am still so young. Do not, for a long, long time, let me be separated from you. Guide me ; do not forsake me. There seems a cloud impending over me ; at times I see nothing distinctly ; I do not under- stand what life is, — what I am myself." " You will take an active part in life, Nina ; then the mystery will be cleared up." « And shall I be happy ? Will my heart be buoyant and joyous 1 " " Nina ! I could wish you would not inquire so much after that. Were such inquiries made by those distinguished men whom we admire at the present day, and in history, — men who live and lived for good alone, — for the better days of the world, — for heaven ?" ** I am weak," said Nina, putting away an invo- luntary tear with her finger. " You are so," said Edla, with a seriousness which bordered on severity. « But, Nina, we should be ashamed of our weakness, and task all our strength to combat it. Lamentable imbecility alone mourns over without elevating itself. It is a dreadful thing to merit self-contempt ; but this is the lot of the feeble woman. She knows not what the signification of self-command is ; she is a stranger to the felicity of being able to say to the Accidents of life: " You cannot bewilder me !" to Pain : " You cannot crush me ! " To-day she repents of the fault she yesterday committed ; to-morrow she will commit it again. She fain would elevate herself and grow strong, but time passes away in indolence and unaccomplished wishes. She does not know what it is to combat nor to conquer ; she sees the precipice, but has not the strength to withdraw from it. How pitiable — how contemp- tible—Nina ! you turn pale " " It is nothing ! It is passing off. — Edla, your words, — Edla, do not despise me !" and she looked anxiously up to her, with her hands folded. " Be calm, be quiet, my good child ! '* said Edla, with tender earnestness, rising as she spoke. " You are not the weak one whom I have por- trayed, and never will be. I would not live to see the day when you should resemble this picture. Collect your strength to hate and remove it far from you." " I shall, I will do so ! " said Nina, stretching out her arms towards her sister ; but, at the same moment, the outstretched arms dropped down, her head fell back, her eyes closed ; she slept. Her forehead was clear ; no mark of pain ruffled her pure features ; a deathly hue was diffused over her countenance, and her limbs were motionless and stiff. It was death in his fairest form. Edla was acquainted with this sleep, which accompanied the distemper, of which Nina had had frequent at- tacks in her infancy. For many years, however, she had been exempt from it, which rendered this moment the more shocking to Edla. With that presence of mind which was peculiar to her, she immediately applied the means at her disposal to remove this horrible state ; and she had the inef- fable joy of seeing Nina wake up in the course of an hour. " What was that ?" Nina inquired with disquie- tude. " Have I been ill again as before ? A faintness came upon me, Edla ! How much anxiety, how much sorrow, do I occasion you ! " " It was nothing," answered Edla calmly. " Your physical infirmity is not dangerous. In process of time, when engaged in active life, and occupied with cares for others, it will pass off, and your soul, too, will be invigorated at the same time, believe me." " I do believe you. How could it be otherwise 1 Was it not you who gave me life a second time ? Have I not since then been kept alive through your care and thought— through your thoughts for me ? O ! when I lay in my coffin, while every- thing about me was still and gloomy, and my brief life on earth terminated, — when you came then, and warmed me with your tears and awoke me with your words, and I grew warm again, and my eyes opened, and saw the light and you, then, Edla, I was yours, and my life was your gift, and I felt that my future life and prospects were in your hands. And it is so, Edla ; I cannot conceive how I could do otherwise than follow your will, and obey you in all things." <' You are my good child !" said Edla kindly; *' but this evening we have excited each other, and that is not good for us. Go to rest. I am not sleepy; 6 NINA. I will sit by your bed and read to you till you fall asleep." Nina obeyed, rejoicing at the promise. — And what now did Edla read to Nina? Doubtless a sermon to lull her morally to sleep ; or else she took from the book-case * The Asas,* in order right fully to invigorate her weak sister by thus directing her mind to the exploits of the sturdy Northern warriors, as recounted in that poem, says Miss Witty here. Be more witty, thou witty One ! Edla read with a spirited delivery some one of Madame Lenngren's lively works, and Nina fell asleep, and with a smile on her lips. Edla then paused and turned to her sister, con- templating with rapture her angel-like counten- ance, in which innocence and peace at this moment conspired to produce the most lovely expression. Her hands joined involuntarily, and from an ardent heart she put up this prayer : « my God, watch over her ! Grant her strength ! Protect her ! Give me strength to lead her to good, to the life which is Thine. She is the child of my heart, of my cares ; — let me repress the weak- ness which I feel for her, let me lead her to Thee, though the way be through suffering " Here Nina moved her aims, which rested on the coverlet, and whispered in a tone of entreaty, " Mina, Mina, come ! " There was something in these words which pained Edla, and she continued her prayer : " Make her to love me ! If it be possible, grant that she may feel towards me somewhat of that tenderness which I cherish for her." " Mina, come !" Nina again entreated with anxiety. Edla pursued : " If it be possible, grant that I may be ever near her ; that I may watch over her always, as now. Put, God ! on my shoulders the cross which she was to bear ; give me, if it be possible, her sufferings. I am stronger than she. Preserve her ! Bless her !" " Edla! " Nina now said with emphatic tenderness. " Grant that her days may be serene, her way straight. O thou all-bounteous One ! Give her happiness, even on earth, if such can be vouch- safed to her ! But if Thou seest that such is not good for her, strengthen her through her trials and sufferings ; make her Thine own. Father, in prosperity and in need, in life and in the hour of death ; do Thou but make her Thine." Nina's sleep was troubled. Edla now went to bed, but no sleep entered her eyes ; she passed the night in thinking of Nina, in disquietude on her account, and listening to her breathing. Sometimes Edla thought it was fainter ; she arose softly, and went to her sister's bed, and when, by the light of the night-lamp, she saw the colour in her lips, and felt her fresh breath lightly touch her cheek, as if to bless her, she turned round and thanked God. Let us now (with her) pay our salutations to Morning, and bring something new to light. NEWS. "What's the News? What's the News ?"— Ennoy*. Morning came, and with it a letter to Edla, which astonished her ; for the superscription was in the President's hand-writing. The contents of the epistle were a source of still greater surprise to Edla. Her father communicated to her the intelligence of his betrothment with the Countess Natalia M . The President wrote that he would be absent from home that day, and that he preferred to communicate to her in writing news which, he was afraid, would for the first moment prove unpleasant to her. As to the rest, he ex- pressed himself towards his daughter with amiable ingenuousness respecting a procedure which, in him, he could not, perhaps, deem so entirely in accordance with prudence and consistency, on the observance of which his whole life long he had laid so much stress. *' There are many things," the President wrote, ** which are brought about we scarcely know how. But when once they have been brought about, then the only alternative, consistent with prudence, is to make the best we can of what has happened. I cannot hope, my excellent child, to be more happy in my home than your careful and considerate exertions have hitherto made me — and I hope you will continue those exertions ; — but the accomplishments and the charms of the Countess M will impart greater splendour to my house. Her wealth will put me in a condition to give my beloved Nina an adequate dowry. The Countess M is enrap- tured with her, and happy to be able to regard her in all respects as her own daughter. Finally, my excellent Edla, I hope that in the Countess M you yourself will find a friend, and a com- panion as agreeable to you as your friendship will be gratifying to her ; and I thank God when I reflect that love and friendship will animate my family circle with a spirit of concord still more delight- ful than heretofore displayed therein, and shed clear sunshine over my declining years. Should you, my kind daughter, wish to enter into the marriage state, you see that, as far as I am con- cerned, you may be free from all uneasiness. If such be not your wish ; if you desire to remain with me, I may tell you with sincerity, that such is also the wish of my heart, and will be a source of unfeigned joy to your « Grateful Father." Edla kissed the last words of the letter with warmth, and so lively was the feeling of satisfaction they occasioned, that it removed for a time a great part of the unpleasant impression which the intelli- gence of the betrothal had produced. It soon re- turned, however, in its original intensity, and Edla could not look forward to this unexpected, this im- portant change without great trouble of mind. She was acquainted with the Countess M ; she knew that, ambitious and fascinating, she was always successful in filling the post of command, though she ever failed to arrange for and minis- ter to the comfort of others, and that the life she diffused made no one really happy. Edla trembled for her father's domestic peace and Nina's welfare ; but having been long accustomed only to oppose the still force of resignation to what she saw was inevitable, her mind in the present instance also soon became composed, and on the President's returning home in the evening she hastened to meet her father, embraced him tenderly, and wished him happiness in his medi- tated union. The President felt a tear drop upon his cheek, and this token of warm emotion, so unusual in Edla, touched him deeply. Being both affected and embarrassed at the same time, he NINA. strove to assume a half-feeling, half-playful tone, and joked and sighed alternately, and for a while was at a loss how to demean himself. As for the rest, he repeated nearly the same as Edla had read in his letter of the morning, adding that, considering his high rank, and its claims to be sustained with dignity, he thought it was incumbent on him to see more company at his house ; to adopt a more conspicuous style of living, &c. Further, that his own limited fortune did not allow him to accom- plish this ; that he did not like to molest Edla with a mode of life which was so little in accordance with her taste, and which would place such im- pediments in the way of her favourite pursuits, and therefore and therefore he had deemed it most expedient had considered it his duty, to form an alliance with the Countess M , to whose character and accomplishments, apart from the other considerations, he attached so high a value. Edla said nothing ; she con- tinued motionless and silent ; but when the Presi- dent also remained sticking fast in a sort of embarrassed coughing, she felt the necessity of reconciling him to himself. " May she make my father happy !" said Edla, *' in which case the Countess M will be en- deared to us all ; and of a certainty many pleasant things will spring from this accession to our domestic circle. Nina will now obtain a very superior master in Italian and for the harp, to any who could be procured for money ! The Countess M is said to be a consummate artiste." " divine ! divine !" exclaimed the President, who now breathed freely, and saw unheard-of advantages for his daughter in this connexion. He expatiated fully on this topic ; was in good spirits again and happy ; nay, he almost per- suaded himself that he was offering up his do- mestic quiet for the education of his daughter. ! ye dear bagatelles, which reconcile us to little as to great follies ; give significance to that which had no value ; sweeten the bitter ; which render even misfortune agreeable, and bring us into good understanding with ourselves. Ye sweet trifles and little words of accommodation ! how amiable ye are when ye enlist yourselves in the service of a benevolent heart, which makes use of you in the moment of need ! Ye are the little pages of Euphrosyne, and ye are as alert and beauteous as the Loves themselves ! When thou readest these lines, my kind H think that they are a dedication to thee. When the President's engagement became known in the city, it produced a great sensation and some wonder. Many and various were the speculations as to what had induced him to form such a connexion in his old age. Some said that the Countess M herself had been the suitor, and that the President had given his consent from mere surprise and politeness. Others affirmed that the old maid (Edla) was unkind to him, and forgot her father over her books, &c. &c. A third party said that the President contracted the engagement to compose *' his deranged affairs," (an expression quite in accordance with the spirit of the age). We, who have had some knowledge of the matter from the very commencement, whisper the true state of the case in the reader's ear ;— the President had really had a little fray with Cupid— the rogue had wounded him. Some, on the other hand, were surprised that the Countess M , who was so rich and still young, should consent to a match with an old man. The reply was, she had formed the con- nexion in order to acquire the privilege of appear- ing at court ; another party, that she married for the purpose of punishing a lover who had been too tardy in coming to a decision. Miss Sentiment protested that it was an affection of long standing, which had slumbered even from the tender in- fancy of the Countess and the President, and now blazed out into a hymeneal flame. We are of opinion — but we speak under favour — that no such urgent reasons are required to make people marry ; nay, that at times no reasons at all are required ; we believe that people often marry, because they have nothing else to do. In certain matrimonial alliances, especially among people " comme il faut," there is so incon- ceivably little love and courtship to speak of, that one cannot get too quickly to the nuptials. It is so in the present instance. We will pass on, then, to the wedding. THE WEDDING. " Behold the fair bride, how adorned ; How fond, too, the bridegroom appears ! " The Wbdding Guest. Confections, lights, and a numerous company ; clergymen, the marriage ceremony, attendants, all quite fashionable, but somewhat stiff; con- gratulations and compliments, wine and drinking of healths ; is a picture of a vast number of wed- dings, — and of the present one too. ** What ! are we again to be put off with such sorry, common-place fare ? " I hear from the lips of my fair reader. " You flattered us with the prospect of just getting a delectable bit, and now it is an every-day dish again ! " My dearest one ! I have sinned both against you and the President ; but — I really cannot help it — the festivities of life, coronations, weddings, &c., have no really vivid colouring in my soul. A solitary hour of morning when the sun is rising, — a sigh from the breast of one who is a captive for life, — the hand-grasp of two friends in the last moments of life, — such scenes suggest thought ; such things make the heart to beat and the pen to fly, but ." " But a wedding ! that moment when two hearts, two immortal spirits are united and made one for ever in the name of God ! " Amen ! that is certainly divine ! if they do not say yea to each other to-day only subsequently to say nay for the whole of their lives. But I am sinning more and more flagrantly, for now good human nature is pointed at. To the question ! to the wedding again ; and what this can offer, you, my fair reader, shall have ! Admire the bride ! In her five-and-fortieth year (now I am compassing high-treason against her ! Heaven be gracious to all my sins !) she is still beautiful to admiration. Her figure is slender and majestic ; her complexion of a daz- zling fairness, somewhat enhanced by the contrast of a touch of real carmine. (Well ! well ! I am not in a good vein to-day !) Her bearing is noble ; you see that she was born to please and to command. Her attire is extremely splendid ; 8 NINA. jewels sparkle in her hair, jewels sparkle on her breast and arms. And what blond, what I do not myself know what else besides ! With what grace does she bend her knee for the prayer and the blessing ; with what majesty does she rise again ! A quiet dignity prevails in everything she does and allows ; towards her wedded lord she evinces a mild condescension. Her eyes often rest with an expression of tenderness and admiration on Nina, who, attired in white gauze, and her bright hair arranged as if a fairy's hand had decked it, makes one think involuntarily of an "Angel." The bride will have Nina constantly seated beside her, and seems to consider her as a sort of property. The President by no means makes an unim- portant figure. He is still a good-looking man ; his deportment is excellent, and his somewhat considerable rotundity of person will hardly en- title you to assign him a place in the category of old men. However, that blue ribbon of his order produces some prestige in this matter. Brilliants sparkle on the breast and love in the eyes of the happy bridegroom. He holds his consort close to him ; he is holding her shawl ; he holds her very dear too ; but you see that he does not hold with- out laboured grace. He does not lay himself open to the shafts of satire. Well, well ! he is not his Excellency, nor she a person of quality, and a beautiful woman, for nothing. Edla is also dressed for the festive occasion, and with good taste, nor has expense been a con- sideration. She knows that it gives her father pleasure. She is calm and free from all excite- ment in her behaviour towards all ; kind towards her step-mother, who is as " irmmmnte " towards her as she possibly can be. Edla's eyes are at intervals fixed on Nina. She then strives to chase away an expression of uneasiness. Professor A. is near, and is talking more for her than to her. The rest of the company are collected in divers groups, among whom little conversation is kept up. We will confine our attention chiefly to a pair who are less taciturn than the rest, and with whom, moreover, the reader is already ac- quainted.* Baron H. seats himself as comfortably as possible in an arm-chair beside Miss Greta, who, though a little older and stouter than when we last saw her, is still a very fair and very stately lady, un- impaired by time ; she has preserved her beautiful teeth, her white hands, and her good temper amid all the crosses of this present world. Baron H. is still in pursuit of a woman with money, or without it, as he says ; is still more ten- derly concerned for his own person ; has a still keener eye for the world and its " species," and still greater kindness of heart and vivacity than he formerly possessed. Baron H. and Miss Greta are very glad they have met. " Well, my excellent Miss Greta !" said Baron H., after they had exchanged the first greetings, " which of us expected, when on this day fourteen years since, we were together at the house of his Excellency D.,of happy memory, that we should meet again on this festive occasion, on the same day, of the same month ! At that time, Miss Ade- * This refers to the first part of the story. — Ta. laide — now the Countess Alaric W. — was in the bloom of youth and beauty. But, good heavens ! why is she not here ? What did you say ? Detained I Ha ! ha ! ay, ay ! I understand ! That is quite right ! Well, well ! I congratulate her. And little, good-natured Miss Ronnquist — an ex- cellent young person — where is she ? Is she also detained % What do you say ? Right ! she is with the Countess Alaric ; nurses her and her children ; — quite commendable. I like people of character — of constancy, and fourteen years back she was as attached to the Countess, as if she had been her own child. But, apropos, what do you think of her sister. Miss Nina % " *< I confess," said Miss Greta, " that she appears to me the most beautiful creature God has created — only too ethereal — rather a celestial than human being. One fancies she might as it were resolve into vapour." *' Exactly so, exactly so. I myself like people who have flesh and blood. I should not like to have a wife, who made one fear she would fall in pieces upon the slightest touch. But sure it is that there is something bewitching in Miss Nina's manner and appearance. One's eye follows her with admiration, and there is no withdrawing the thoughts from her. A veil of melancholy, as it were, floats .about her. You fain would lift it up and disclose the sweet mystery it conceals ; for her sadness appears so lovely, that it affects the heart with a wonderful complacency. You see that it is no present pain which occasions her sorrow. It looks like the remembrance of disappointments, whose cup has long been emptied ; or a dim fore- boding of prospective suffering. God protect her ! He must indeed be a fiend who would do her any harm. It is a pity that she is so pale, — she is as white as alabaster, — but at times clouds, as it were, pass over her look you, as at this moment ! — clouds which take a roseate hue from the rising sun." " Nay ! " exclaimed Miss Greta, " now you are going too far 1 I advise you seriously. Baron, not to look too much at her, or you will most assuredly become enchanted. You ali*eady talk so poetically that I scarcely know you again. Rather look upon her neighbour." " Most willingly ! Well, my gracious one, who is the young lady that looks so interesting and tranquil ? — a most pleasing exterior — something remarkably symmetrical in her." " You are uncommonly kind this evening, I really believe her to be an exceeding well-disposed person ; but she appears to me rather dull and ennuyeuse. I prefer not to become intimate with her. Clara S. is a sort of legacy, bequeathed to my cousin — the bride of this evening — by one of her learned friends, who died a few months since. The girl has no property in the world ; the Coun- tess G. is looking out for a good match for her, and will give her a good dowry." " Not at all amiss ! A very good idea ! And the damsel is quite to my fancy. She might just suit me for a wife, that is to say, if she is sensible enough, and willing to have me. To me she looks like one that might become a very good and very excellent wife, especially a housewife. And if you regard her closely, you discover something beau- tiful in her — something which escapes you at first — something holy I ' ' NINA. ** Nay, nay. Baron ! This will not do ! You are falling in love with every woman you look upon, and make angels and saints out of the most common-place mortals. Take an ice and come to yourself, Baron !" " You have only to command your servant ! But still I must admire the young lady and her unprecedented composure. She seems to be of the * Golden Age,' as La Bruyere calls it. She presses herself into nobody's notice, and does not wish that anybody should force himself upon her attention. Madame W., with her Bird-of-Para- dise plumes, does not look half so exempt from concern. That must be a very agreeable, a very desirable state of feeling !" " It might have been very well for the * Golden Age ' of the world when, I suppose, people had all sorts of pleasant things, of which we now know nothing. But in our own day, and in our state of society, I esteem every one who foregoes the plea- sure of being mute and tedious. I have been in company with Clara several times, and have never heard anything but yes and no from her. Nonsense and absurdity themselves are a thou- sand times more amiable than such mortifying monotony." " How uncommonly entertaining you must find the Misses, Fr. there ; who do not sit still one moment, and talk on everything at random." *' No, they afford me no pleasure. They are disagreeable ; I prefer Clara to them. Do you know them ? " " A little. Their father is one of those wise parents, who think that daughters must be of no expense ; and seem to be of opinion that they ought to be brought up like lambs, with their woollen clothes upon their backs. This notion occasions, at the outset, a certain feeling of dis- comfort in the young ladies, which runs through their whole life and conduct. They can seldom appear in company ; and when they are there, they frolic about like wild sheep." . " I pity them most unfeignedly, and wish the father would renounce his theory, or that his daughters could learn to be satisfied with stopping at home." " Amen ! But, pray look at the lady of General P. there, in the dress of blue Atlas. What do you say to her complexion, her figure, at fifty 1 She has had, too, many cares, much sorrow, in life. Do you know what has been the cause of her pre- serving so youthful an appearance and such good humour in spite of these !" " I am eager to know ! " " Ay, my most gracious one, when we reflect what it is which helps a multitude of people through this world, we have strange thoughts " " To the point, to the point first ; then we can make our reflections. I am anxious to be made acquainted with the lady's cosmetic." " I will first tell you what it is not ; then you may guess what it is. It is not Religion ; it is not Philosophy— though she is a devout and prudent- minded lady — it is not living in society ; it is not domestic happiness. These confessions I had from her owu lips. Now tell me what it is ? " " If it were a gentleman in question, I would say — a good stomach ; but, as a lady is spoken of, I say — it is due to sound sleep." " Quite right ! quite right ! How clever you are ! Yes, she does sleep well, and so fast, that in the morning she scarcely remembers what oppressed her the evening before. Sound sleep ! all her philosophy is comprised in that. She is of a very different species from that to which Miss Edla be- longs, who, with all her dusty book-lore, has not been able to make herself a jot more sprightly or handsome. Nay, that prodigious nose " " Edla," said Miss Greta, in a tone which put an interdict on all jesting, " Edla is a person of whom I entertain the highest opinion ; and who, sir, to my knowledge, can be most agreeable." '* O Heavens ! I have the greatest affec — respect —nay, I have, in fact, alike respect and affection for her. I am convinced that she is an excellent woman. I was remarking only, that there are divers species." « And are you aware, too, that the fair Nina is said to have received an education not commonly given to young ladies ? Nothing but studies since her ninth year : the mathematics, they say, and political economy, and " " Heaven keep us ! I no longer wonder that her body is so spare. Who could get fat on political economy ? I am certain that Miss Clara has not studied political economy : the better housekeeper will she be for it ; and I will wager that she gets more suitors than the beautiful Miss Nina." " I confess that I do not coincide in taste with those suitors. But rather I side with Count Ludvig R., who hovei-s majestically about Nina like the hawk about the dove." " Yes, yes ; hawk — that is the right expression. A cursedly clever and good-looking fellow he is ; but he has really something of the natui'e of the bird of prey. Despite his riches and rank, I should not like to be his wife." " What are you talking about ? He is univer- sally considered a man of eminence. I have heard him mentioned as a paragon of perfection ; but such men — between you and me — are my aversion; partly because I have no faith in them, partly be- cause I have ever found them extremely tedious. He is a man without a fault, it should seem." " Ah, my most gracious one ! perhaps he has not what people call faults, but then he has so many failings as to make up a large amount. Be- tween ourselves, he is a man without a heart, and his justice carries no weapon but the sword. But hark ! what sprightly conversation there is ! And the new-married couple have only eyes and ears for each other. One must own, it is quite edify- ing ! Marriage, my excellent one, is an honourable institution and a great happiness on earth. A good wife, as David says, is more precious than gold and rubies." " It is quite possible that David may have said so ; but I know for a certainty that Solomon speaks thus," said Miss Greta, who was quite at home in her Bible. " Exactly so ! Pere et fils say exactly the same thing ; which attests the wisdom of both. I assure you, my excellent Miss Greta, that my wife that is to be will never rue the day she takes me for her husband : no one will value her more highly — no one will behave more handsomely to her than I." " I believe it, my excellent Baron ! But why don't you prove the truth of your assertion in your life ? " " Why, my gracious Miss Greta, did you reject 10 NINA. me, when, just ten years since, I was willing to follow the advice you now give ? " Miss Greta got a little embarrassed ; but quickly collecting herself, she said, with an unconcerned air : — " I am curious to know how you propose passing your days when married ? " " You are exceedingly kind ; but I "candidly con- fess that I have come to no decision on this point : I propose waiting till I get the good counsel of my wife. Thus much I am quite certain of— that we should begin every day with getting up, and close it with going to bed." " Well," said Miss Greta, that sounds like some- thing new, at all events, and not in the least trivial. I congratulate you. Baron, on this fine and original idea. After this, I cannot doubt that your wedded life will be unusually happy, especially " Miss Greta paused. "Especially — well?" asked Baron H., with eagerness. «* Most especially for your wife, seeing that your home is already blessed with a Filius" said Miss Greta with a sarcastic tone of voice and expression of countenance. These words produced the rare effect of rather confusing Baron H., who answered quickly : — "Exactly, exactly so!" but soon added, quite calmly :__« And if she is not satisfied with this, I shall not be satisfied with her." Miss Greta looked somewhat offended. Baron H. arose, and joined a yawning group. My beloved reader, I am afraid we should expe- rience a little tedium here ; but that is at times quite unavoidable in this every-day life. Yet at times we can have recourse to extraordinary means to avoid it ; and for your sake, my reader — whom I make it my concern to keep in good humour — I will here practise one of my magic arts. I dismiss the company — extinguish the lights — put an end to the wedding — and send every one to bed. And now it is night ; and Sleep fans the eyelids of men with his friendly wings, and souls rest in the misty land of dreams. The lawyer forgets his suits; the workman his toilsome, the man of the world ' his tedious day ; the distressed one, the cause of his tears — and all through thee, sweet, peace-giving Sleep ! But if thou findest eyes thou canst not close — eyes which cares or suffering keep open, till the brain grows torpid and the heart bleeds, ! then, go and beseech thy more pallid brother to come ; for he is the right physician here. Perhaps, dear reader, you fancy that after this flight so foreign to my subject, I myself am a sleep-walker. As a proof that such is not the fact, I will tell you about Edla. EDLA. In many the heart is more buoyant, and the capacity of enjoying has more vigour and fresh- ness at forty, than at twenty years of age. Thus it was with Edla. Her appearance, however, be- tokened more composure and firmness than is imparted by what is commonly called a life of en- joyment. Her glance was wonderfully clear and penetrating : it was not every one could meet it fully. You felt that the soul which spoke in it had fought its way to peace ; that it had not lain dor- mant ; but, through inquiry and labour, had come to look with serenity on the stern realities of life. Yes ! Edla had struggled : traces of internal suf- fering not to be mistaken — a half-suppressed sigh, which at times heaved her bosom — bore testimony to this. Yet, however this may have been, all was subdued, and calm, and serene : all was well. And she had suffered and struggled in silence. Nobody had aught to tell of Edla's suffering ; her- self least of any. Fourteen years since we took leave of Edla, when she had just been introduced to those studies which make up a liberal education. Full of ardour and in earnest, she went forward in her career. She thirsted after knowledge and truth. With her glance now elevated towards heaven, now exploring the recesses of her own heart, and look- ing into the maxims of the wise for guidance and counsel, she lived quietly and happily, and her soul was filled with hopes of rich treasures which the future would lay open to her. But all at once her sohtary life was disturbed. Her little sister Mina died, and Nina fell into a wasting sickness, as is not unfrequently the case with a twin child when it loses its soul's mate, — the half of its own life, Edla rescued Nina from death, and a soft compassion for the tender creature took possession of her soul. She pressed the child to her heart and named it her child. Miss Ronnquist had left the President's house to follow Adelaide. Nina remained under Edla's protection. Edla became her mother. She divided her time between her, her father, and her books. May books live for ever ! But who becomes wise through books alone 1 What is a man's course when seized with a desire of knowledge ? In his youth he goes off to a university, attends the lectures of learned men, lays the foundation for future learning, reads, snuffs, and scratches his head (no one credits how greatly the latter operation facilitates the development of ideas), disputes with his fellow-students — an excellent ex- ercise alike for the understanding and the lungs — activity, life, emulation, ties of friendship, able teachers, easy access to the means of acquiring knowledge ; nay, the academical atmosphere itself in which he breathes ; — all this leads him on in his career, tends to give animation to his feelings, to nourish thought, and to push him forward to his degree I Has he gained his laurels, and is his thirst for knowledge undiminished ?— he has still a cup out of which to drink, and this is — the world. On the summit of Mont Blanc he may contemplate the stars ; dig gold in the mines of Golconda; make a voyage to the North Pole with Captain Ross ; see the sun set from the coasts of the Terra del Fuego ; read the Runic inscriptions on rocks and stones in Iceland, and Sanscrit in India ; behold 'ruins in Asia, and new states in America. The palaces of kings and the dark dwelling-places of criminals stand open to him ; he has access to the study of the learned — Happy being ! ought he not to be enlightened, — know everything in the whole world ? Edla was two-and-twenty before she began to think and apply herself to the acquisition of know- ledge with some method and system. A period never to be recalled, a vacant and misspent period, lay behind her. And in addition to this— honour and prosperity to the philanthropic principles of our own age, those, too, respecting the education NINA. of women ! But my dear and clear-sighted reader, who does not perceive at what a disad- vantage women stand compared with men ; how differently they are situated twith respect to the means and opportunities of acquiring real knowledge ! I need not point out the difference ; it must be obvious to the most careless observer ; perhaps there ought to be, there must be, a differ- ence — I don't know ! I have often fancied, that Nature herself had her still, small voice in this matter ; and, if it is so, thou good and wise Mother, thy daughters will yield cheerful obedience to thee ; thou wilt, perhaps, on this account, draw them nearer to thy own bosom. Certain it is, that Edla felt strongly the bonds which had fettered and still fettered her aspiring spirit. Now came the change in her situation. She thought of her father, who stood in need of her at present more than ever ; she thought of the child she had snatched from death ; and she did, what many a one has done before her, and what many a one will do after her — she submitted cheerfully and without a murmur to what her circumstances seemed to demand ; and this sacrifice of the deve- lopment of her mind and heart, and the acquisition of profound knowledge — perhaps of all sacrifices the most difficult — this she resolutely accomplished after a short struggle, and quietly shut herself up in the circle of her family. Perhaps Edla's sacrifice was less great than it appeared to herself. I said that we do not become wise by means of books alone ; no ! not through books, nor travelling, nor intercourse with wise men, nor the whole world, if we have not the plastic power within ourselves, which combines the scattered parts into harmonious form ; or, to speak more plainly and just as well, if our minds have not the power of realizing rational concep- tions from words. But Heaven had bestowed this rational principle on Edla ; and, if we will con- demn a certain want of breadth in her views of the world, we ought to remember the circum- stances in which she first became acquainted with the world and with life. The impressions of her youth, the bias of her mind and heart, led her to conceive an attachment to the most ancient sages of the human race. She so willingly sympathised with them, for she stood in strong affinity with their profoundest thoughts and feelings. Edla had felt nothing so deeply, so terribly oppressive in her own life, as the might of an inevitable necessity, of the inexorable decree — * it is to be,' — beneath whose iron yoke man must bend, mur- muring or entreating, struggling or with servile submission — no matter ! — he must. This impres- sion remained on Edla's mind, but became more extended and complete. She still felt the power of external circumstances ; but she was conscious of a higher internal power, which, in spite of the former, goes on in the development of its own peculiar liberty, and converts the heavy stone which presses on man's life into a step, by which it ascends to the heaven of everlasting freedom. She felt that man, like Prometheus, chained to the rock, and with lacerated heart, could still defy all the powers of this world ; and from the open- ing to the closing scene of the drama of life, could quietly, energetically, and indefatigably will and endure the same. Edla, too, continued the same, and yet she was changed ; for she had been strong in murmuring, now she was strong in resignation. Complaining, bitterness, and despair, fled for ever from her bosom. She bent herself, kissing the mercifully-stern hand which, in the midst of storms, calls into life the unfading flower of Virtue. This now became to her the choicest flower of the individual human spirit, of humanity, — the prime object of universal care. It was the centre round which all existence turned ; the storms of fate served only to give strength and stability to it ; while itself turned, as the sunflower to the sun, to God. Strength, capacity of self-denial, equanimity; a tranquillity of mind which no crosses in life could disturb ; purity of heart and of the thoughts that she might attain to exalted views of God — these Edla sought after and found. Of the doctrines of the Gospel she more especially assimilated all those which gave strength and completeness to the bias of her mind ; and according to her views of life, man was ordained before all things to wrestle with and deny himself. But this view was cheerful and clear ; the laurel of victory followed as the reward of trial ; and the crown of thorns became the crown of glory. With cheerful acquiescence, then, she entered upon the course which necessity com- manded her to take ; she discharged its duties from her inmost heart. Did this suffer, did it feel weary under its new cares, this was of little consideration with her. She remained constant to the one resolve which she had formed, her heart beat quietly under the prospect of the great change, when the soul, defecated from sin and freed from its earthly bonds, will be permitted to rest on the Eternal bosom, — the source and the fulness of all life and love. How came it, then, that Edla, in whom were this strength and peace, was not agreeable to others ? Others ; yes, if there were no others, one might be more at peace with one's self — only it were a difficult thing to say what this self would be if such a state of things subsisted. Edla had arrived at that age when the soul usually makes itself most independent of the body ; when an ill-favoured or handsome presence has little or no influence upon the woe or welfare of life. With Edla this independence must have been more complete than with most ; but the period of her youth had left deep traces in her soul, and the clouds which lowered on the morning of her life, cast their shadow on her whole existence. She still entertained great distrust of herself with re- spect to the impression she made on others. She was persuaded that she was not beloved ; and she feared that she could not be loved ; she thought her presence, her look, her demeanour, were too repulsive. This persuasion, a degree of pride, the fear of being thought irksome ; still more the fear of awaking a feeling of embarrassment in amiable men ; all this made her almost shy of her fellow- creatures. Now in this Edla did injustice to her- self ; for few were more beloved than was she, by those who really knew her ; and, besides, even in promiscuous society, how many do we not find who disregard the shell for the sake of the kernel ! But this very reservedness excited a similar feeling in others ; people feared her, only because they did not love her. She was silent when in company ; and thus continued a stranger to the common pleasures and pastimes. And, my benevolent 12 NINA. reader, if we axe in this predicament ; if we are conscious that such is our case : " Is it not then better to abide solitary ? " Happy are they who can be so with joy ; nay, who can find treasures in solitude ! Thus it was with Edla. Her aspiring spirit fled to a higher sphere for life and enjoyment. This she found among the stars, whose paths she knew ; she found it in the sanctuary of philosophy. From hence she saw light spread itself over the world, from hence she drew peace with it and herself. True, Edla lived more in an ideal than the real world. She resembled rather the bird of paradise, which soars above the earth, than the nightingale that builds its nest and sings thereon. Hence it, followed that she was better acquainted with the abstract nature of man than men as they are ; that, in a word, she knew more of the kingdom of heaven than life on earth. Truth she loved above all things ; merit she could appreciate ; she could forgive errors of inadvertence ; but from all laxity and enervation, all selfishness and meanness, she turned away with a secret repugnance. And yet Edla was mild — I scarcely ever knew anybody so mild. She could not understand the weakness of her fellow-mortals, but she judged no one ; she condemned the thing, and not the person ; — and it was mere instinct which made her shun the perpetrator of anything base. Towards herself only was Edla severe, ex- cepting one other being, — and this one was the child of her cares, the darling of her heart — Nina. Nina durst not be feeble ; Nina must sponta- neously do what was good and right, nor could she plead in excuse — what must be conceded to so many — a neglected and enervating education. Nina was nourished with the milk of reason ; she must not totter or waver on the path of virtue. Yes, towards Nina, Edla was strict ; but she loved her indeed more than herself. And however dis- trustful she was as to the sentiments of others towards herself, certain she was that Nina loved her. And could it be otherwise ? Had not Edla imparted to her the best she possessed — her ac- quirements and her love ? And Nina's child-like devotion, the necessity she felt of living always with her, and her calm submission to her guidance, were not these a noble testimony of her affection ? The consciousness of a strong affinity with so beautiful and amiable a creature infused many an earthly delight into Edla's transcendental life. All the conceptions of ideal beauty which Memory supplied and Hope anticipated, Edla saw, as it were, realised in Nina. And this was in a great measure her own work. Now, when she beheld Nina thus fascinating and amiable in manner and in character, Edla felt tempted to idolize her own creation ; she felt all the weakness of a tender mother for her child. But she wrestled with this weakness and mastered it. To her belonged that energetic, profound affection, which would repast its object to the last drop of its own blood, and which would rather see the beloved one bleed and die than fall and debase itself. Thus much of Edla ; now a word about Nina. NINA. Look upon a pure fountain at the moment when day is parting from night ; see the vault of heaven with its bright stars glassing itself therein, by the magic of morning twilight, and you have an image of Nina's soul. Thus pure she was ; thus did the reflection of eternal truth gleam in the depths of her being. But they beamed through a twilight. There was a foretoning of light — not light itself. She was the man in the earliest time — man in the period of his innocency, in his original, unspoiled beauty. Her soul seemed to be one with her beautiful body — so harmonious was their union ; they seemed fused into each other. Her character possessed that quiet, intrinsic excellence, which is perfectly un- obtrusive and incapable of ostentation. Uncon- strained, but modest, she was calm and self-collect- ed. It filled one with complacency to contemplate her. How beautiful and harmonious were the movements of her tender arm, of her white, well- formed hands ! her gait how floating, her^bearing how simple and noble ! It would be a difficult task for me to give you an idea of the beauty and suavity of her countenance ; but had you seen the gently-waving arch of her clear forehead, with her bright, soft, silken hair clustering about it ; the glance of her eyes from beneath their long, dark lashes ; the delicate, small Grecian nose ; the bewitching mouth ; the beautiful oval contour of her countenance ; and added to all these a skin of dazzling whiteness, then you would agree with Miss Greta, that she was the most beautiful of God's creatures. Her eyes resembled those of her sister Adelaide in form, but had not their vivid lustre ; a mist seemed spread over the deep blue spheres, a sort of moist obscurity, which lent an indescribable charm to them. There was some- thing melancholy, something dreamy in her glance; it was not light, it was not the clearness of spirit which beamed there ; but it was a something pre- cursive, something deeply touching. The manner in which she listened to the remarks of others testified that her whole soul was present ; and when words flowed from her own lips, rather slowly, but so nobly, so gracefully, and in tones which were real music, you learned to value one of the most beautiful— perhaps the most neglected — of all human gifts. All the world now talks about education ; and wherefore should not I ? that is, of Nina's ? She had passed from the period of childhood to youth, and had read but few books for children, as they are styled ; scarcely any romances ; — none of Ma- dame De Genlis', none of La Fontaine's. She did not therefore entertain the false notion that in life outward prosperity was a necessary consequence of virtue and goodness ; she had not been taught to think that, while performing the commonest act of Christian charity, a lover must be peeping through the key-hole beside himself with admira- tion at the sight. She thought little of '♦ le gu'en dira-t-on ?*' For neither by fictions nor by every-day life had she been led to form habits of living according to the thoughts and inclinations of others. She had not studied mankind on the little stage of social life ; but, on the contrary, had at .an early age seen men acting in the great theatre of the world. At an early age Edla had made her acquainted with the great and beautiful chai-acters of history,' and the pure maxims of the wise. She feared not to let her behold the naked realities of life on earth ; but she exhibited NINA. 13 them to her in the reflection of a higher light. She showed her virtue suffering — the wise man despised and rejected — she revealed to her life in all its greatness, in all its bitterness. She wished to make her love virtue for its own sake — and without a bribe. Nina became enamoured with the beauty of virtue ; and while her attention was constantly fixed on excellence and truth, she be- came true and excellent herself, without being at all conscious of it. She was identified with the objects of her affection. Edla thought : " I will let her dwell on what is elevated in humanity, and gain strength of vision by contemplating the brightness of the divine spirit there revealed ; so that when she shall descend to the level of every- day life, her eye may not be dazzled by the splen- dour of the world, nor her soul trammelled by the petty things of life. She shall be happy in the enjoyment of that happiness which is peculiar to the noble spirit — the ability to govern and control the disposition and the affections ; to rise superior to all earthly changes that may befall ; and in the possession of peace and independence of mind, and strength to be operative in life and death, solely for the advancement of that goodness which is eternal." The same views, too, guided Edla in cultivating Nina's sense of beauty. At an early age she caused her attention to be fixed on purity and harmony of tone and beauty of form ; and here, too, the graceful and beautiful objects with which she was occupied gradually left their im- pression on her soul. It was Edla's endeavour, however, to engage her taste rather in the plastic arts than music, whose strains agitated her feel- ings too strongly ; and Nina was frequently em- ployed in copying a Grecian muse or a head of Jupiter ; or absorbed in the contemplation of a Holy Virgin or the thorn- crowned Saviour in the Passion. No Ariadne in tears, no Hercules on the funeral pile was allowed to be a subject for Nina's pencil. All feebleness ; all that partook of passion ; everything which betokened perturbation of mind and inconsistency of character, Edla removed as objects unworthy to engage her pupil's attention. Her aim was, in direct contradiction to what is usually the case — to develope Nina's rational faculty before her fancy ; to awaken and confirm her strength before the period when the feelings begin to agitate the system. With a view to this, she removed from Nina's neighbourhood every indication of disquietude and violent passion. She imposed calmness on herself ; and in order to temper that extreme susceptibility and softness which were such prominent traits in Nina's cha- racter, Edla restrained the display of that tender- ness which she felt for her dear charge ; nay, she even refused to accept the innocent caresses of the child, and scarcely ever responded to them. Per- haps Edla had some other reason for this ; a con- jecture which the following anecdote corroborates. Edla was one day in company with her friend, Professor A. Her sister, then nine years old, was fondling her, and offered up her charming little mouth to Edla. She quietly rejected the proffered caress to the evident distress of the little one. "What!" said Professor A. in an under-tone, " can you forego the pleasure of kiss- ing that rose ? "— " Would you have me blight it ?" replied Edla, and pointed to her lips, which were constantly chapped and wounded. Had Edla been allowed to complete what she had begun ; had not the weakness, the improbity of others but we will not be precipitate. Have we said enough of Nina ? Have we said it was due to Edla's exertions that she acquired strength sufficient to master her natural indolence; that Edla's example taught her to be diligent ; that, notwithstanding this, a dreaminess and melancholy mood frequently took hold of her ; and that this propensity, viewed in connexion with the delicacy of her frame, was a source of uneasi- ness to Edla. Now we have said sufficient. — Nina's soul resembled a temple, but still the worship of the divinity had not begun there ; it was a world on which a sun had not yet risen. Warmth, a higher spirit was wanting. But what — people will think — what did the President say to one of his little ones receiving what he called a learned education ? THE PRESIDENT. The President had been converted by Edla, who taught him experimentally that a higher intellec- tual education only contributed to render a woman more agreeable and more happy in her home. She had imposed it as a duty upon herself to make her father happy, and for the sake of being an agreeable companion for him, she seemed to possess the power of transforming her naturally quiet and serious character. With him she was cheerful and communicative, and her arrange- ments made him experience a greater degree of domestic comfort than he had felt when his blessed Frederica was living. The President, too, gradu- ally conceived such true tenderness for his daughter, and reposed such implicit confidence in her, that he not only surrendered the charge of his house entirely to her, but gave her perfect liberty to educate Nina entirely according to her own views. He hoped by so doing to have the same pleasure in the younger as he had in his eldest daughter ; and so everything went on ex- ceedingly well, till the President had the little affair with Cupid, and began to talk of the grave in order to arrive at matrimony. I have now a strong desire (Reader, may I not say we?) to cast a glance at the state of Adelaide's affairs after a lapse of fourteen years. Before all things, then, I must state that she has eight children ; all ex- ceedingly beautiful and good and joyous, like their mamma. She had nursed them all, caressed them, joined in their games ; had taught them to read and to sing ; to love the light, cheerfulness and God, and to have faith in papa Alario as in the Gospel. Count Alaric lived but for his wife, whom he adored, — for his children, in whose education he took part, — for those subject to him, whom he made happy. In Adelaide he found gentleness and gladness of spirit ; she had received instruc- tion in history, and in many other good things from him. Mam'selle Ronnquist read French and English with the three daughters. Not one of them could be compared to Nina, but they pro- mised to become good and spirited women, such as make their way in the world. Adelaide devoted much time to the children, but she still continued a sort of song of joy to the whole country around, indispensable on all the festive occasions of life. 14 NINA. Wherever her kind, beautiful countenance was seen, in the hovel or the mansion, beside the death-bed or at the marriage-feast, she was hailed as a messenger from heaven sent to give consola- tion and joy. She was still the swan in fairness, in buoyancy of spirits, in ease and grace, and her home and her love were the Uving waters in which she bathed her wings. Of Alaric and Adelaide might be said what Job said of certain people : " They are mighty in power." " Their seed is established in their sight with them, and their offspring before their eyes." *< Their houses are safe from fear, neither is the rod of God upon them." " Their cow calveth and casteth not her calf." " They send forth their little ones like a flock, and their children dance." " They take the timbrel and harp, and rejoice at the sound of the organ." " They spend their days in wealth." — In a word, they belonged to the prosperous on earth. I have seen many like them, and have regarded their lives with wonder. — « While others die in the bitterness of their souls, and never eat with pleasure." But— " Shall any teach God knowledge ? " AND ANGELICA? Was the question put by many to the Countess M., upon her return without her, after a sojourn of two years in Rome. " And where is Mrs. Plomgren ?" asked Miss Greta. Blessed are those who complete their full term on earth ; who attain to the highest development of their powers, and in creations, which rise in the scale of beauty as their genius becomes more and more mature, lay open those rich treasures which lie in the depths of their bosoms. They are the heroes of life's drama ; the great spirits of the earth. There are, too, mute spirits that walk the earth. They think most profoundly ; they feel with the greatest ardour ; but they do not find words to express the divine conceptions of their inward senses. They pass away without being under- stood ; they pass away hke silent shadows — let our approaches to them be with reverence. Such are frequently the most unhappy among the sons of the earth. But we know well that an angel will one day give them the power of utterance. Beings there are, also, who live but for a moment, but to whom it is given to pronounce a word, which sounds on through eternity. They are also of the blessed on earth ! Their lives were full, though short ; — a dithyrambic hymn, sung in the temple of Immortality. Angelica was of this class. Her ardent soul consumed the case in which it was enshrined ; and the unremitting diligence with which she laboured at Rome destroyed her powers. She died with the pencil in her hand, while endeavour- ing to put a few additional touches to a picture of the angel, who saluted Mary with, « Hail, thou that art highly favoured ! " — She then went away, to look full upon the prototypes of that beauty she had conceived darkly, and to join with them in adoration. This her last picture, her farewell token to this world, is in the possession of the Countess M. No one contemplates it without emotion. No woman especially can look on this picture of Mary, in which every member seems to say, " Behold the handmaid of the Lord ! " without feeling that in these words, too, her own vocation is expressed. No one looks upon this picture without having faith in a higher purity and holiness : it gives you a glimpse of heaven, and raps the soul thither. Angelica did not live in vain. And who, that has laboured with a fervent will and an honest purpose, can be said to have lived in vain, though that were only for an hour of morning ! Such a one has accomplished no complete work, but he has emitted a spark which will continue to afford a cheering ray in the night of many ; he has pre- pared instruments for others ; and this is good and gratifying. Our short life ! how soonjt runs out ! Let us, putting off our selfishness,' identify it with the general good ; and it will be immortal, even on earth. And dear Otto, and the wicked Countess Augusta, and the sprightly Baroness, and his excellency her wedded lord ?— They all died of the cholera. FASHIONABLE LIFE. " Drink ! ere they fly oflf the foam-crested Bubbles, O drink ! " Fbanzkn. To what shall I compare fashionable life — this effervescent life of feasts and pleasures, of sport and pleasantry — from which seriousness, sighs and tears, are banished — the life which prevails in all great cities, and which carries all along with it in its resistless whirl — to what shall I liken it ? To the foam on the draught of existence. The vitalr stream flows unceasingly down from perpetual fountains, while its foam froths up on the surface ; the hissing, pearly bubbles swell, glitter, and vanish ; fresh ones succeed ; there is an incessant effervescence in the deep bowl. Very good, be the draught but champagne, and not small-beer. Yet there must be both sorts in the great tavern of the world. Many a noble spirit — many of the calmer joys, are lost and dissipated in this element ; but in it, too, the sighs, the spasms of pain, and the stubborn cares of many a one have been loosened and dissolved. It has its excellences, at least, for the moment. " Drink ! ere they fly off the foam-crested Bubbles, O drink I " Many there are who cannot live but in this ele- ment, though now and then they breathe for a moment in a different atmosphere ; and then they sigh, with great earnestness of purpose : — " How amiable is Nature ! How lovely is peace ! How beautiful is Christian virtue ! Without seriousness and solitude, no real joy is to be found. We are ordained to live for Heaven." And then again they plunge into society and pleasures, and diver- sions of every complexion. The Countess M. — now the Countess G. — was one of these worldly spirits. Her attachment to Angelica was but a deep-drawn breathing in an element different from that in which she usually lived ; and, long before Angelica's death, she had returned to her accustomed sphere. She loved the world of fashion, to which her beauty and the NINA. 15 elegance of her manners rendered her an orna- ment, while her fortune enabled her to make a splendid figure in it. She there moved with the ease of a fish in water, or the philosopher in his world of thought ; and chose the surface of the stream of life, on which to float just as naturally as the latter prefers to move in its depths. She wrote and received full twenty notes every morn- ing ; she patronised artistes, and accepted dedica- tions in return ; she was a member of charitable institutions and societies of art; she loved to intrigue ; to furnish recommendations ; to act a principal role; to give herself an air of im- portance ; to be admired and adored : and in all this she was frequently successful, especially with those who viewed her only from a distance. Shortly after her marriage, she opened her house in the most brilliant style ; gathered around her all in the metropolis who were distinguished for talent, rank, and beauty ; saw company every day ; got up tableaux vivaris, private plays, concerts, decla- mations, and lectures ; bore the sway in every- thing ; and modestly allowed herself to be styled the " CORINNA OF THE NoRTH," And now, my beloved reader, do you think I am going to carry you forward in my story, just as people press forward on a well-kept road to the house in which they are to meet with hospitable cheer ? By no means ! A roving spirit has now got possession of me, and we again turn aside from the main course into a little episode : after this — nay, how can I predict what will come after? Follow me who can ! I shape my course towards Miss Greta. To what shall I liken Miss Greta ? I find no image so appropriate as that of a mineral spring. Facetious, and possessed of native humour — a fresh and chalybeate spring — her manner of viewing men and life was as kind-hearted as it was cheer- ful ; and a good-humoured smile at their follies played upon her delicate lips. This wit and humour, kindness and lightness of heart, which manifested themselves in her conversation and manners, but without the slightest admixture of bitterness, were irresistibly refreshing ; and un- commonly dull, or uncommonly unhappy, must have been that man who could not be made — at least for the moment — cheerful and communicative by them. A harmless laugh is certainly one of the most effective means of reconciling us to life and the world ; and this Miss Greta's presence called forth. Profoundly convinced of the wise disposing of Providence in all things, she was also persuaded that it was the end and aim of every one to make his present life as pleasant and cheerful as possi- ble ; but in strict observance of the Ten Command- ments, and with all prudence necessary to preserve one's good report in the world. Rich and inde- pendent, she yet continued single, because, out of the many offers that had been made to her, she had found none which promised her a higher state of happiness, or a more agreeable hfe than she enjoyed as a free lady, and in the uncontrolled administration of her own affairs. She lived much in the great world ; not because she preferred it,but because she there found scope and matter for her acuteness and wit ; and the unwavering constancy of her character, and her sound sense, made her as generally respected as she was beloved and sought after on account of her humorous disposition. A determined enemy to high-pitched enthusiasm in every shape, she lent her willing assistance to damp the tone of every chord which she considered overstrained ; and in such matters, she was easily betrayed into undue severity of judgment, for she had not yet had an opportunity of becoming intimately acquainted with her own kind, warm heart. Her demeanour was that of a person of qua- lity, but not haughty, and she respected every one of an independent character — that is, when he did not make too familiar approaches to her "Grace." She showed a profound contempt for all meanness, and almost, still more, for stupidity. Insolent effrontery was as great an abomination to her as baseness, and she never failed to chastise it when- ever she had an opportunity. Quiet and secure herself, she was amused with witnessing the petty intrigues, embarrassments, pretensions, and striv- ings of others ; and perhaps, too, it gave her some pleasure to feel the influence which she exerted upon all who came in contact with her. She was not always charitable ; did not always judge with truth and justice ; but then, as we said at the com- mencement, her influence was most salutary; and whei'ever she appeared, there arose involuntarily a more cheerful tone, more cordiality and freedom in the general intercourse, and greater vivacity in each individual member of the society. I have often thought that, if we could multiply Miss Greta one hundred thousand times, the world would have needed but the half of its present number of hospitals, lunatic asylums, and medicinal springs. The house of the Countess G. was agreeable and cheerful. Miss Greta was often there, be- cause, without liking her cousin, she had a high opinion of her ; was almost captivated by that grace which the character of the Countess pos- sessed. But Miss Greta now began to feel less at ease in her house than formerly. Her intercourse with Edla was anything but gratifying. They exhibited the greatest politeness towards each other, but there it ended. Edla, moreover, soon withdrew fi-om the social circles of the Countess. Nina was, to use Miss Greta's own expressions, " rather celestial than human." She thought her beautiful, but felt annoyed at the kind of adoration which the Countess showed towards her, and which, too, drew her attention from her old friends. Somewhat of pique at this made her little disposed to do justice to Nina, or discern anything in her worthy of admiration, except her beauty. A real plague to Miss Greta was a young lady, a protegee of the Countess, and to whom Miss Greta had given the name of " Quiet Clara." And this was quite characteristic of the young lady's manner and character, although Miss Greta would have preferred calling her " Tedious Clara." Constantly busied with her needlework — almost always a piece of very beautiful embroidery — she seemed to have no other interest in the world but to complete her work. During the most brilliant parties which the Countess gave, there she sat quiet and indifferent, and seemed to be oppressed with tedium if she was not occupied with sewing. She noticed no one, and exhibited little concern for the notice of any one ; she did nothing but sew. While others were growing warm with .disputing, Clara sat still and sewed. While others were running to and fro in their zeal for amusement and pleasure, Clara sat still and sewed. While 16 NINA. others were yawning with enrmi j&nd were a burden to themselves, Clara sat still and sewed. Did any one address her, she looked up, answered politely, but always as briefly as possible ; then cast her eyes down again — and sewed. This was a severe trial to Miss Greta's patience. In addition to all this, Clara bad adopted a certain catalogue of words and phrases, which seemed to comprise her whole stock of language, and which in due time, and, as Miss Greta declared, at unseasonable times, she put in use. These were :— " Well, it may be so," « What does that signify ? " «' Where- fore should such pains be taken on this account ?" " Pray be seated," " Pray desist," &c. &c. Above all, you frequently heard a certain indifforent, " Oh, indeed ! " which threw Miss Greta into utter desperation. She herself was possessed of repose of soul ; nay, she plumed herself somewhat on this amid the unsettled state of mind so widely prevalent in the world ; but this quiet, this indif- ference, was a caricature of hers ; — it both nettled and hiu't her. And it mortified her still more to find that Clara, in spite of her perpetual sewing and laconic answers, exerted a sort of attractive influence upon her ; to resist which, cost her great trouble. This was partly to be attributed to a cer- tain indescribable feeling of curiosity which seized Miss Greta to know what could be the nature of a being, who endowedwith reason and understanding, and with all her senses and limbs to boot, felt no in- terest in those things which were an object of eager pursuit to others, and who was apparently sen- sible to no impressions. But there was some- thing in Clara — Miss Greta could not help thinking of Baron H.'s expression, " holy" — a something so simple, so true . r . . . . Miss Greta could not help finding her attractive, nor forbear regarding her with attention. Clara's countenance was without beauty; it was not ill-favoured, but there was in it really no one beautiful feature. Her dark complexion made her appear plain from a distance ; when near, you perceived that her skin was clear and of such transparent delicacy that the circu- lation within the veins of her cheek, eye-lids, and forehead might be seen. If in any way she became unusually animated— a phenomenon which Miss Greta had not yet witnessed — there mounted to her pale cheek a purple glow, which imparted a most peculiar and strange charm to her ; and the bright, brown eyes, which moved slowly in their deep orbits, sparkled in this evening-red with a mellow clearness, producing a pleasing efiect in the beholder. One day Miss Greta resolved to make an attempt to ascertain more accurately what was the real state of her intellectual faculties. She took undissembled pains to make herself agreeable to her, and exhausted her whole stock of wit and pleasantry. Clara listened to her sallies with a quiet smile — and sewed ; answered her questions with brevity but politeness — and sewed ; gradually she but half-listened, and her answers showed evi- dently that her mind was absent : at last came an ill-timed '*0h, indeed ! " This was beyond Miss Greta's power of endurance ; she became angry, rose with warmth, and took a silent vow that she would never again undertake to enliven so lifeless and uncivil a person. Now commenced a sort of hostility between Miss Greta and Clara, which frequently put the former very much out of temper. There were so many things Miss Greta deemed necessary, but which Clara considered superfluous. As in defiance of the latter, the former often gave rise to a certain stir and commotion in company, on which occasions Clara's « Pray desist," « Pray don't be disturbed," were ever heard. Mildly as these words were pronounced, they sorely nettled Miss Greta, who on one such occassion replied with some warmth : " My dear Clara ! I am somewhat too old to be schooled again ! Keep, therefore, your sapient remarks for your own edification ! " Such little rubs were of pretty frequent recurrence. There was something, however, in Miss Greta's ill- humour which made it far less dreaded by Clara than even a cold look from the Countess. And I will not conceal from you, my reader, that I have often made the following sapient remarks. In many a contention lies the germ of an inti- mate connexion ; while on the other hand, people are often on peaceable terms, because they have nothing to say to each other. Indifference will neither kiss nor bite. Quiet Clara had three unruly brothers ; one a clerk in chancery ; one a lieutenant in the navy ; the third a lieutenant in the army. The three unruly brothers loved their quiet sister most tenderly, and desired nothing so much as soon to see her married well. They wished she might wed an honourable man, and one, moreover, who might be able and willing to take his poor brothers- in-law by the hand. The unruly brothers assailed the quiet sister with questions " whether a suitor had presented himself," and with exhortations to dress well, study to deport herself courteously, &c. They tormented her incessantly, though with the best intentions. The Countess made it no less a matter of con- cern than did the three unruly brothers to pro- cure a good match for Clara. She regarded this as due in equity from her, and, moreover, was pleased to have the threads of a little romance in her hands. Clara answered her three brothers kindly but evasively, nor did she follow the Coun- tess's precepts with respect to the mode of dress- ing. Miss Greta desired most heartily that the exertions of the Countess and the brothers of the young lady might be crowned with success. She had really begun to conceive somewhat of hatred towards the incomprehensible Clara, and longed for the day when this insensible barrier should no longer obstruct her view in the house. Suitors soon appeared, urged apparently by real affection. Baron H. evinced a degree of attention which was obvious and intelligible to all except her who was the object of it. Miss Greta was displeased with Baron H.'s attentions. She cherished real friendship for him, and wished him a better wife than the mute and spiritless Clara. Yet she said nothing ; but was amused at his fruitless endeavours to enter into conversation with Clara, and spared not her sneers, which he appeared never to observe. Miss Greta had, besides, another reason for being somewhat dissatisfied with Baron H. Baron H.'s domestic affairs had, quite unexpect- edly, sustained a gi'eat change during the period we lost sight of him. We have said already that he had not found a wife ; nevertheless he had — people knew not how — found a son, an interesting. frank child, whom he called Filius. Leo was his bap- tismal name. Whether he had a surname ; who he was; whence he came, was known to no one; and it was impossible to get the least intelligence on this subject from Baron H. He merely said that Filius was a foundling, and ever skilfully contrived to evade all inquiries respecting his birth. But this very mystery, and certain half-suppressed conjectures which were in circulation, made Miss Greta harbour no very favourable suspicion as to Baron H., and feel some displeasure towards the toothless, rather stubborn FUius, whose beautiful eyes, and bright complexion — in her opinion — did not entitle him to accompany Baron H. wherever he went, and receive as excellent an education as he could have given to his own son. Baron H. felt an affection for the boy which bordered on weakness, nor did he in anywise allow himself to be troubled by the interrogations and remarks of Miss Greta ; but for the most part answered them with the best humour in the world. She regarded Filius in an unfavourable light, and by way of thanks he was more than usually rebellious against her. On the other hand he continued willingly in the company of Nina, and was ready to obey her slightest hint. He was called Nina's little worshipper, and his attachment afforded an instance of the power which beauty exercises over the infant mind. One evening there was a numerous company assembled at the President's. The Countess drew the regards of all upon her ; yes, even more than the beautiful and charming Nina. Arrayed in red velvet, a silk turban embroidered with gold for a head-dress, she sat at the harp, from which she awoke the most ravishing tones, while with rare facility of execution she sang an aria by Meyerbeer, A circle of admirers gathered around her. The President himself was among these and beside himself with rapture. Baron H. approached Clara, who in her dark- brown silk-dress, and a double tulle pelerine wrapped about her fine-formed neck, appeared like a shadow in the brilliant assembly. Baron H. seated himself at his ease in a vacant arm-chair which stood near Clara. " A delightful accom- plishment ! " said he in a sort of cool rapture at the Countess's singing. Clai'a answered with an equally cool *' yes ! " " You, too, sing and play, I presume !" Baron H. asked with great interest. " No !" Clara answered quite calmly. " Then I am convinced you draw admirably 1 " " No ! I have no accomplishments ! " answered Clara in the same tone. " Well ! why should we have such ? All the world has its accomplishments. All the ladies of the present time play a little, sing a little, and draw a little, as they say, and lavish a good deal of time on such things, which might be much better employed. It were better for them to de- vote this time to the more excellent domestic em- ployments,— if they only learned the art of cook- ery ! — I feel persuaded you are well versed in this excellent and useful art." " No, I am also ignorant of that !" said Clara. " Well ! one can learn, one can learn ! " was the Baron's solace. " One gets a good cook and then— I feel persuaded that you know how to lay out a dinner." " No ! " said Clara, " I can only eat it ! " " Well said, Clara ! " thought somebody quite close to her, and a hearty laugh, which threatened to choke her, if it had not found vent, interrupted the conversation, and betrayed Miss Greta as a listener to the dialogue ; to -conceal which fact, however, she was not at any pains whatever. Baron H. slightly blushed, and cast an indignant glance at Miss Greta, but which, conscious that a reconciliation would be effected before the end of the day, she bore with great fortitude. Such, too, was the fact. In spite of all accidental discords, there prevailed a certain sjTnpathy between Baron H. and Miss Greta, which constantly brought them together. They had both a great desire to amuse themselves, and found that this wish was never so fully accomplished as when they were together. The Baron did not allow himself to be deterred by all the "noes !" of Clara ; on the contrary, he seemed more and more to conceive a real and tender affection for the quiet young lady. He endeavoured to make her familiar with the little accomplishments of Filius. The chief of these was a sort of coarse drawing, which he preferred to do with charcoal or crayon. Miss Greta would fain have rapped him on the knuckles for this ; but Baron H. saw the promise of a new Michael Angelo therein. Nor could it be denied that the boy had uncommon talent ; and, like a true artist, seemed ever absorbed in his art, and to behold subjects for it in every place. One unpleasant consequence, however, followed from this, namely, that you saw many a nose and many an eye in places where you had no desire to see them. In vain did Miss Greta buy a quire of drawing-paper, and put the leaves in the boy's way. Filius had a love of greatness, even in space, and liked best to draw on the floor or walls ; Clara's care, however, for the most part prevented any serious results which might have flowed from this to the injury alike of the wall and Filius. Baron H., who was afraid of fettering the young artist's imagination, was infinitely grateful to Clara for her kindness. He was the more attentive, and sought to make himself agreeable to her, especially in the pleasant way of making her very frequent presents of ex- tremely beautiful flowers ; an oifering which Clara could not reject. Already had the Countess drop- ped intimations and looked very solemn ; already the three brothers felicitated themselves on their future brother-in-law, and Miss Greta said, " May what is to take place, take place speedily ! " when another suitor made his debut; he was a rich young merchant, with whom Clara became ac- quainted while living in her parent's house, and who, at that time, had formed a serious attach- ment for her. But he was then poor, and could not make her an offer of his hand. Now he had raised himself by diligence and skill; had pur- chased a house and estate, and was come to ask the long-loved object of his heart to share his for- tune with him. We will call him Mr. Frederics. He got an introduction to the Countess G. His manners were somewhat rough ; but he had a good heart ; and a certain freshness and briskness of spirit lent animation to his looks. Baron H. regarded him a little " de haut en has." Mr. Fre- derics, on the other hand, looked up at Baron H. with somewhat of pride. They both moved about Clara, but showed their attention in quite difierent 18 NINA. ways. Baron H. would seat himself beside her, praise her work, her diligence, display close to her eyes his white hand ornamented with a diamond ring, and a golden snuff-box, which he frequently presented to her to refresh herself with a pinch. He gossipped in a kind and quiet manner about the felicity of a tranquil and happy marriage ; made facetious remarks on manners and men, and said this and that fine thing to his fair audi- tor, winking at the same time his most agree- able eyes as Miss Greta called them. Mr. Frederics, on the other hand, assailed her most vigorously with glances ; was almost constantly on his feet, and had a certain manner of treading and stamping about her, which disturbed the quiet Clara most inconceivably. He plunged at once into his intention to purchase an equipage ; keep up a brilliant establishment, and see a great deal of company. He was desirous that his wife should be able to compete with any Countess. Neither of the suitors, however, seemed to have succeeded in making an impression on Clara's heart. She was consistent in her behaviour towards both. She took not snuff from the Baron's gold box ; she looked not upon his splendid gold ring ; she sat there silent during his most facetious stories, and— sewed ! She returned not Mr. Frederics' glances ; she looked not up when he described the new chandelier he had bespoken ; and did a sigh at times escape her, it was when her restless lover had stamped about her too long ; and then it might well be said that the sigh was forced from her, not by love, but by a stamp. Nor did she express any impatience : she generally said no- thing at all ; she only looked down upon her work — and sewed ! Miss Greta regarded her with secret acrimony, and wished her in Vanina's exhi- bition of wax- work. ** I was accustomed to put faith in what the Bible says," said Miss Greta to the Countess one day ; ** but we are there told that there is nothing new under the sun, and yet I am persuaded that the sun has not yet shone on such a specimen of humanity as Clara." The three unruly brothers stormed their quiet sister from all sides. Now she ought to form a speedy resolution ; now she ought to hasten to make her own and her brothers' fortune. The clerk in Chancery was favourable to Baron H., whose rank and manners had prepossessed him very much. The lieutenant in the navy and the lieutenant in the army, on the contrary, were most zealous advocates for Mr. Frederics, "a warm fellow, a good-looking fellow, and a downright good one !" To their astonishment and horror they now heard that their sister would not marry at all ; that she thought of refusing the offers of both suitors, if that her cold behaviour, without a declaration, had not, as Clara hoped, already pre- vailed upon them to withdraw of themselves. Now had Clara to endure hard struggles. The clerk in Chancery, as caput familicBy read her long lectures upon duty, and depicted the future to her in strong colours, beautiful or ill-favoured, accord- ingly as she was delineated therein wedded or single. The lieutenants grew warm, swore that Clara would become an old maid, for whom no one would care at all, and withdrew in anger. From scenes like this Clara often came with tears in her mild eyes, and yet she had still higher, hea- vier, tribulation to suffer. The Countess would sum- mon her up stairs to her in the morning and deliver harangues which may indeed have been very fine compositions, but were anything but agreeable to Clara. The Countess found much to blame in Clara ; reminded her delicately of the obligation she was under towards her benefactress ; and preached morality in emulation of our Lehnberg and of Bossuet. She prepared Clara for an impend- ing change in her circumstances ; dilated at large on what she (the Countess) would do for Clara. She commanded Clara emphatically to give a de- cided preference to one of her lovers, which might encourage him to declare himself ; she should not as hitherto behave with polite indifference towards both ; which conduct was perfectly like that of the coquette, and might fail in the end, &c. When Clara declared that she would not hold out hopes to either, because she did not wish any- thing more of them than that they should leave her in peace, and think no more about her, the Countess appeared to deem this a common sub- terfuge without significance. Upon Clara's ex- pressing herself more positively and declaring her wish to live single, the Countess grew excited. She talked of ingratitude, and made Clara feel that she lived through her fthe Countess's) bounty. This made a deep and painful impression on Clara, and cogent must have been the reason that induced her to persevere in a resolve which was a source of such bitterness to her But she did persevere, and continued quiet as before, exhibiting her wonted indifference, and still occupied with sewing. The Countess, how- ever, now found it expedient to interrupt this by various occupations and charges in the house ; — Clarahad continually to do with the stores, kitchen, and cellar, and was constantly disturbed in her sedentary tranquillity. Yet the latter showed not a mark of dissatisfaction ; she did everything that was required of her cheerfully and well, and sat up at night and sewed. Her appearance, how- ever, bespoke a dejection of spirits which refreshed Miss Greta in some measure ; for she found at least a trace of feeling, where before she had only beheld obtuseness, and she willingly conceded Clara a little sorrow for all the chagrin which the latter had occasioned her. Clouds, ever more threatening, gathered around the quiet Clara, and menaced soon to overwhelm all her earthly prospects. The Countess deemed her conduct so strange, that she began to suspect some secret, nay, perhaps unworthy motives, ac- tuated her. The Countess had long countenanced a system of espionnage — of all systems certainly the worst, especially when it is carried out at home — and this she now applied to Clara's case, and en- deavoured to induce Miss Greta to co-operation, but the latter answered once for all, that she " never occupied herself with such matters." The Countess now set her maid to watch and spy out all Clara's actions, and soon had strong reasons for suspicions of a dark complexion. Once or twice in the week Clara was accustomed to go out quite alone, and she usually returned after an hour had barely elapsed, without ever saying to any one where she had been, or even making men- tion of her absence. It was observed, too, that the little presents which she from time to time received from her patroness, soon disappeared. NINA. 19 Ineffectually was she admonished to wear her necklace and armlets ; Clara continued without her ornaments, and upon a closer examination confessed with tears in her eyes that she no longer possessed them, but refused to tell what had be- come of them. On these discoveries the Countess built the most ample conjectures, which she com- municated to Miss Greta, and began in consequence to lay a heavy hand on Clara's life. We have already said that with a highly ^s- thetical education, the Countess was yet wanting in the beauty of the heart — goodness; we may now add, that she could be harsh even to moral cruelty to persons who incurred her displeasure, and against whom she had conceived a grudge. Her desire constantly to make an important figure, and to bear the sway everywhere, rendered her insupportable, even to those who admired her many fine gifts ; but that person who was entirely dependant on her, and not happy enough to win her favour, was greatly to be compassionated. Clara soon felt the whole weight of a despotism which under the garb of the greatest refinement could exercise ruthless oppression. To be at once the lady's-maid and housekeeper of the Countess ; to be obliged to fashion and alter one head-dress after the other ; to be obliged to run constantly from the kitchen to the store-room, from the store- room to the kitchen ; to execute commands which were ever varying ; all this was comparatively nothing — but never to receive a kind look, to be exposed to incessant sneers and open mistrust, even in the slightest matters ; — this was painful, this made her heart grieve. Yet Clara bore all with unexampled patience, and during her free hours she busied herself the more assiduously with her needlework. Miss Greta was now at a loss whether she ought to be vexed with or admire her. Miss Greta felt undissembled displeasure at the mysterious manner in which Clara deported her- self, and shrewdly suspected that some impro- priety of conduct lay at the root of it. THE INQUIRY. "That father and mother are dead is distress. Might give me full reason for grief; AVere it not that the One who sends all heartjwedress. Knows my pain, and will grant it relief." Swedish Ballad. It was a fresh morning in autumn—of that kind when the glorious sun and clear air both excite us to enterprise and inspire hopes of success. Clara's two lovers experienced the influence of such a morning: they arose with the same thoughts, and went forth with the same intention. With a dignified and measured step, as beseems the aris- tocracy, and, moreover, solicitous not to over-heat himself, Baron H. might be seen walking slowly on, with one hand behind him, and the other resting on the gold knob of his walking-stick. Rapid, and pressing forward, like Industry itself, and as yet unburthened with superfluous corpu- lency, Mr. Frederics hastened onward to the same goal as Baron H., but by another route, and arrived before him at the dwelling of the beloved of both. The Countess received him in her ordinary re- ception-room, in which she was seated, glancing through some new books. At the window, in the same apartment, sat the quiet Clara, and sewed. To her, after the first exchange of salutations, Mr. Frederics bent his steps, and quite suddenly set forth his wish to make her his wife. In a fal- tering voice, but with equal decision and respect, Clara declined this offer ; and the young man was preparing to withdraw, cast down in spirits, when the Countess arose, besought him not to be pre- cipitate, expressed herself certain that Clara would further consider the matter, and begged to have the pleasure of his company at dinner next day. After a little indecision, and an ineffectual attempt to read Clara's abased eyes, Mr. Fi'ederics ac- cepted the invitation, and withdrew. The Countess cast a menacing look at Clara, and returned to her books. Now came Baron H.; and a scene similar to the one but now gone through was repeated, except that Clara put a little more tenderness into the unfavourable answer she gave to the Baron, and that the latter seemed in nowise dejected. On the contrary, when the Countess begged him to have patience with a young person who knew not her own mind, and who would assuredly soon come to reason, he answered, that he would indu- bitably have all possible patience, and would not take Clara at her word till that word were " Yes." The Countess invited him to dine with her a day later than Mr. Frederics; her object in these invi- tations was in the interim to force Clara to decide upon accepting one of the two suitors. To the great relief of Clara, the Countess was absent the greater part of the day. In the evening, she returned from dinner at the Palace. Miss Greta came, too, almost at the same time, to spend the remainder of the evening with her ; and a message was sent to Clara to appear forthwith in the Countess's sleeping-room. At this intelligence, Clara felt uncommonly dejected, and her knees trembled while she made her way through the apartments which led to that of the Countess. During the long interviews which she had hitherto had with the Countess, and in which she generally played a silent part, Clara had fallen into a habit of moving up and down a small gold ring, which she wore on her right finger. Miss Greta had fre- quently regarded this monotonous manoeuvre with silent vexation, and was now curious to know whe- ther she were to see a repetition of it during the forthcoming examination. She seated herself at her ease in an arm-chair, while, with a volume of the Memoirs of the Duchess d'Abrantes (whom Miss Greta bluntly called " Abrantes," merely) in her hand, she held herself in readiness to employ her whole attention on Clara ; to observe every word and movement of this " wooden image." Seeing that Miss Greta thought Clara so vastly disagree- able and almost intolerable, and had internally styled her " an irksome creature, with some mys- tery of iniquity," it is difficult to conceive what great interest the meditated inquiry could have for her. She did not account for it to herself ; but cer- tain it is that she felt a high degree of interest in it, and awaited Clara's entrance with impatience. The Countess sat at her dressing-table, still in the court-dress she had worn at the royal table. We cannot forbear noting down the remarks which Miss Greta, while occupied with the mysteries of the binding of the " Abrantes," made in petto on her cousin Natalia. " Well ! Here we have Natalia preparing to impose; the right foot put forward .... the left 20 NINA. elbow planted on the table .... everything with a view to attitude ! She puts on her pearls again ; turns her face half over against the door .... thinking to appear like Semiramis ; — and all this, in order that poor Clara, like Esther when she came into the presence of Ahasuerus, may be daz- zled and confounded, and swoon away. Natalia means to crush her ! It will be amusing to see how far she succeeds in her purpose." In truth, the deportment and appearance of the Countess were highly imposing ; but perhaps at this moment Clara was less affected by them than by the piercing glance which Miss Greta fixed upon her. She did not, however, swoon; and what her feelings really were could in nowise be ascertained from her appearance and manner. She was somewhat pale, but her deportment was calm ; the neckerchief of French lawn with the broad hem did not sit well on her neck, lying in its usual acute folds. " The everlasting ruff" was starched and white as usual. Miss Greta sighed. The Countess coolly commanded Clara to be seated, and then began one of her usual harangues. She reminded her of the two honourable off'ers which had been made her ; laid out the advan- tages which would spring from them respectively; stated the manner in which she viewed Clara's position ; spoke of the duties which she (the Coun- tess) believed she was bound to discharge towards her ; esteemed herself happy in being able to con- tribute to an honourable provision for her ; and finally imposed it as a duty on her to accept one of the off'ers which had been made. She spoke well, and with uncommon seriousness and emphasis. But to this eloquent and rather diff"use address, Clara had none but the old answer. She expressed her obligation to those gentlemen for their proposals, but could not evince her gratitude in any other way. She would not marry; she wished to remain single. Miss Greta drew forth her eye-glass, to examine Clara more closely while making this declaration. The idea of steadily refusing two advantageous off'ers was, to her at all events, most strange on the part of a poor maiden. The Countess on the other hand coloured with mortification and coldly inquired : " May we ask what Clara's plans for the future are ?" " I cannot at present say," Clara answered with a sigh, *' but I hope I shall soon be able to supply the information." ** Miss Clara acts very independently ! — and seems to count me, my counsel and my approbations, as nothing. Clara, I must remind you that your fa^ ther placed you in my hands, under my protection." " I have not forgotten it ! " said Clara in a voice which sounded tremulous. *' I must add," the Countess pursued, '* that I be- lieve I have claims upon you in consequence " ** I acknowledge them," said Clara. *' I am grateful to you for the many acts of kindness you have shown me. I will be attentive and obedient — but ah ! pray do not talk of marrying !" " She is of a truth interesting !" thought Miss Greta, and Abrantes dropped out of her hand. ♦' Clara ! " said the Countess, " your behaviour is too strange to remain without comment, without blame. You are poor, and without the slightest prospect for the future !' " God provides for the birds of the air ; — He will not be unmindful of me !" Miss Greta took up her pocket-handkerchief, and did not observe that Abrantes slipped down on the ground. " That is all very good," said the Countess ironically, " but the pious expectation of being clothed and fed without exertion on our own parts generally renders us a burthen to our kindred and friends. Do not, however, let this thought trouble you, Clara — I shall never see with displeasure the daughter of an old friend under my roof. Nor would I now urge with so much zeal a marriage which is repugnant to your wishes, did I not fear that some plans — perhaps little consistent with decorum — lie concealed behind your unreasonable refusal. Clara I I must tell it you in plain terms — you have been watched and your conduct gives occasion to suspicions of a grave complexion." Miss Greta thought Clara would say, " It may be so." But she did not speak thus. She was now red, now pale ; she rose from her seat, sat down again, and at last remained standing. The Countess continued with great coolness and severity, '• You have received many things of value since you have been in my house. These have vanished ; whither, nobody knows. You frequently go out at dusk of evening — Clara ! I desire, I demand an explanation of this I" Clara stood there mute and pale. " Your father," the Countess pursued, *' con- fided you to myprotection and superintending care; — in his name I demand of you an explanation !*' *' I cannot give it now !" Clara answered in a low voice, but with somewhat more composure. " Not now ?" said the Countess sharply. *' When, then !" " I do not know !" rejoined Clara sorrowfully, and as if she knew not what she was really saying, ** I believe 1 do not know " " You must know and shall answer, when ?" Clara cast an expressive glance towards Heaven as if she would say : — " There !" •• Those are subterfuges which I cannot listen to !" said the Countess harshly. " It is incumbent on me, then, to declare that the duties I have to observe alike towards myself and your late father compel me to abridge that liberty which you have abused. From this day henceforward you will remain in your chamber, till one of these honour- able off'ers be accepted ; or else till you furnish a full and satisfactory explanation of your im- proper behaviour." Miss Greta took her glass again to contemplate Clara. Clara stood there moveless, her arms lying one on the other — not crossed — and uncommonly pale. Tears glistened in her eyes, but yet the ex- pression of her countenance was pei-fectly calm, perfectly innocent — the word " holy" again rever- ted to Miss Greta's mind. She felt that she must interpose here, and she turned to the Countess, saying with earnestness and not without warmth : " My dear Natalia ! that is neither kind nor just. We have no proofs that Clara's promenades con- travene any commandment, and as long as we do not know this positively, we have no right to con- fine her. To accuse any one who may be innocent, and to determine to punish any one without proof of his misdemeanour, is what I cannot endure, and which must not take place 1" NINA. 21 Miss Greta's dictatorial tone in an affair which did not properly concern her, might be matter of wonder to many. But Miss Greta had long been accustomed to see the declaration of her will as un- conditionally submitted to in her own family as a law of Solon or Moses in the olden time ; and this she considered quite agreeable to the due course of things. In the same decisive tone Miss Greta pursued : « If, moreover, Clara has given away ornaments which were presented to her, or dispossessed her- self of them in another way ; in that case also I do not conceive her to have done anything un- lawful, or meriting expatriation. What I believe can be with right demanded of Clara is, that she should relinquish her promenades, at least till she can give a satisfactory account of them. Clara, do you agree to this V After a moment's reflection Clara answered : «' Yes !" " Well then !" continued Miss Greta, *' I now think that Clara may be exempted from confine- ment. We have, besides, I should fancy, lately had enough of cholera and quarantine arrange- ments to make us feel weary of everything of the kind. As to the two proposals, — I cannot deny that, in my judgment, Clara acts like one of the foolish vix^gins. But yet, in Heaven's name, we are not to be made to marry by force ; and we are indeed at liberty to abide single, — I mean to say that St. Paul tells us so. The best and surest course will be for Clara not to be precipitate in the matter, but to take a fitting time for consideration. Excellent Natalia ! grant Clara a term of three months to consider about it. The good gentleman can assuredly wait a little for a good wife. Baron H., it seems to me, could serve as long for Clara as Jacob did for Rachel. To conclude the busi- ness ; we make these the articles of the treaty of peace : Clara will abstain from her promenades, and shall on the other hand be exempt for three months from molestation on the score of matri- mony ! Will both parties subscribe ?" Clara looked at her protectress with a look of at which Miss Greta's heart grew quite warm with emotion of a kind she had never before experienced. With a mixture of displeasure and concession the Countess said : " You are too kind towards Clara; she does not deserve it. However, at your request, I will consent to this term for consideration. I am only doubtful whether the gentlemen will consider it worth their while to wait so long." " I undertake to persuade them to that," said Miss Greta. At this moment it was announced that visitors were assembled in the saloon. The Countess arose majestically without looking at Clara. Miss Greta went up to her ; took her hand and said seriously and with kindness : — " Excellent Clara ! between ourselves, you have acted with equal folly and imprudence. Have you— as I conjecture— a third suitor concealed behind these promenades : I advise you to bring him forward as soon as possible, and to let the other gentlemen retire. Fair play, Clara, with a little sound sense, ensure a good conscience before God and man !" On pronouncing these words, she pressed Clara's hand with stress, and left her. Clara covered her eyes with her hands : " Mo- ther, mother ! What dost thou cost me !" sighed Clara, with internal anguish. From this day Clara acquired much greater interest with Miss Greta. The reasons for this were threefold. Miss Greta thought Clara quite peculiar ; — she wished to get at the bottom of her secrets ; — Clara was become her protegee. She now endeavoured in earnest to get better ac- quainted with Clara, with a view to adapt her assistance to her wants. Her advances to her were cheerful as well as cordial ; but, alas ! the interesting Clara had disappeared with the me- morable evening ! The silent, stupid Clara now sat there again and sewed, or busied herself with house- hold accounts, or with articles for the Countess's toilette ; — and ever with such attention and tacitur- nity as might have di'iven one to distraction. True, there was a something in the expression of Clara's features which attested her sense of obligation to Miss Greta, but her remarks and her answers were as laconic as before : Miss Greta was now seri- ously hurt, both in her feelings and pride — for we must now confess that she was a little proud. — That so inconsiderable a person as Clara should so little understand how to value the friendship of a lady of Miss Greta's character and intellect — a friendship so seldom offered — this was not easy to be borne. But besides, had she not spoken to the Countess and the three unruly brothers, and pre- vailed upon them to observe a three months' peace ? Had she not persuaded the suitors to a three months' patience ? Had she not rescued Clara from persecution and confinement? It really pained her to see that she was of so little account to her for whom she had done so much. Miss Greta now withdrew from Clara in pride, and resolved to trouble herself no more about her. But, O painful to reflect ! now less than ever could she forbear thinking of Clara ; wondering at, nay, envying her ! For it could no longer escape Miss Greta's observation, that, in spite of her stillness and taciturnity, there was within her a full and genial spirit. Her glance especially attested this. Miss Greta was surprised that such fulness of life could subsist under so monotonous an exterior, — in so monotonous a life ; while she herself with everything the world and fortune could bestow, with good gifts, and living in the great and active world, often — especially of late years — experienced a vacuity of mind, and knew not by what means to beguile it. And what then could it be in poor Clara, which made her thus sufficient to herself ; which made her appear to suffer so little from the constant orders and coun- tex'-orders of the Countess, which allowed her so calmly to forego the usual pleasures of youth, and make her apparently view her Sabbath attendance at church as a weekly festivity 1 What was it which made her so gentle to others while she herself lived a life of privation ? Doubts and questions of every kind recurred to Miss Greta and spoke in this man- ner to her mental ear : " What is it that gives pleasure in life ?" " What must our pursuits really be that we may enjoy serenity of mind ?" " Na- talia is possessed of beauty, accomplishments, riches in abundance, and admirers without num- ber. This poor and neglected girl has some- thing more than all this. I myself have as much as I can wish of the good things of this world, 22 NINA. and in addition to this — health, good spirits, my fair proportions, understanding, and all my senses ; ability to joke and to laugh ; — and yet I fancy I can see it in the poor taciturn young creature, that she would not change with me. This I can forgive ; for with all the good things I have in the world, I do not find it so exceed- ingly agreeable. Perhaps, Clara believes, too, that my life has not the fulness of her own ! But she who is so rich with nothing — what has she, what is she, then?" Clai-a was Miss Greta's tormentor. It is time, however, that we should not entirely forget ourselves with Miss Greta ; but inquire a little more attentively after, THE PRESIDENT'S HOME. " How d'ye do ? " " How d'ye do ? " ThB AcQDAINTAJfCB. And in fact it is time we should visit the happy newly-married man, and ask him : " How d'ye do?" ♦•Excellently!" his Excellency would have answered ; but Truth in the back-ground would have whispered : *' Not exactly so ! " Things stood thus : — The President was in love with his wife, but found himself disturbed in his habits, his comforts, his mode of life, to a degree which affected his health as well as his temper. His beautiful Countess was a charming hostess, a most courteous lady of the house ; but an atten- tive and provident wife she was not. On her peo- ple were to bestow their attention ; she was to be waited on, cared for, honoured, amused, served, and followed. The President got quite out of breath ; but then he was in love, he was a man of breeding. She called him : " My dear creature, my angel ! ** stroked his cheek with her white hand — and he was enraptured, if he were not happy. Ah, Cupid, Cupid ! But this fondness and the displeasure which lay beneath it, with the consciousness that he had acted imprudently, made him internally ill at ease ; and awoke in him a sort of fear of Edla. He was confused in the presence of his noble- minded daughter ; on account of these feelings he shunned her glance and avoided her company — and this the more carefully as he felt that he pained her by a coldness and a reserve which no one deserved less than she. Edla perceived that he was studious to avoid her, and, despite the pain she felt at the circumstance, respected her father's motive. Neither did she seek his society; for she, too, was not happy through the change which had taken place in the house — and could not speak a cheerful word to her father upon it. The Countess's chief occupation was Nina. As a connoisseur of exquisite taste she could perfectly appreciate Nina's consummate and ravishing beauty. Her mind was completely occupied with it, and the sight of Nina was as necessary to her as that of his ideal to the artist. She employed all her address, all that was really fascinating in her character and mental endowments to win and bind Nina to herself. She gave her instruction on the harp, in sing- ing, and Italian, caressed and flattered her. The beautiful Nina was almost idolised by her, while ungifted Clara received from her only cold looks and commands. But not satisfied with bestowing all her own attention on Nina, she was desirous to direct that of everybody else to her beloved object. That wish was easily accomplished. Whom do not beauty and grace delight ? Who can contemplate a beautiful countenance without an involuntary thought of God ? — A circle of admirers gathered around Nina, but their feeling towards her was that of reverence. There was something more than earthly in Nina, which rather commanded adoration than excited love. The artists soon collected around her with pencil and chisel, partly instigated by the Countess, urged partly by their own love of the beautiful. Siider- mark wished to paint her portrait in oil ; Professor Way in miniature ; Mam'selle Rohl to draw her in black crayon ; Fogelberg desired to execute a bust of her in marble and model her hand ; nor was there any lack of modellers in wax and profilists ; each in his art desirous to give a copy of the incom- parably beautiful head and handsome features. It was not without pleasure that Nina saw her- self the object of all this tenderness and homage ; but her character did not come forth fi'ora the cloud which enveloped it as with a magic twilight. She continued thus tranquil and elevated, floating on in her earthly career, more like an ideal exist- ence — a vision from a better world — than an indi- vidual of our own mortal race. This period of Nhia's life resembled the beautiful picture of the Triumph of Galatea. In her chariot, borne by the waves and drawn by dolphins, lies the young goddess, undisturbed by care of any kind. Naiads and Tritons, with Mirth and Sport, dance around her on the foam- ci'ested billows. The Loves strew her path with flowers, and the very Winds seem emulous only to pay their tribute of blandishment and homage. She allows them to dance, to scatter flowers ; al- lows the Winds to sport with her tresses, while she looks unheedingly before her and dreams and smiles. But this lovely i*epose, this as it were native goddess-like manner of receiving the unso- licited homage and caresses of others, while look- ing down, as from a cloud, mildly and with serene indiff'erence on the troubled watera of life ; — this was in Nina a peculiar and fascinating character- istic. Still more charming she perhaps appeai'ed, when a quiet sadness seemed to rap her into un- consciousness of the splendid accompaniments which surrounded her, and lead her into dusky regions whither the thoughts of others did not follow. Then a fleeting paleness would spread over her countenance, as if Death, passing rapidly by, had fanned her with his wings. Yet during this period of her life, more than at any other, a delicate rose would frequently give animation to her cheeks, and amid the stirring and ever-vary- ing scenes in which she now moved, her health appeared to gain in vigour. Count Lewis was often at her side, but less in the capacity of lover than one keeping quiet watch over his pi'operty. Miss Greta was wearj' of this exhibiting of Nina; of her portraits and her instruction on the harp. At times she jested on the subject with her usual point and humour ; at times, too, she vented her displeasure as well at this as at Clara's monosyl- NINA. 23 labic brevity, and lightened her heart by conver- sing with Baron H., who was now the only person with whom she thought it possible to exchange a sensible word. Filius was in greater favour through this. Edla did not behold the vain triumph of her favourite without solicitude. It had been her wish to introduce the flower which she had cherished and reared in tranquillity and retirement, with the greatest caution, and by degrees only, to the more active scenes of life and the world — and now she saw her suddenly exposed to the beam of the noonday sun. At first she remonstrated against this ; but the President, who offered but feeble resistance to his lady's will, desired emphatically that Nina should be with and accompany the Countess whenever it was her pleasure. This was ever her wish. Unless Edla was willing to lose sight of the child of her cares entirely, her only alternative was to follow her, and make one of the company to which her sister was introduced. This, however, was alike irksome to the Countess and unpropitious to Edla. She abandoned her beloved, quiet life for a society in which she was out of her sphere, and might easily be regarded in the light of a gloomy Argus watching over Nina. The Countess soon made Edla feel that her presence was superfluous ; and did her utmost, by a number of petty humiliations and annoyances, to drive her away from her brilliant saloon. Edla was possessed of too much elevation and simplicity of character to be pained by these wasp-stings ; but she saw that her presence was of no advan- tage to Nina, and that at times — so she fancied — her sister overlooked her. This grieved Edla. — In other respects, too, her life was disturbed by her stepmother's conduct. By imperceptible and dextei'ous manoeuvres she was gradually stripped of all power and authority in the house. The old, faithful domestics were either dismissed or put out of service. Fresh servants came, who in all things obeyed the direction of the Countess only, and she beheld herself sinking faster every day to a mere nullity in her paternal home, as well as in society. She saw the time approaching when she needs must stand there like a shadow. To anticipate this, then, she withdrew in silence to her solitary room, and subsequently appeared in company only at table, but was then always calm and friendly in her demeanour. Fair reader, thou who canst easily understand how painful must have been the feelings of one on whom such an expulsion was practised in the domestic circle — how easily such treatment might embitter heart and mind — O say ! must not the doctrine have been sound and noble which enabled Edla to bear all this with such equanimity and gentleness ? In her solitude she found a freer social circle, and scenes of greater beauty, than she abandoned ; and would have been happy there, but that she missed her beloved pupil and her daily society. She, however, took especial care not to di'op any intimation of this, seeing as she did that the dissipated life which Nina led rather invigorated than enfeebled her health, and was to all appearances agreeable to her. Edla questioned her sister on the latter article, and, with her accustomed veracity, Nina owned that it was so. " It is so pleasant," she added, « to be welcomed and beloved." Edla concealed these words in her heart — they pained her there. " Do I not love her," she thought, " because I do not indulge, caress, and pet her? I who would lay down my life for her?'" She believed herself to be misunderstood by Nina, and became more silent and reserved. Nina considered Edla very cold. Between the sisters a cloud seemed to interpose. Each of them felt a hidden tear in their soul on this account. Wherefore could not these tears trickle from their source and betray what the tongue refused to utter % The reason is due to that which at times — at least, for a while — can estrange the best friends from one another — which is like a spell invoked by evil spirits. People see each other, but they cannot come together ; an insurmount- able, invisible obstacle stands between them ; they feel this to be the case — they suffer and avoid each other ; — frequently the one doubts whether the other is actually the same person as before. Then, in many instances, an insignificant cause only, a little word, is required to effect a breach which no kindness, no retractation, can completely heal again. So long do wounds bleed when dis- trust inflicts them ! And yet — allow me a digression here, dear reader, for my heart is so full of this matter that I must give it vent ! I desire, then, to protest against that which I have but just dimly inti- mated. No ; I believe it not ! The best friends separate not — their friendship is one and indis- soluble. There are people whose words fall like a blight on the earth, making all that is beautiful and blooming to wither. They are something like these : — " All is vanity under the sun. This sounds high, and looks very fine ; but we ought to place no reliance in men. That which is so hot in the beginning, cools down the more speedily. Exaltation of mind must be sobered down, or else it leads to downright madness. The level of every-day life is the best and safest, &c. &c." And then follow stories and anecdotes taken from real life which are to establish all this ; which con- demn enthusiasm as folly ; love and friendship as a transitory inebriation of the affections or as selfish associations ; make man a nuUity and turn life into dish-water. And of a verity it may be so ; life has certainly its flat, sterile, and poverty- stricken side. True it is that the moth consumes many a purple mantle which figures on life's scene ; true that in the great drama there repre- sented, many a flame goes up in smoke ; that the seeming jewel upon closer examination proves only a piece of polished glass, and that much apparently endowed with vivacity is inwardly- dead. What then ? Because a pool dries up, are there no gushing fountains 1 Because a high and eccentric light or a street-lamp may go out, is there then no eternal sun — are there no heavenly, holy stars ? God be inly praised ! there are such ! they illumine and warm us through all eternity ! And if these unfading lights which are shed abroad in the spirit and the heart — which ai'e the life of life — did not exist, what would then reward the trouble of living ? It is a bitter experience — who can express its full bitterness ? — when the friend we deemed eter- nally ours seems to grow cold and become lost to us. But believe it not, loving, faithful soul, be- lieve it not. Do but abide steadfast to thyself, and the day will come when thou shalt receive 24 NINA. back^thy/riend ; when his pulse of life will beat quicker at the sound of thy voice and the grasp of thy hand ; nay, should the separation extend beyond — " And though I never press thy ardent hand. Till love unite us in the better land." Yet there — beyond the clouds and elevated above all that is dimly bright, friend will again recognise friend by a higher light, and weep teal's of joy at the reunion. But I shall weary thee to death, friendly reader, with all my interminable digressions. Pardon me and follow me home again, though on the rather circuitous path of a flowery simile which I cannot possibly pass by. Evening is a precious time for friends who live together. Married people know this well ; so, too, brothers and sisters. Quite contrary to the flowers of nature, which shut their chalices at the close of day, the sweetest flower of friendship — confidence — prefers to open itself at evening, and pours forth its fragrance beneath the protection of twilight and tranquillity. Then it is we adjust the concerns of the day, then we conclude peace with our heart ; having first both laid it open to our friend and perused his ; then with smiles and prayers we attain to peace with earth and with heaven, before the night comes. We sleep so well after this ! Thus it was formerly with Edlaand Nina. Now it was otherwise. How gladly would Edla have looked into Nina's soul on the close of those days when she was separated from her ! But Nina always came so late from company, and Edla was afraid to subtract any time from the term of sleep, which was at all times so requisite for Nina's delicate constitution, and now more than ever from the fatiguing life she led. Nina slept till the morning was far advanced, and was scarcely dressed before the Countess appeared to take her down with her. Nina was too weak to oppose this despotism, especially as it was approved by the President, and seemed to have Edla's tacit acquiescence. Nay, she thought it was agreeable to Edla to be left to follow undisturbed her beloved pursuits. One day Edla w^as tormented with a violent attack of hemicrania. As was usual with her, she suffered without complaining, and lay still upon her sofa. Every one who has experienced this distemper, knows how painfully anything hateful or displeasing operates on the mind of the patient during its paroxysms ; while, on the other hand, the sight of any beautiful and beloved object is equally beneficial in its effects. Nina sat beside Edla, and read to her in a low voice, while the latter fixed her eyes upon her sister's fair coun- tenance, cheered and gladdened by her presence. The Countess entered to call Nina down staii*s. Some friends were there ; and there was a general wish to represent some scenes from Frithiofs "Saga ;" but Nina was absent, and nothing could be done without Nina — Nina, the beautiful young IngeborgI But Nina was happy with Edla, who gazed so affectionately upon her, and happy in the thought that she alleviated her suffering. She cast an imploring glance at Edla, and whispered, in a tone which solicited a yes : " Edla, do you need me ?" Both look and tone were misunderstood by Edla ; a breath of bitterness passed athwart her mind, and she answered, not without harshness : " No ! go ! 1 need you not !" Nina rose on the instant. Edla's cold words went painfully to her heart. She followed the Countess. At the door she stood still ; she felt a desire to return, and imprint a kiss on the beloved hand which cast her forth. Her heart swelled with tenderness and grief ; but at that moment Edla turned her face from her towards the wall, and the Countess begged her not to tarry. Nina pressed her hand on her oppressed bosom, and went forward. Edla had turned away from Nina — wherefore ? To conceal two large tears which, against her will, rolled down her cheeks. How many fathers, how many mothers, have shed such tears ! and with greater cause for weeping than had Edla. These are bitter tears. But Edla never experienced pain without nerving herself to bear it ; she shed no tear which did not bring some vigorous reso- lution to maturity. So now. Thoughts which had for some time past floated loosely before her soul, now struck firm root ; and while her head throbbed, and her pulse beat unsteadily, with staid resolution she projected a plan for her future life. An essential condition of peace in life is, the ability to form a clear judgment of ourselves, those with whom we live, and the relationship in which we stand to one another. Without this capacity, there is everlasting confusion — with it, sei-enity and tranquillity. Nina returned not till about midnight. Light as Zephyr passes over the flowers, she tripped away to Edla's bed. Her eyes continued closed. Nina thought she slept, and bending over her, pressed her lips upon her hand. But the hand moved, the arm laid itself in tender- ness round Nina's neck, and drew her countenance to Edla's cheek. They met. « Good night 1" both whispered in a tone of great feeling. Their hearts were lighter. They had understood each other. Nina slept with an angel's smile on her lips ; a mild, but firm resolve lay on Edla's composed countenance. When the earliest rays of morning shone forth, her pains were past ; only a slight sense of exhaustion still remained ; but the plan she had projected rose vividly and distinctly before her mind. She thus went through it in thought : « My father does not need me ; his wife is now all in all with him. I observe that he avoids me ; that the sight of me pleases him not. Nina is delighted with new friends and pleasures j I can- not, I will not, withhold her from them. Neither will I continue here like a restraint upon her, embitter her enjoyment, or hang like a shadow over her life. Nina shall not learn to regard se- riousness as dulness, or think her friend tedious. Perhaps, too, I am not what I ought to be to her. Perhaps something distrustful and oppressive has stolen into my heart. Perhaps I cannot at this moment be quite just towards my father, his wife, or Nina ; perhaps I now feel somewhat embittered to find myself so forgotten, my presence so super- fluous, when I ought rather to consider it quite a natural consequence of the present state of things. Here, they find enjoyment in the beautiful, the agi-eeable, the exhilarating — in all of which I am wanting. If they are in some measure unjust towards me — should Nina . . . should Nina not be NINA. 25 to me as she might — ought to be— oh ! I will ex- hibit no unfairness, no ill-humour, towards them. I will go from hence — that Nina may not see sorrow in my countenance— but 1 shall return and press her to my bosom. Only for a short time can Nina be torn from me ; she will soon be mine again. She is the child of my heart, and cannot completely separate herself from me. But at the present moment my presence is disturbing to all in the house. I will withdraw. My cousin, Madame S., stands in need of a friend at this present juncture : I will visit her for some months. I will relieve my family from a troublesome, though silent, ad- monisher. I shall gain in cheerfulness and vigour of mind by moving in a new sphere of action. I shall return with better heart, higher spirits ; per- haps, too, with a less biassed judgment — to con- template the scenes which are here enacted. I shall be more acceptable to my friends, and of greater service to Nina. She, meanwhile, will be enabled to look round undisturbed on the life which now dazzles her : she will soon behold it in a clearer light. My letters will perhaps be more beneficial than my presence. 1 am not troubled on her account ; bright intelligence and noble feelings dwell in the depths of her soul : these will shape themselves a path to light. When I return, I shall find serenity in her glance ; she will again recognise her friend — I receive back my child !" While these thoughts were revolving in her soul, Edla was standing at the window, through which she saw the high wind scatter in fragments the fleeting masses of white and gray clouds, and let the bright stars, still emulous of the light of the rising sun, glance forth between. Edla contem- plated with pleasure the flying clouds, the silent, ever-beaming lights. So stand steady spirits in an unquiet world. The clouds of error vanish ; the pure lights shine eternal in the heaven of humanity. Edla loved the stars. From her infancy she had held a peculiar kind of converse with them. In the hours of trouble and of prayer, at those times when her soul felt aspirations after a higher world, she had often seen the clouds split and the bright stars shed their bland light upon her. This never failed to strengthen her greatly. This star- greeting inspired her with no distinct thoughts, but she felt it sweet as the sympathy of a friend, as an invigorating glance from the eye of the Almighty. From the time that Edla no longer possessed a friend on earth, she was accustomed to seek one in the glance of the stars, and they had but rarely withheld their sympathy. Besides, they were so beautiful, so rich in promise ! Their infinitude made the Creator appear so great — all human things so petty ! COURTSHIP, OR AN OLD SONG TO A NEW TUNE. PROFESSOR A. TO EDLA. " You will not share my fortunes, Edla ! You refuse to accept my hand and desire only to possess the half of my heart ! The other half you bestow on a woman who .... such as, in your opinion, I shall still find. But possess yourself of more precise language, Edla, and more conclusive argu- ments, if you purpose to persuade a man to forego a union, which in his inmost heart he regards as the greatest happiness on earth. Edla ! you have allowed your friend to speak the unvarnished language of truth to you ; — yes, Edla, I first loved you for the love you cherished for my love — that of truth ! Through this I have estranged from me most of those who called themselves my friends, and scared away my acquaintance. You alone, Edla, feared not my rough sincerity ; you listened to and understood me. You are still my best, my real friend— the only one to whom I can without fear lay open my heart, and I feel happy at being now able to say without fear,' that in your answer to me you have not said the whole truth — you do not deal with full sincerity by me. You answer me just as an ordinary woman puts ofi" a common- place man. Wretched pretexts ! How can Edla stoop to use them ! ' You are old, you are plain V Very well, Edla, I grant you are an old maid. How old? About forty years. Very good! You are arrived at the best age of a woman, — which we may assert without being a fool like Balzac. Keep me, I beseech you, from your fair ones at seventeen ! * They are lovely flowers !' people say. Granted. But I positively do not know what more I could say to them than to flowers — that is at most — * You are extremely charming !' or perhaps in addition — * Have you danced much this winter f— So much for the person. At forty a woman bears both blossom and fruit. My mother at forty-three made her husband happy, snd their son lived to see their happiness through a period of twenty-five years. One may be content with less than this. "*You are plain.' Yes you are plain, very plain. I hardly know a countenance more re- pulsive at the first glance. There is too * some- thing stiff" and displeasing in your address and manners.' Yes, this is all true ; I admit you are right. Tenderly beloved Edla ! Foolish, childish, unphilosophical woman ! Are you not aware that with all this you may be loved, yes, for the very reason that you are so ! Precisely because you are so plain, Edla, I love you the more. Did you possess even the usual feminine attractions, I should fear a feeling less than the most exalted mingled itself in my love : but your appearance is plain and displeasing, and yet I do love you with warmth ! There is, therefore, a beauty independ- ent of that of the exterior man — a beauty which does not fade ; my love to you leads me to believe in immortality ! And yet because your presence is not handsome you believe not that I can love you ! How womanish, wretched, absurd yoii make me by believing that I can be delighted with nothing but that which is common to inanimate things and brute beasts as well as man ! " * You are tedious ;' — may God pardon you the untruth, as of a certainty all our garrulous, and empty, nonsense-talking ladies will do ! Believe me, Edla, in your quiet presence there is more life than in the conversation of most men. But, seriously — did you really mean what you said ? Did you think I would give credence to it ? No, Edla, you did not ! You are not so weak, so childish ! You have, therefore, misrepresented both yourself and me. I suspect other reasons have prompted your refusal ; but, wherefore not speak out at once 1 You love me not perhaps ; you do not participate in the feeling I cherish for you ? Very good ! — or rather, bad ! But you know my views on this score. Woman needs 26 NINA. not of necessity have love for the man to whom she is united — esteem, confidence she must pos- sess ; — and the duties and joys of the married state, the attractions of home all have neces- sarily a tendency to make her cement a more tender and intimate union with the friend whom she has chosen for life. The experience of every day attests the truth of this. And, Edla ! where- fore should you be unwilling to enter upon a happy and active career on the same conditions as so many women of a like character, indeed still more distinguished than yourself ? Should you contemn the duties of a wife because you know a little more of the world than most of your sex ? Cast your knowledge to the winds — It is not worth my friend H.'s last tragedy !— Listen to me, Edla ! If you possessed decided inventive genius, — were you created to be an artist or author, — I would not employ so many words to prevail upon you to marry. But you are not. You have an ear for life, but no power of reproducing your impressions. Will it satisfy you to exist merely, without bene- fitting your fellow-creatures, without living for the happiness and welfare of another ? Edla, accept my hand,— be my partner, the friend of my friends, the dispenser of joys in my home ! Make a man happy, who in future will live for you only. You question the sincerity of my love ? Would you have me sigh, complain, lie at your feet ? — threaten to destroy myself, roll in the dust and enact one of those drunken scenes with which modern romances inundate our jejune world? This I cannot do, Edla ! neither would you wish it. Believe, then, I love you. Judge of my affection from reasonable evidences ! I am happy only in your vicinity. Everything that I do, think, write, is with a view to obtain your coun- tenance, your approbation ; if wanting in these, it is valueless to me ! But I disdain to enlarge upon this, to give assurances, make protestations For fourteen years you have called me yovir friend and have not called my words in question. Why will you doubt them at this very moment when they flow from my inmost heart to express — < I love you !' This, too, perhaps, is but a subter- fuge, under which another reason is concealed ? Translated into the language of truth, it would perhaps be this : ' I am afraid to unite myself with you ; for you are an Atheist who believes neither in God nor immortality ; you are a lost being.' Edla, can you think thus? Can you construe as a crime that over which no power in me is competent to exercise authority ? True it is that my understanding comprehends not the doctrine which constitutes your happiness and that of so many other people. But point out to me a spot in my life which dishonours me as a man ; and then I will admit your right to dis- trust me for my want of faith. If ever by a word or a smile on my lip I have sneered at that which was sacred to others, then, Edla, shun me as an unworthy one ! If, from my attaining to man- hood, my veracity has ever been impeached by an untruth spoken designedly, then believe me not in the present instance, Edla ; then doubt my love ! I will tell you more. I have often hoped it possible that, before my night comes, I might be able to perceive a higher light and realise a faith which is so beautiful and rich in blessings ; at this pre- sent time 1 yearn after and feel the necessity of such a principle !— -I too am old ; and if fifty years have not failed to cool the warmth of my heart, still they show me by the hoar-frost about my temples that winter is approaching. Edla, dear friend ! will you not make the season less cold to me, and shed a light which shall make the evening of my life serene — teach me like you to cherish hope and faith ? If any human being can accom- plish this, it is you, who are so sensible and gentle. " * Another woman ! ' I beseech you, Edla, spare me this consolation — this hope, and this other woman to boot, who, if I understand you aright, is to be a good sheep. Be mine, Edla I Let me hope that you will still give consent, or give better reasons, with more colour of sincerity, for pronouncing a * Ko * which is fatal to my happiness. Your A." EDLA TO PROFESSOR A. " I assigned no false reasons for my refusal, my friend. I spoke the truth ; but perhaps I ought to have expressed myself with greater pre- cision. My age, excellent A., is to me an impe- diment in the way of entering upon a change in my condition of life, which no one can judge of so well as myself. My plainness of person would be no grave matter, could I surmount that timidity which the consciousness of it occasions me when in the presence of others. But it is not plainness of favour only — that I could well bear — but in my character and in the glance of my eye there is something harsh and repelling, which produces an unpleasant feeling in others, and is, on this account, painful to me. I acquired this expres- sion in my early youth. I derived it from the eye of my mother, when her cold and strange gaze fell upon me. Stern Shade, forgive me ! I hope one day to love thee, and then I shall behold thy eye resting in kindness on thy daughter. Then all my involuntary harshness of character will be dissolved, and will vanish ; then I, too, shall become amiable ! That it will leave me before, I cannot hope ; it is, as it were, fastened on me by some power foreign to myself — but it exerts a disturbing influence. I am not agree- able to others, not agreeable with others. A, ! I feel it, and this pains and embarrasses me. This infirmity I cannot master. "For you, A., I have a tender regard, genuine friendship ; and I am conscious of nothing in the feeling I entertain for your person which would prevent me from giving you my hand, could I believe that thereby I should eff'ect any real good. I have already written to you on this point, and will not weary you with repeating what has been already advanced. A few words only I must still add. " I highly esteem the vocation of woman as consort, mother, and mistress of a family. Why should I not ? I know none more beautiful : but I feel that I possess not the power to acquit my- self satisfactorily in such a capacity. You speak of the uselessness ' of my life. Now, I might reply, ' Contemplate Nina ! ' A short time back, also, I hoped it would be allowed me to say, • Behold the happy old age of my father ! ' But I will not appeal to those things which human power accomplishes through the concurrence of outward circumstances. Rather I will say— call it not arrogance— look into my bosom I NINA. 27 Therein dwell s an e v€r-acti ve desire to achieve some good work which would not be unacceptable to the Great Master above us all. I have often thought that I shall one day find words to express that which I have felt so deeply, and pondered so long. Perhaps I am deceived in this ; perhaps the time will never come to me in this world. Be that as it may, I yet will not fear that my labours and life are in vain. Happy is he who lives for the good of others ; he has not lived in vain whose quiet labours are consecrated to his own individual improvement. Must all virtue, all capacities, needs be moral only, and possessed of no life beyond that which consists in the prac- tice of the common duties towards our fellow- creatures ? The life-long captive who, in his isolation from the world, has built up a temple of God in his heart ; the recluse who, by virtue of knowledge thus acquired, is in a position to en- lighten a whole world — do you really believe, my friend, that they have lived in vain, that they will not find a place in which to perform their worship of the Father, though it may not be in this world ? I am aware that such is not your belief ; but it is mine in my inmost heart. As far as the usefulness of my life is concerned, I am at rest. " You call upon me to cheer the evening of your life ! Ah ! there you have touched a chord whose vibrations have affected my heart painfully. Can I accomplish, can I be what you wish and believe 1 I fear not— no — my friend — I know I cannot. Have we not repeatedly discussed those subjects on which we entertain opposite views ? And what have we gained by it ? I have not benefited you, and you — pardon me, I must say so — you have often pained me exceedingly ! Dear friend, believe me, it has never come into my mind to call you an Atheist. Of the divinity who dwells in you, and in whom you believe, your life gives evidence, and — to use the words of a great winter — ' The God whom you deny avenges himself upon you by putting his seal on your actions.' - " You are, in point of fact, a good Christian, while your understanding, or rather the spirit of contradiction which dwells in your head, refuses to acknowledge it. But this gainsaying spirit, and those ever-recurring doubts, trouble my bosom. Ah ! there are too many clouds, too many enigmas, in life for the mind to preserve itself entirely free from occasional obscuration, and to maintain the convictions it has made its own untarnished by fleeting doubts. You have often caused my light to be dimmed for a time ; how, then, could I make bright your evening? Oh no ! you need a partner of a different cast of mind, and possessed of more amiability than I have. *' Do you not know— have you not seen those graceful, guileless women whose entire being is love ; who find words in their hearts which, with- out any pretension to enlighten, yet operate like a divine illumination of the spirit ? I would call them feminine Apostles of Love ; they repose near to the bosom of their heavenly Master, and are thereby admittea to his most intimate confi- dence. They draw from the fountain-head of love itself ; and hence it is that their wisdom is so deep, their glance so favourable, their words so persuasive. They advance no arguments for the immortality of the soul ; but, through the purity of their heart. Heaven is open to your eye and you see God, who is known to them intui- tively. To your questions, your doubts, a wife of this class would reply : ' Let us be happy ! Let us love each other ! We will not vex ourselves with these inquiries ! All will assuredly one day be clear, will one day be found good ! ' And these words, so jejune when used by the common-place person as a cloak for his sluggishness, become each a revelation when on the lips of the above- mentioned pious and affectionate women. See, A., it is such a wife you must seek ! She alone can cheer your home, and shed a light on your evening ; on her bosom your soul will find rest To arguments you will ever oppose arguments, and to evidences counter-evidences ; but, by the contemplation of such faith, such eloquence of the heart, your passion for disputation will be stilled, thus allowing you to listen to the profounder sug- gestions of your own soul. " You speak of your love to me ! Yes, I certainly hope that I am dear to you ; such hope is valuable, necessary to me ; — but love .... love for me .... No, A., that I cannnot believe. I have made mention of your spirit of contradiction. Pardon me for reverting to this, and confessing it to be my belief that this it is which is the source of your present high tone of feelings. You were ever proud, A., and loved to defy and wrestle with difficulties. You seek me so ardently because I retire before you — willing Edla would cease to be loved so warmly. Do not talk to me of your love, A. I believe not that either you or any other person can cherish such a feeling for me. I am past the age when we believe in fairy tales. Let me continue your friend as before, and respect you, too, in the same capacity. This is best for both. " Now and ever your Friend, Edla." professor a. to edla. " You were perfectly correct, Edla, in saying you repeated what you had already said. The only novelty which struck me was the information respecting a spirit of contradiction which, it should seem, has quartered itself in my brain, and is at great pains to dictate to me botli words and actions. The inference from which is mani- festly this, — that I know not what I say, and mean not what I assert. Thanks for this piece of intelligence. Since, however, it lies really at my heart to convince you of the contrary, and since I find in your last letter arguments no more con- clusive than those I have already rejected, pardon me, Edla, for paying but little attention to them, and in no wise relinquishing the hope still to call you my partner. To the Lady Apostle of Love I beg to be kindly remembered. She will never be my wife ! Edla or none ! " The Spirit of Contradiction." Edla was at once flattered and vexed by her friend's obstinacy ; but it made her cling the faster to her thought of journeying to a distant part. She knew an amiable lady who had long cherished a silent affection for Professor A. Edla considered her born to make A. happy, and entertained a hope that he would one day acknow- ledge a similar view. From her future home 28 NINA. Edla proposed writing to her friend respecting Charlotte D. She arranged evei-y thing for her journey, which she wished to enter upon at the beginning of the New-year. She spoke to her father on the subject. Of course Madame S. and the sad state of her affairs were made the ostensible cause to which the journey was due. The President listened to her in silence, and then said with a faltei*ing voice that he " thought she did right," and she " was at liberty to act as she deemed fit ;" on this he hastily withdrew, leaving Edla alone with a troubled heart. Pass we now, if not to the siege of Bender, yet to another — — KALABALIK.* "Lo I ye with axe and sword, In storm and chase grown old,— Ere sinks the world. Fierce round the Tree of Life Rage glowing fires The lofty flames aspiring. Sport e'en with heaven."— Vala's Song. Miss Greta, meanwhile, grew more and more annoyed at Clara's demeanour ; she thought her every day more interesting and more intolei-able. She was to her a stumbling-block and a rock of offence. All of a sudden she felt a desire to give her pleasux'e of some sort. One morning she went out with the Countess, and turned over everything in the shops of Medberg, Folker, and Giron. The Countess returned home with a very large parcel of stuffs, shawls, and other articles of fashion ; Miss Greta, with two exceedingly handsome necklaces, one of which Clara was to choose. Her heart rejoiced at the prospect of conciliating Clara by this present, so favourably was she at this moment disposed towards her,* and completely unmindful of all her IndiflFereuce and brevity of speech. On her return, the Countess occupied Clara for three hours with the purchases she had made. This was for Nina, that for Miss Greta, this for the Countess herself ; but not so much as a skein of silk thread was intended for Clara, that she might be made fully conscious of having fallen into disfavour. Clara, however, appeared not to notice this punishment ; and when she had expressed her undisguised opinion of the quality and colour, verified the measure, cut out different things, &c., she sat down faint and dejected before the fire, by the reflection of which she commenced work- ing one of those ever-recurring pieces of embroi- dery which were Miss Greta's torment. At the same moment Miss Greta entered the room. She took a chair, seated herself in kindness beside Clara, and showed her the two necklaces, asking whether she did not think them beautiful. A faint glance from Clara, and an indifferent **Yes," were the only answer Miss Greta ob- tained. " And which of them now appears the more beautiful to youl" Miss Greta farther asked with- out allowing herself to be disturbed this once. * Kalabalik (KarlabaUk) properly refers to Charles XII.'s last fray while under the protection of the Sultan Achmet III. at Bender, when his house was beleaguered and burnt down; and, by extension, it is applied to conflagrations, &c. "I hardly know," rejoined Clara in a tone of voice which betokened a heavy heart. •' I understand such things so little." « Such things ! " repeated Miss Greta to her- self, annoyed at Clara's words and deportment. She pursued, however, in spite of this : " Is not the one of coral more beautiful, and would it not better become a person of dark complexion than the Amethyst ?" " Perhaps !...." answered Clara with the greatest absence, while she busied herself with picking up some threads of her work. This was too much ! Miss Greta's mind was in a confla- gration at such rudeness ! "This is a very handsome piece of work," said she, taking hold of Clara's precious labour ; " but since it withholds you from what is still hand- somer and more to be preferred , that is, a little polite- ness, and allows you no time to answer questions, I must herewith rid you of this impediment." And before the astonished Clara could divine her intention, the beautiful piece of work lay on the fire. Clara's first impulse was to spring forward and snatch it off ; but the flames rose high, closed over, and consumed it in a few minutes. Clara stood gazing on it in silence ; Miss Greta observed her attentively. When the beautiful article was utterly reduced to ashes, a great tear rolled down Clara's cheek, and she left the room without uttering a word, without casting a look at Miss Greta. What this lady's state of mind was it is not easy to describe. She looked after Clara, she looked on the flaunting tinder, and felt a strong inclination to let the necklaces follow the piece of work. But she restrained herself, and embraced a better resolution. At the dinner.table Clara's eyes were red and downcast, but there was a quiet expression of patience on her countenance, which went home to Miss Greta's heart, and when Clara once raised her eyes, and their glances met, the former was involuntarily compelled to abase hers. In the afternoon Clara had gone into a room near the saloon, where she stood bending over some engravings which lay on a table before her, when a hand was laid gently upon her shoulder, while another, in which were the two infelicitous necklaces, was held before her eyes, — and Miss Greta was heard to say in a tone of great tender- ness and sincerity : — *' Clara, forgive me ! pardon my hastiness ; look once more at these necklaces, and try if * such things' can please you. It was my former inten- tion to beg you to accept one of them ; now I request you to take both as a token of your pardoning me, and by way of compensation for the burnt Tulle collar,— and I heartily desire that the fate of that may prevent your beginning another. My good Clara, accept these. Favour me with your forgiveness." Clara blushed deeply ; she looked up at her with 80 sweet a glance, that Miss Greta's heart was again moved with an agreeable complacency similar to that which she had once before expe- rienced. She was preparing without further ado to place one of the ornaments on Clara's neck, but the latter arrested her arm, and said : " No, no ! It is too much too much . . . . ^ I need not — " NINA. 29 . " Such things," added Miss Greta. " Very good ! but if you will not take them to wear, why, accept them out of pity, that my conscience may no longer be scorched by that conflagration." "That must not be!" said Clara. « All is forgotten. I now feel your kindness only." " Take them, then ! " said Miss Greta in the modus imperativus. Clara looked up at the ornaments. After a short silence she said : "Do you allow me to do as I please with these ornaments % " " By all means, yes ! But I should prefer to see them adorn your neck, Clara !" •'But if I receive them, I acquire the right of disposing of them as I think fit ?" " Yes, undoubtedly ! That is a matter of course. Take them only out of my hand !" Clara took one of the necklaces ; more could Miss Greta, neither by entreaty nor persuasion, prevail upon her to accept. And as she took it from Miss Greta, she bent forward and kissed her hand with a liveliness and warmth of emotion, that moved Miss Greta very much. She then embraced Clara, thinking within herself : " A most strange fellow must be this lover, who devours so many Tulle collars and caps, and now absorbs a costly necklace. I have a great fancy to get a sight of him some day." Miss Greta had seen much of the world ; she had often tracked out the little Momus that delights in ensnaring the soul, practising his tricks with a man's better self, causing him to utter untruths, perpetrate follies, do mean and even fine things, — all to indulge some little pride, vanity, or some other of the less noble qualities of our nature. Miss Greta had seen the rogue so often, that she had accustomed herself to regard him as a permanent indweller in human nature, and she ascribed to him petty rather than high matters as the mainspring of his conduct. But notwithstanding the mysterious behaviour of Clara, which seemed to testify against her, Miss Greta was soon obliged to relin- quish the suspicion that anything dishonourable lurked behind it ; it seemed to her almost morally impossible that the aforesaid rogue could practise his games in Clara's soul, and she was inter- nally convinced that the Tulle-devouring lover would ultimately show himself to be a right honourable fellow. The day following the scene here described, another one of a more tragic complexion was enacted ; we will now make our readers acquainted with it. THE PAINTING IN OIL. "Maurice, fair thy picture make. Drink, and thy work's guerdon take." Bellman. FiLTus had acquired certain genial but indistinct notions about painting in fresco, of whose origin and shape in his brain it is not our business to render account ; we relate their results merely. They first occasioned great surprise in Clara, who, when preparing to make some lobster-sauce, found the newly-filled oil-flasks entirely empty. If the walls and steps of the basement story had been endowed with the capacity of feeling and discourse, the first would have been justly aggrieved at the slight put upon them, while the latter might have expressed astonishment that they, instead of the walls, had been made the ground of a fresco paint- ing, which Filius executed one evening with yellow ochre and salad-oiU The greatest, worst surprise, however, fate had reserved for Miss Greta, who, in descending the stairs, unheedingly put her foot on a high road of Filius's fabrication, suddenly slipped, fell, and swept over the entire extent of the unlucky landscape. When she recovered her senses, and found herself on less slippery ground, she saw that she was unable to move either of her arms. She then cast a glance at her apparel — her silk dress and costly shawl, and thoughts of the passage of the Red Sea and the fall of Babylon were jumbled together in her mind, while she strove to stifle the complaints which the almost insupportable pangs she suffered were on the point of extorting from her. The domestics who arrived this moment found her sitting there mo- tionless, deathly pale, and silent ; for her tongue refused its office, and Miss Greta's Roman spirit allowed her voice to raise no cry of wailing. With great attention they bore her up the slippery steps. I pass over the family's alarm, the consternation of Baron H., and the serious correction which Filius received for the first time at the hands of his foster-parent, after which, it is thought, he lost his zest for every kind of fresco-painting. The doctors were assembled to perform a painful operation on Miss Greta. Her right arm was broken immediately above the elbow, her left was dislocated, and it was imperative quickly and by force to restore it to its proper place. A Spartan woman could not have displayed greater resolution and quiet endurance than Miss Greta ; but when she saw Clara enter with pallid cheeks, and an ex- pression indicative of alarm and painful anxiety, she forgot her sufferings and all who were about her, in the surprise and the rapture she felt at Clara's possessing so warm a heart. She contem- plated her without fully trusting in her own eyes. For a time she could not utter a woi-d ; at length, however, she said : *' Smell some Eau de Cologne, Clara, and give me a little also ! We both appear to need it." And shortly afterwards she said to the surgeons, " Gentlemen, I am ready." Edla and Clara were the only ladies who were present at the operation ; Miss Greta underwent it without uttering a word of complaint ; but when terminated, she was seized with a violent nervous agitation. During the whole time Edla had preserved her calm presence of mind, and rendered efficient assistance. Clara was too greatly excited to do anything, and at every fresh stage of the operation, she folded her hands and sighed, "My God ! my God !" When all was over, she embraced the patient gently and with tears, and whispered, " Didn't it pain you ? did it not pain you acutely?" Clara's tears were more salutary and soothing to Miss Greta than any drops or perfumed waters. She was surprised and touched by these marks of attachment. She was unable at this moment to speak, but she regarded Clara with a look of great cordiality, and, by nods, intimated her thanks and gratification. As Miss Greta durst not be immediately re- moved to her own house, Clara's room was con- 30 NINA. verted into a sick chamber for her, and Clara herself became her faithful and affectionate nurse. Now for the first time did they become ac- quainted with each other ; and in the still sick- room was laid the foundation of an intercourse which proved most salutary and felicitous to both. Every being is surrounded with an intellectual atmosphere, through which we may discern which is the presiding Spirit of his mind. According to this, it is either oppressive or exhilarating ; salu- tary or detrimental in its effects ; even to animate objects it communicates something of its influence, and they become pleasing or an offence to us ac- cording to the nature of the Spirit which they serve. In fashionable life there are too many screens, and too many draughts— all doors and windows stand open — to allow men to perceive what their respective atmospheres really are ; nay, worlds and even the planets — men — whirl so rapidly round their sun — pleasure — that it is impossible they can distinctly recognise and understand one another. People see and salute each other in passing as Venus ! Mercury ! Mars ! Moon ! Co- met ! Nebulae ! (of which there is a whole legion) Vesta ! Pallas ! &c. ; but there is an end of it. Yet there are certain spots in human society — as, for example, the family circle, the still closet, the sick-room— in which souls do recognise and under- stand each other, — where their respective atmo- I spheres, being allowed free scope, attest the Spirit which dwells within them. If Miss Greta had caught sight of these reflec- tions, she would in all probability have discharged a volley of observations on *' human planets and their atmospheres," which would perhaps have marred my idea entii-ely ; however that may have been, certain it is she experienced its truth. With admiration she felt how salutary was the presence and quiet activity of Clara. In all her move- ments and arrangements she was so tranquil and deliberate ; and they were at the same time so steady and appropriate, that they operated roost beneficially on Miss Greta's nerves. Her manner of arranging the pillows insured real ease to her patient ; she disposed the lights most agreeably ; and she put things in the best position they could occupy. And then — the look of tender sympathy, the unobtrusive and yet ever-active attention to her charge ! Miss Greta's torment, — the very same whom she had deemed so irksome, so dull and inert, — allowed herself no repose, spared no exertion, now that it was in her power to alleviate suffering. She soon became a skilful surgeon to Miss Greta ; she was both her nurse and most agreeable companion. Of a night, when Miss Greta could not sleep, Clara displayed a talent which many think they possess, but which, in point of fact, but very few possess— ability to read well aloud. Miss Greta attached great value to this talent. Clara's clear pronunciation and agree- able modulation made it a pleasure to hsten to her, while the spirited stress she imparted to words thus hai*monious, made a lively impression. Miss Greta, whose whole mind was occupied with observing Clara, soon discovered in her a deep sympathy for suffering of every kind— a love which desired to embrace and do good to every one afflicted or in distress ; and though, in conse- quence, she was necessarily led to infer that Clara's behaviour towards her was probably due less to personal attachment than general love to mankind, yet on this account she felt constrained to esteem her still more highly, and desired ar- dently, though she had not any present claim, to be especially beloved by her. While Miss Greta looked keenly into Clara's soul, new thoughts and feelings arose in her own ; and Clara's horizon began to expand : life to her now possessed a fulness of which she had never before been conscious. Clara's inward purity was reflected in her outward manner. Miss Greta had previously considered her pedantic in the accurate care which she bestowed on her dress and her person. In the sick-chamber she experienced only the agreeableness of it. The most costly perfumes would not Jiave been more agreeable to her than the purity and freshness which Clara's presence seemed to breathe, and was, in fact, her Cytherean gii-dle. They who are happy enough to have a Clara about them, know the power of this highest feminine charm. Clara, on her part, greatly admired the heroic patience of Miss Greta, — her strength of soul, her constant good- humour, and her unwavering kind- ness during the acutest pains. Now first did she learn to give due attention to Miss Greta's words. The rich mine of knowledge, both of men and the world — the benevolent humour of her disposition, which made her words so pleasant and cheerful — opened a new world to Clara. She beheld a side of life which had hitherto been concealed from her view ; she heard satire which was void of all bit- terness ; she perceived a view of the follies of the world which combined equal prudence and kind- ness ; she was astonished, enlightened,amused ; and her capacity of listening, understanding, answering, and laughing, too, surprised and delighted Miss Greta still more than her ability to read well. At times it seemed as if Clara had some dread of these new impressions, and wished to put away from her the involuntary gaiety with which she appeared in- spired. She then became quiet ; then she was seen sewing later than ever at night ; then Miss Greta frequently saw her — when she thought herself unobserved — fold her hands in prayer, and then she appeared to have abstracted her whole soul from earth to repose in res!gnation on the Divine bosom. This made an impression on Miss Greta which she was at a loss to account for. At times a suspicion flashed upon her mind that Clara was a Catholic, and had taken some vow of chastity and labour ; at times, too, the thought of the Tulle- consuming lover would recur ; and she plagued herself with a thousand varieties of explanation and conjecture. But while Clara is sewing, and Miss Greta ab- sorbed in surmises, we will draw aside the veil which conceals this quiet world of prayer and patience. We will behold Clara in the home of her childhood and youth, and cast a glance at a scene which is frequently— but too frequently — enacted on the stage of every-day life. CLARA. " Amormio,nonpia delmondo."— St. Cathabine. Her father was a learned man, but an ungenial one — a book-pedant, a perfect encyclopsedia, whose heart was dried up to an article. Her mother NINA. 31 was a beautiful woman, full of affection and spirit, of gentle blood, was haughty, and, besides all this, was blindly enthusiastic. There are prosaic rigi- dities and poetic impossibilities : unite them, and you have the unhappiest union on earth. Depth and Beauty may be united like root and flower : it is the most beautiful combination in life ; but cold and lifeless formality and undisciplined vivacity have no more affinity than fire and water. The relation which subsisted between Clara's father and mother became of this description. At first he loved her because she was beautiful, and admired his knowledge. She married him in blind enthusiasm for learning and science, and because he did homage to her. She expected to soar to heaven every day ; he, every day to get a good dinner. Both found themselves deceived ; and then he despised her ignorance, she his pedantic forms. " You don't understand it ! You have neither discernment nor intellect ! " were the words with which he saluted her. " You are without taste ! You are intolerable !" were those with which she answered him. Her energetic will wrestled with his demonstrative despotism. Neither yielded, neither would brook the other ; and thus the day was consumed in contentions, and their home became a prey to discomfort and bitterness. He humbled her by the united power of his manhood and pride of learning ; she, who had been bred genteelly— during the whole period of her youth flattered, caressed, and spoiled through indulgence — rose against this oppression with the strength of the snake when trod on. He trampled on her : she pierced him with a venomous sting. Just as loving companions only think how they can make each other happy, they speedily bent their minds to discover by what means they could torment each other most. He was absent and ignorant respect- ing the common affairs of life : she was improvi- dent and unmindful of her home. Five little ones demanded support and care. Poverty was soon a guest at their table : confirmed coolness, want and hunger, were the dry brands with which Discord kept up her hell-fire. How it burned! how itsflames curled up ! In a short time, it might have been said of this home what theSaga saysof Hell's* dwelling : " Misery is its portion, hunger its key, starva- tion its knife, sloth its bond-slave, treachery and ruin its threshold, consumption its couch, pale anguish its drapery." Are there married couples who behold them- selves here represented as in a mirror ? Oh, God have merey upon them ! In this home Clara and a sister grew up. Her brothers were placed by their relations in public schools. The daughters alone had to bear the cross of the house. Clara's sister had what is called an advantageous offer, and married, with the thought of liberating herself and her sister. She hoped to find a friend, and found a tyrant. But she was patient ; she bowed herself and en- dured ; bowed low and more low, till she found rest in the grave. Clara remained alone — alone in the home where hate and complaining were predominant; alone after her sister's martyrdom ; alone but no ! It has often been said that, when discontent * i.e. Death, in the Northern mythology. prevails in a house, the huslJand is least unhappy: " he can go out, can find that wherewith to divert his attention ; he has the world before him," so people say. I do not think so. I believe that, in point of fact, the wife's lot is the preferable one : I know that near the domestic hell she has a secure place of refuge — heaven. Thither Clara betook herself for delivery; and in the midst of domestic storms, in the midst of an atmosphere of bitter- ness, in the midst of perpetual pains of body and soul — Clara found peace. But if you knew how she poured forth her heart in prayer ! Prayer is the key of the portals of heaven. These are not easily opened ; strength, strenuous exertion, fervour of will, are required to efiect it ; but when the gates are once opened, lo ! then there is no longer a barrier between thee and the Almighty, and the angels of the Lord post from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven to minister to man ! Thou who art unhappy, like Clara, and, like her, would fain find rest, listen ! Sip not the draught of devotion with thy hps only ! Drink deep ! Drink deep at the fountain of Salvation ! Take abundantly of be- nevolence, faith and humility, and possess peace ! Clara's heart was as tender as her feelings were ardent, and she had as strong a desire of happiness as any feminine soul, — but she swayed all, she mas- tered all through prayer and labour. Her cheek grew pale in the struggle ; her youth, her buoyant enjoyment of life vanished, but her soul was a sanctuary, and its mild, celestial light was reflected in her eyes. As oil stills the waters when agi- tated, so Clara's devout and meek spirit operated gradually on the souls of her parents. After they had wearied themselves to death they parted in reconciliation. But on her death-bed, Clara's mother disclosed a secret to Clara, and required a vow from her which afterwards threatened to darken her whole existence. After the death of her parents, Clara was taken into her house by the Countess Natalia, and transplanted into a new world and a new sphere of life. But her soul had acquired its confirmed tendency ; certain views of life had sunk deep into her mind. Her whole existence was a sigh of compassion over the sufferings on earth. She would willingly have laid down her life as a bal- sam on the wounds of mankind. Our Lord she loved above all things. He was her life, her joy. He had said when on earth : " Come unto me all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest !" And she did go to Him and found rest for her soul. Him she resolved ever to follow. In the outward bustle of the world, in all en- terprises, speculations, domestic settlements — in short, in everything which we generally express by the word " life," Clara could discern for the most part nothing but unnecessary burdens and bootless labour. No troubles«were so alarming to her as those which are connected with marriage. Clara had seen such wretchedness in the wedded- state, had there made acquaintance with a hell on earth, and she considered this present life so full of cares and crosses, that she could not compre- hend why people wished to add new ones to it. To be the means of affording some small amount of consolation to the already sufficiently great afflic- tions of the world, without in anywise augmenting them, appeared to Clara an object high enough for her life. And in truth ! when we reflect on the 32 NINA. trouble, strife, the misery with which the world is filled ; when we see men jostling against each other ; their servile toils and fears, and frequent insolvencies — it is no wonder if we feel the heart shrink up, if we experience an ardent desire severally to make ourselves as little as possible, in order to glide through life entirely unobserved, and according to our respective abilities, only to administer comfort to the dying, the repentant, and the hungry. With such thoughts and feelings what super- lative vanity fashionable life must have appeared to Clara. Nothing but the divine gentleness of her soul restrained her from despising both it and those who were devoted to it, as if it were the only reality in life. Clara was still little or not at all aware that the various spheres of life are ordained to beautify and ennoble each other. The exhilarating spectacle of society was to her an enigma ; the Temple of Art was closed to her, and the glories of Nature she had not yet seen. Clara at the age of twenty-seven was acquainted only with suffering and heaven. Solitary, as under the parental roof, she now stood in the new world to which she had been introduced, alone with the world of her own bosom. She felt that she was deficient in all the advantages and all the gifts which are estimated so highly l)y men ; she knew that no one about her understood what she felt, and, therefore, she continued so taciturn, and reserve gathered about her like a shell. If at times a feeling of bitterness did steal into her pious heart it was when she saw large sums of money expended in delicacies of the table and fashionable trifles. She would then thmk of the sick and the hungry ; and Clara knew from experience what hunger was. She had indeed heard speak of the principles of political economy ; of the expediency of infus- ing life into industry ; of the injurious effects of alms-giving ; but Clara was convinced in her own mind that relief judiciously administered never would do harm, and she but too keenly felt the then existent reality, namely, that men there were actually suffering from the pangs of disease and need, while others were drudging amid sighs to gain a scanty pittance of daily bread. To these unhappy beings were directed Clara's thoughts, benevolence, and the plan of her future life. For a short time, she felt herself bound to submit to the life she was then leading, to live on the bounty of another ; a circumstance which was more galling to her than the hardest service. Still must she, in order to fulfil a sacred vow, prepare those arti- cles of ornament which she deemed so unneces- sary — gain money in order to clear the trespasses — the debts of another. Then Clara pui'posed to go into an asylum, thereto live for the objects of her love — a love»as true, as warm, and as pure as ever glowed in the human breast for knowledge, freedom, or honour. Here her life was to pass away unobserved, — amid toils it is true, but these toils would alleviate the pains of the sufferer. She would not have lived a single day in vain. Journey to Rome, fiery artist ! Build thy house, good citizen ! Raise thee a pillar of glory, thou hero ! Lovely and kind damsel listen to the vows of thy lover ;— " wed, my friends," — domes- ticate and find rest, — but vouchsafe her way, her place, to Clara ! — Pax vobiscum I ON MATRIMONY. " For what knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband ? or how knowest thou, O man, whether thou shalt save thy wife ?" Paul. Miss Greta was now so far recovered as to be enabled to receive visits and take a part in con- versation. All her friends hastened immediately to make their personal inquiries. One day she was visited by two young ladies, who were sisters, and both betrothed. Eve and Aurora were graceful, cheerful creatures, pleasant to the eye, agreeable to the ear, fresh as roses, well-dressed, well-fed, light as wagtails and sterling as gold ; in a word, they were most charming damsels, and, moreover, full of spirit, and abounding in views and projects — I say nothing of penetration. They would improve the world, the kind young ladies, which appeared to them not to be advancing on a safe and sure foundation ; they would improve and ennoble mankind ; first their own lovers, then " society," education, and the constitution ; and for all these enterprises they had the greatest courage in the world. Miss Greta amused herself beyond expression with their zeal, and gradually led them to unfold their principles, ideas and plans. Here lay all sorts of societies for the maintenance of the necessitous, amateur theatres, educational societies, subscriptions to be devoted to purposes of general utility, but especially to en- courage embroidery-work, bazaars, &c., all jum- bled together in the most wonderful, ingenious con- fusion. Here were funds drawn on air-banks, there castles built in the same element, here again a great amount of motion communicated by a very slight impulse (and some Archimedes was to solve the latter problem), while their Royal Highnesses the Crown Prince and Princess were to take the whole under their patronage. The young ladies would with full force improve and refMin, and become efficient members of domestic society, and political economists to boot. Miss Greta laughed heartily at the great plans, while she contrived in an easy and face- tious manner to display their weak side ; and the cheerful and enthusiastic children could not refrain from joining in the laugh with their whole heart, without, however, retreating one inch of ground from their sober plans. Clara on the con- trary looked sorrowful, smiled at times but sighed more often. " My excellent Clara !" Miss Greta at length said, " you must not sit there so mute a listener to the projects of our young friends. You, too, will soon become a wife, and probably will then think, like Eve and Aurora, of the improvement of your husband and native country." « Ah ! Heaven preserve me !" exclaimed Clara, with a sigh which came from the depths of her heart. " How so ? How so ?" cried Eve and Aurora, as from one mouth. " My kind friends," replied Clara, blushing, but with feeling ; " you promise yourselves pleasure ; it is my real belief that you will reap troubles ; you think to do good— I believe you will only in- volve yourselves in some uncommon difficulty." *' How so 1 How so ?" cried the sisters. Miss Greta turned about in her bed with joy at the contrast. NINA. 33 " But do explain ! What do you mean ?" cried Eve and Aurora. "It will be difficult for me to express what I feel," said Clara, " and perhaps, too, I do not comprehend the subject fully ; but I doubt whe- ther your undertakings can contribute to amend the world and make you happier in your domestic relations ; and I confess that the mere thought of all these institutions affrights me. It were better, in my opinion, if people took less concern about things beyond the sphere of their own home, and if the head of every family bestowed good and faithful care on the fulfilment of the duties he owes to himself and those immediately connected with hhn. Your embroidery-work, &c., for the relief of the necessitous would cost more to prepare tlian they could reasonably be sold for. These sub- scriptions and bazaars which you extol so highly — pardon me for saying so — are a kind of genteel begging. Perhaps I am wrong ; I (July speak as I think on these matters." Aurora and Eve tasked all their powers of per- suasion to demonstrate to Clara how indescribably narrow and one-sided her views were. In the course of these remarks a lady entered and was received with great joy by the young ladies, whose cousin she was, as also by Miss Greta, to whom she was a valued friend. Eleanoi-a L. was no longer young, nor pretty, nor elegant ; nor the reverse of all this — she was not old, nor ugly, nor badly dressed. Externally and internally she was most comfortable ; not dissatisfied with her condition in life, neither was she positively opposed to any alteration in it. And she had had an opportunity to effect this, for a worthy young man had twice offered her his hand. She could not say No ; she would not say Yes. She was full of « Ifs ' and < Buts ' and found herself in that not unfrequent condition in which the whole existence of a person seems to be divided between — " Yes, No, Yes !" and " No, Yes, No !" Her cousins, who were acquainted with her situation and her scruples, began at first to beat lightly and playfully round the important matter, and thus they gradually gained a firm footing, and then they wished to persuade her instantly to decide for matrimony, declaring this to be the hap- piest condition on earth, and without which we are not able to benefit our fellow-creatures. In this beating up Eleanora looked at first like the hare when startled, but gradually regained her self-collection, and took an active part in the debate — that is to say, she expressed her doubts and misgivings on the subject. These, however, were unanimously rejected. " To make a noble-minded man happy !" cried Aurora. " But he might be sufficiently happy without this !" said Eleanora. " To obtain a sphere of activity— to diff'use life and prosperity and joy around one !" repeated Eve. " If we could really effect anything !" sighed Eleanora. *' To bring children into the world !" Miss Greta burst out. " And educate them well 1" cried Aurora. « Ah !" sighed Eleanora, « that is the very worst of all ; the mere thought of it dispirits me entirely. How can we be certain of making our children happy — giving them really a good educa- tion ?" " What says Clara to this ?" asked Miss Greta. " Tell us how you would decide on this intricate case." " Yes, do tell us !'* cried both sisters. *' I must first request the favour of putting some questions to Miss Eleanora," said Clara. " With pleasure," replied Eleanora, " and I pro- mise to answer as honestly and satisfactorily as I can." "Very well then. Do you love the man who wooes you with all your heart ? " " No — yes — no ! I cherish towards him, not love exactly, but the most perfect respect — friend- ship " " Very good ; my second question is — Does he love you with his whole heart, and is it necessary to his happiness that you should become his wife ?" " Yes — no — yes ! True, I believe that he is sincerely attached to me ; but I really think he might be equally happy with another." " Still a third question you will allow me — Are you dissatisfied with your condition in life, and the sphere in which you move ?" " No — yes — no ! I cannot say that I am dissa- tisfied with anything about me ; I find myself as well as most people do who are not unwilling to live on earth as long as God pleases." " You really provoke me, Eleanora !" Miss Greta broke out with impatience. " How can any one know so little what she would have and do ? " But Clara said with great seriousness, " Well, now, Eleanora, this is my counsel — do not marry ! " — And she added with tenderness, "So little harm can come of forbearing." "Yes, in this you are quite right!" sighed Eleanora ; " but — one would still like to do the world some service with one's life — to live for the happiness of some person !" " And how can we be certain of accomplishing this through matrimony ?" said Clara, with an animation very rare in her, and tears in her eyes. " Is not life full of trouble, distressing occur- rences, and suffering ? Our own life, our own person, may indeed easily become a source of pain to him with whom we are joined. What a field for unhappiness, what room for suffering of every kind does not the married state lay open ? And the children Ah ! wherefore bring more crea- tures into a world where so many are already struggling with weariness and want ? " " You give them a good education, cultivate their natural abilities, and secure them a good income ! " exclaimed Eve and Aurora. " Are you certain of being able to accomplish this ? " said Clara, in a tone which betrayed the most painful experience of life. " In the circum- stances and temper of the parents, there may be a something which shall disturb- the chil- dren's happiness for ever. ! it is a dreadful thing for a child to say to its mother — * Why did you give me existence ? ' And who can tell, when a child is brought into the world, whether he can watch over its happiness ? There is the probabi- lity of early death — children left without a mother and a home in poverty ! Oh ! no, don't marry, don't marry ! It leads to misfortune, to misery ! Is there not already enough of this in the world ? Is it not folly to labour, and what is more, to 34 NINA. labour against one's inclination, to increase the amount already in the world.'* " But we do not die early ! " cried Eve and Au- rora ; " we live in prosperity." " Very good, be it so !" said Clara with anima- tion. " You live and are rich. Are you certain of happiness and peace on these conditions ? Does a husband abide the same always ? Is he the per- son who can make you happy ? Do you know what an unhappy marriage is ? " pursued Clara with increased warmth. " Look ! " — she pointed to the window — " do you observe this bleak, wintry day ; so gloomy, damp, and piercing cold 1 Thus it is with the life of the wife in an unhappy mar- riage. The sun, the flowers, all that is beautiful and amiable in life, changes before it passes the threshold of her home ; everything shrouds itself with hoar-frost ; and in like manner does the soul assume a sad aspect, and the body grow numb ; every hope and every joy withers beneath the chilling breath or the stormy character of a hus- band. For the husband may play the tyrant with impunity in his own house, and then the wife be- comes worm, serpent, or angel ! Angel, yes ! when it is given her to perish in her misery ! if she can endure all things for the sake of But no ! it is too heavy, too bitter ! — God help her, and let her die ! Oh venture not on so pei'ilous a game ! Do not marry ! do not marry ! " Clara's tears flowed copiously. Miss Greta had raised herself in her bed in astonishment at Clara's long and earnest speech, and resting on that arm which was now completely healed, she contemplated her attentively, saying at the same time, " Are you raving ? Would you in sober earnest prevent people from getting mar- ried ? Why, my good child, how then would the world continue to subsist in an honourable way 1 Or, perhaps, you think it were better if it one day ceased to exist altogether ? " Clara looked as if this would be no especial mis- fortune to her ; but she merely said, ** Those who love each other tenderly might marry ! " « Well, thank God !" said Miss Greta, « there I see a means of escape. But all the rest — who are not happy enough to be desperately in love with any one ] " " They must help the others to establish them- selves in life ; help to educate children ; and, to speak generally, help those who sigh under the heavy burden of life." " A sort of feminine porter, then, and auxiliary 1" said Miss Greta dubiously ; "and, as I infer froni this, these honourable people are to labour cori- stantly for others, and not at all for themselves. But, Clara, what joy do you now imagine such a poor auxiliary would have in the world ? And that every one should have his portion of happi- ness, is unquestionably the will of the Creator !" " I kno\v not ! " replied Clara, sighing and with moist eyes ; — " to realise this, I think there must be a greater amount of pleasure and less of pain in the world. At present this same world resem- bles rather a vale of tears than a hall of joy — but then it is a probation. All will then be serene and well, when it is passed through. But as the earth now is, to be alone in it appears to me to be the most happy state. She who is thus situated has no care beyond herself, — she can bear her burden alone, without troubling or proving irk- some to another. She can go so still, so quietly, through life ; needs burthen no one ; needs not to converse or make any figure in the world ; is not bound fast to the earth either by its pleasures or cares ; she can pass on so lightly. She wants so little for herself ; she can surrender all she has ; she needs labour to please no one but God alone. Ah ! what does it signify if we grow old, shrivel up and lose all external charms ? Our happiness requires not that we should be dependent on the capricious love of men, or the goods of this world ; we await not theu' nod as the signal to withdraw — we retire unnoticed — a place whereon to lay the head at evening, — that we find ever. Whether it is a pillow of down or bundle of straw, is but of little account ; — we are alone, responsible for no other person, and seek no other thing but the will of our God ! " Clara spoke without vehemence, but with deep, calm emotion. Miss Greta could not restrain a tear from making its appearance in her eyes, while she continued to look on Clara with astonish- ment. Some words of warm emotion were on her lips, but she speedily stifled this excitement of feeling, laid herself calmly down and said merely : •< It seems then that, notwithstanding your gracious permission to marry, conceded to those who tenderly love one another, you still regard this as half a folly, and hold it to be supreme wisdom to live unmarried and mingle as little as possible in this world ? " " Yes, it is so ! '* said Clara, and sewed again with all assiduity. The three cousins looked at Clara and then at each other with astonishment, and all were opening their mouths to utter forth some excla- mation, when Miss Greta motioned to them with her hand, raised her voice, and said : " Listen, young ladies ; you especially, Clara, attend! I will tell you a story." She allowed Clara to arrange her pillow, laid herself at ease in a half-sitting, half-lying posture, and began thus :* — " The Virtues one day became weary of living always together with the Bishop of Skara, and therefore resolved to make a journey in order to breathe a little fresh air. At the very moment they were preparing to go on board a neat, well- trimmed vessel, there came a poor woman with a child in her arms and solicited charity. Pity immediately thrust her hand into her reticule and drew forth a shilling ; but Economy held back her hand and whispered : * What extravagance ! Give her a ticket for soup for the poor ! ' Foresight, who always had the like in her pocket, was ready, after having made close inquiries, to give one to the poor woman ; Pity, encouraged by a nod from Generosity, put the piece of money secretly into her hand, notwithstanding; Zeal presented her with a copy of the < Penny Magazine,' and though the last gift was coolly received by the poor one, still she departed happy and with thanks. " In a short time the Virtues were borne along on the sportive waves and with propitious breezes, amid an edifying discussion of the Bishop's last sermon. * Those who will open the ingenious Bulwer's " Fil- grims of the Rhine," may see the source whence Miss Greta's story is taken, and judge of the imitation and the essential deviations, both in sense and in her application of the tale. NINA. 35 But dark clouds arose, and Foresight, who had on a new cap, insisted on the party's coming to shore, there to seek shelter against the rising storm. Courage was inclined to face the danger ; but Prudence seconded the proposition of Fore- sight, and it was generally agreed on to steer for land. At this moment the Virtues observed a boat making direct against their own, and whose passengers were immoderately jovial and made a great noise. It was a little boon company of the Vices, whom Good Temper had got on board with him, and who were now indulging in the most unbridled mirth. In sailing by they — designedly, it appeared — gave such a violent push against the Virtues' vessel, that it was well-nigh capsizing. Courage took fire, grappled the boat of the Vices, and was on the point of boarding it ; but Meek- ness, stepping quickly between the antagonists, received on both cheeks the cuffs which they had designed for each other. This pleased Good Temper so much that he speedily leapt at a bound into the boat of the Virtues, in doing which, such a shake was communicated to the Vices' vessel that it was in peril of being swamped, and was borne away, to the great consternation of the passengers. Veracity and Zeal were preparing to discharge a volley of insults at them on their way ; but Gene- rosity motioned them to keep silence, *for the wicked had already had their reward ! ' In the interim the clouds had dispersed, and the voyage was pursued under the most agreeable conversa- tion in the world. *' The company of the Virtues from this time forward continued for a long time to visit several cities ; and wherever they fixed their abode great blessings were soon found to follow in their train. Trade flourished, society became everywhere full of animation ; a number of marriages were consum- mated, and people were at a loss to explain how it came that this world was so agreeable and joyful. " One evening, while enjoying tea and ginger, cakes, in the good city of lonkoping, the Virtues plumed themselves not a little on this score. While gossipping in a desultory manner about their influence on the life of men, during which Pru- dence would gladly have dehvered a little royal speech, if Humility had not gazed on her with so eloquent a glance, some one of the party moved that the Virtues would be able to achieve still greater good on earth if they did not, so to say, journey in a lump, but separated and went out individually, like the Apostles, into all parts of the globe to preach virtue unto all men. All acquiesced in the view with the loudest applause. I must, however, observe that Prudence and Temperance were not present ; a short time be- fore the subject had been mooted they had gone out to purchase coffee and sugar for the house- hold. On their return they did not forbear to protest against the resolution, but Courage and Zeal shouted so loudly, that the less strong voices were scarcely audible, and when Generosity, who had suffered himself to be carried away by Zeal, gave his vote, also, for the dispersion of the Virtues, not even Foresight ventured to raise her dove-like voice, but bit her nails, was silent, and at length went out to bespeak a pair of new shoes for herself. " The next day the Virtues separated, and each went forth alone into the world, having first agreed to meet together at the expiration of a year in Stockholm, near the statue of Gustavus Vasa in the Place of the Knight's house, there to hold a full assembly alike on their own private affairs and condition, and those of their peculiar kingdom — that of the Good. " Courage blackened his moustaches with lapis infernalis, and made for the South. On the way he fell in with the knight Don Quixote, who ex- horted him to rouse the ambition of the fair sex who had been so long oppressed, and inspirit them to make a bold stand. This pleased Courage re- markably. While the two knights were thus engaged tete-a-tete on the honourable change medi- tated in the position ot the hitherto so-called * weaker sex,' they rode by a church, out of which issued a bridal train. The bride was a young lady of surpassing beauty, who appeared not to be entirely unacquainted with Courage, for she nodded to him in entering her carriage ; which circumstance pleased Courage so much, that he immediately determined on her becoming the pattern of her sex, and seized the first opportu- nity of getting introduced into her house, where he soon made himself at home. " What occurred in the young household hence- forward is known in all the coffee-houses in the city of X. There you may hear how, from the hour of the celebration of the marriage, the lady became quite an altered person, and how the husband's brains were confused in conse- quence. Nothing was heard between the young people but contentions, and hard words, and me- naces, from which was made a gradual transition to blows. Finally, she challenged her husband to fight a duel ; when she was immediately conveyed to a lunatic asylum by her own family. This gave occasion to great scandal in the city and the country around. " Foresight wrote a long article on this affair in the * Stockholm Journal ; ' and, terrified at all the mischief to which unwise Courage had given occa- sion, she accurately balanced all possible dangers and adversities of this world, and resolved in her wisdom to withdraw therefrom entirely, convinced that the greatest good fortune to which we can here aspire is merely to escape from it with a sound skin. In accordance with this view, she procured herself lodgings with an old unmarried lady, who, from fear of thieves, dwelt in some clean attics, four stories high. Mark well this story, Clara ! Here Miss Foresight might have lived in the enjoyment of peace and quietness, if she had not been racked by the apprehension of a thousand dangers ; she ventured not to open the window, for fear of catching cold ; she had barely confidence to keep her attic warmed, from dread of the chimney taking fire. She was afraid of illness, from want of fresh air ; but to walk out was a thought not to be entertained ; she might be run over by the first carriage on the road ; flower-pots might tumble from the windows on to her head; she might even fall down-stairs, and fracture a limb. No, no ; to walk out was utterly impossible. And such was her extreme repugnance to it that, to avoid the necessity of going out to make a purchase of a new gown, she scarcely made bold to sit in her old one, which was already almost worn out. At length, tilings got to such a pitch that she was not d2 36 NINA. able to move either hand or foot. Foresiglit had infected her landlady, the old maid, with all her scruples ; and when one night a fire broke out in the house, the two friends ventured to take no measures for their escape, and would infallibly have perished in the flames, had not a watchman and a chimney-sweep taken them on their backs, and conveyed them to a place of safety. " In the meanwhile. Zeal was running about in the world, and toiled, and spouted, and preached, and tore men first in this direction, and then in that. He took the peasant from the plough, the mother from her children, the official from his bureau — giving to each some different occupation. Then all of a sudden he ran off", and left them to shift as well as they could for themselves. Just as he was on the eve of posting through Europe to China, there to labour at the conversion of the heathen, he came too near a mine in Russia at the moment of ex[»losion, was scorched by the powder, and — oh, woful to relate! — lost the power of vision. Still, he ran about the world for some time longer; produced nothing, however, but confusion ; came into collision with the police ; and was at last obliged to hire a serving-man, who for a stipulated sum undertook to guide him back to the place from whence he had set out. *' Meekness was not embroiled in such noisy adventures, but, left to herself, she looked so utterly deplorable, that no one would have to do with her ; and after dragging through the world with alternate bowing and curtseying — knocking at every door on the way, and saying to every one : * It is I, who am nobody at all ! ' — after she had been everywhere addressed and handled with rudeness — she was constrained to bend her steps homewards ; and she arrived at the appointed place of meeting completely in rags, and almost worn out. " Here, at the feet of the hero's statue, she beheld all her former friends and companions gather together. But, good heavens ! how they were altered ! She could scarcely recognise them ! Zeal had lost hisflashing eyes, and was become lame of the right foot ; Courage bore his arm in a sling, and looked to the full like a mauvais sujet; Veracity was covered with bruises, and dark anger clouded his former angelically serene brow,and every other word he uttered was an incivility ; Generosity had the look of a player, and declaimed and ranted quite terribly; Temperance had the air of a miser ; Fore- sight resembled a scarecrow ; Patience and Pity appeared so thin, sickly, and wasted, as to pro- voke the deepest compassion ; Good Temper was anything but sober ; Prudence was in best case, but, I assure you, that she was pufffed up and haughty at her superiority — she measured her steps and expressions, took a pinch from her snuff*- box every third minute, held her head high, looked down on all the rest with dilated nostrils, and was mtolerable. " I leave it to you to judge, my dear friends, whether the meeting of the Virtues was a pleasant and cheerful one. To speak the truth, in their present phght they far more resembled Vices than Virtues. But they were scarcely all assembled, and had shaken hands and recognised each other again, when they began respectively to change in aspect, and gi*adually to assume their former cha- I racter. Prudence took from her portable medicine chest a salve, with which she anointed the eyes of Zeal : on the instant, they began to open and flash as before. Good Temper was so struck with the transparent and airy state of Meekness, that he was instantly sobered, and proposed that the Virtues should go in a body to the nearest hotel, and recruit their strength over a bowl of punch, narrate their several adventures, and decide on a resolution for their future career. * Bravo !' said Courage, and offered his hand to Foresiglit ; Good Temper took Meekness in his arms and thus headed the party, who straightway followed. " To repeat all the stories which were told in the hotel, would lead us too far for the present. I will, thei'efore, make you acquainted only with the final results of the meeting of the Virtues, which was this : they resolved in future to pursue their jour- ney together, and separate as seldom as possible ; since each, when left alone and destitute of the counsel and support of the others, only perpetrated follies. The Virtues were all quite satisfied with this resolution. They closed their banquet with a song, which Good Temper improvised, and which he entitled * The League of the Virtues.' But, as I am unable to rehearse any poem from memory, and should be loth to put Good Temper out of humour by mangling his eff'usion, I here end my story, leaving you to moralise it." The young ladies were highly pleased with the narration, and wished to put questions and receive explanations ; Miss Greta on her part would not have any share in a commentary upon the story, but besought her young friends to digest it each according to her ability. Eve and Aurora rose shortly afterwards to take leave; Eleanora followed them, after asking Clara to be allowed to come again and talk over the subject of matrimony with her. Miss Greta reserved for herself the privilege of being present as counsel for the suitor. Eleanora assented with a smile and a sigh, but on her way home her sentiments about marriage were rather—" No— yes— no !" than " Yes— no— yes !" Aurora and Eve thought of procurmg themselves costumes for an amateur representation in support of those who were burnt out in W. Miss Greta, who now associated in her mind the Tulle-devour- ing lover with Clara's dread of matrimony, ob- served to her with great seriousness : " Clara ! you are either a most extraordinary person or you are on a most perilous way." Clara was silent, and Miss Greta pursued : *' Your repugnance to marriage is not conform- able to nature. I can well conceive that people have no fancy to enter upon it with as light a heart as we enter a ball-room, but your stubbornness, and the views you entertain of life generally, are equally unscriptural and unnatural. Man is not created to live alone. Nor can I say that I should think it quite agreeable to be deemed by you a fit candidate for a lunatic asylum, if I should one day take it into my head to marry — which is quite possible — without my being precisely in love with my chosen one to desperation." « And if at any time you should marrj*," said Clara, " I will not call it unwise ; for nobody seems to me so calculated to secure another's happiness ; cheerfulness and prosperity accom- pany yen through life, and communicate their in- fluence to those about you." NINA. 37 " I am glad you think so, Clara 1" said Miss Greta, pressing her hand. " But," Clara continued, " if you knew what it is to suffer want and hunger ; if you knew how many there are in the world who experience them daily, you would not marry, but live single in order that you might help the needy and feed the hungry." " My excellent Clara !" said Miss Greta, with the well-known arch smile on her lip ; " in that case I should probably deserve to be canonized by His Holiness the Pope, and for ages to come be invoked as St. Margaret ; but that I should thereby achieve any real good, exceeds my belief ; I should probably only augment the number of the indolent and worthless already in the world. As to works of charity, I have my own thoughts on this article. I moreover consider ennui as the most distressing thing in the world, yawning the worst of plagues, and he who knows how to chase it away by innocent means, as one of the choicest benefactors of his species. A hearty laugh is worth more than ducats." " So it is," answered Clara. *' But ennui is a self-merited evil, and those who have time to yawn, could find time to be cheerful,' if they were sensible people ; but " ♦< Well ! But ? " ** But with the sufferers of whom I speak it is not so. Their wretched circumstances bear them to the ground. Do they wish to raise them- selves, frequently they cannot ; distress and dis- ease press like a weighty burden on body and soul — they moulder away while existing." " This, too, happens to many who are rich," said Miss Greta. " I confess it is my belief that it is their own fault when people fall into distress. Honourable and orderly people always have where- withal to live. Besides, it is difficult to dispense alms, and probably the unworthy are more fre- quently the recipients than the really necessitous." " The dispensation of alms may indeed have its difficulties," said Clara ; " but if we spare neither trouble nor time we may cei'tainly surmount them. Don't say that every one who will, may help him- self. Oh ! there are calamities which we cannot possibly resist, there are cases of distress which cannot be averted. Nay, the very failings and wants of men we must sometimes look upon in the light of misfortunes, which they have not merited. People talk of the want of order, the pleasure-taking of the poor — Ah ! did you know how sparingly pleasures are sown in the life of many a human being ! And if when life presses heavily upon them, they are for a moment unable to resist the allurements of pleasure ; if they will enjoy some few minutes — and then lose their daily bread — shall they do pen- ance their whole life for this moment, and be thought unworthy to be raised up and supported ? Shall that be punished as a crime in them, which in those favoured by fortune is called pardonable weakness 1 Oh, if you knew how many such crimes have their source in want — want of bread and want of enjoyment ! And they — the poor I mean — require enjoyment— ah ! as much as they require bread. Gladness is the fresh air which makes us breathe lightly, rejoice in the blessing of our creation, and believe in the goodness of God " Clara's tears flowed so copiously that she was obliged to pause. Miss Greta was silent ; but Clara's words opened to her I'eflection a side of life on which she had not been accustomed to look. She dwelt a long time on scenes which her con- dition in life and the constitution of her mind had hitherto prevented her from viewing in any other than a passing manner, — ^and her heart was troubled. What followed I will not relate ; it is too simple, too sacred to be trumpeted forth. But if my fair reader guesses that Miss Greta made Clara her treasurer, and that Clara. wept tears of joy at it, I must in truth confess that she has got a clue to the main thing. And Thou, rigid Lover of merit and enemy to alms-giving, shake not thy head at this company. Embark thy capital in manufactures and trade — or what else thou pleasest — but leave Clara her place. Fear not ! She will not give her silk dress to the labouring man's wife, nor money to the di-inkers of brandy ; she will not, like a certain amiable young Countess, take off her Turkish slip- pers and give them to a little bare-footed chimney- sweep. She will put the poor child to school, pro- cure work for the unemployed, medicine for the sick, &c. ; she will dispense her alms discreetly. Is not that putting out capital to interest ? And should it at times only shed a bright moment on a dark life, produce alleviation of incurable pains, v/hy Ah ! let the wise order and appoint things as they will on earth, there ever remains room there for misfortune and unmerited suffer- ing ; — there will therefore ever be scope and em- ployment for the Sisters of Charity. CONVERSATION IN THE EVENING TWILIGHT. "The one thing needful, that which each and all Imports, is that Good be done— to compass it. May raise or ruin thee, — it matters not ! And if thy height thou canst not gain— why fall ! A better race, when standing on our graves. Will one day ponder feelingly our lot." Geijeb. The day appointed for Edla's departure drew near. Nina alone was ignorant of it, and thought the hour of separation still distant. Edla wished to spare her sensitive mind the pang of taking farewell, and was therefore pleased with a resolu- tion the Countess had embraced, — during the mild and fine winter season, to accept an invitation to visit one of the neighbouring seats, where it was intended at New-year to entertain with great splendour the newly-married lady, and the beau- tiful daughter of his Excellency. Edla plainly perceived the design of the Countess to separate Nina more and more from her, and particularly during the few days before the journey, to pre- vent those cordial advances, those involuntary effusions of tenderness and confidence, which are so calculated to unite friends at such a time. But though Edla was fully conscious of her intention, she resolved to make no opposition to it. At this period to detain Nina about her, and to wish to occasion her tears instead of pleasure, would have been regarded by her as selfishness. Not without a certain agreeable feeling of sadness Edla thought : " She will be cheerful, she will know mirth and enjoyment, while I am leaving my father's house. She shall not observe that I suffer. The more 38 NINA. lightly will this cloud flit athwart her heaven — the sting will be taken from our separation." At the hour of bidding farewell, the Countess was cold as ice towards Edla. " Pleasant jour- ney !" said she, drily. " I have given orders to have everything you may require for your journey got in readiness for you." " I thank you ! I will provide for that myself !" answered Edla, also coolly. " Farewell, my fa- ther ! my father ! " Her voice faltered. " I shall see you again before you depart," said the President, while with great assiduity and bustle he drew on his goloshes and averted his countenance to conceal a starting tear. Nina came. She looked beautiful in her splen- did winter dress, in the princely ermine. Edla wrestled with the strong emotion which the sight of her occasioned, and when she saw her moist eyes, her troubled, inquiring glance, and felt her Nina tremble in her embrace, while in an under- tone, and almost with anguish, she said — " I shall soon, very soon, see you again !" — Edla felicitated herself on her resolve to spare her sister's sensi- tive feelings by making the separation as easy as possible to her. She calmed Nina and hei-seif, and with an unclouded brow beheld her family depart. During the ensuing day Edla was actively engaged in the arrangement of her own private concerns. She wrote a letter to Nina replete with kindness and good sense. The evening twilight of the last day came on. Edla had taken farewell of Miss Greta, who was not deceived by what had trans- pii'edin the house and in Edla's own bosom, and who met her with a cordiality which testified her com- plete respect. She embraced Miss Greta's faithful nurse, and went down into the reception-room, in which she had a fire lighted, and took her place before it, awaiting in silence the expected visit from Count Ludvig. Twilight and snow without, fire and tranquillity within, are ministering Spirits to confidence. In the hour of twilight, Secresy, that child who dreads the light, springs quite unconcerned from its hiding-place ; troops of pigmy bats, each with its fly in its mouth, wheel about here and there ; and many an owl is heard to hoot shrill. But nobler things of light and darkness in the human soul, now too come forth : — how willingly does Reconciliation kindle her mild light in the evening sky ! How sweet do the dews of consolation fall ! — I will not discourse on declarations of love, — between the twilight and the fire they skip forth involuntarily, and trip it the more featly the more they resemble a will-with-the-wisp. Devotion, too, prefers to unbosom herself at this hour. To sum up in one word, it is remarkable how much is made manifest in the gossipping hour of twilight I Remarkable, too, is it how little to the purpose this our brief impromptu is here brought in, and how little it suits the present scene in the twilight by the fire-side. Here seated in easy-chairs are Count Ludvig and Edla, silent as statues, and gazing thoughtfully on the glowing embers as they fall down in succession, charred and in ashes. Kind reader, your pardon ! and be courteous enough to remember that you have already heard prefaces foreign to the matter which followed after. But at length Count Ludvig broke silence, ad- dressing Edla in a tone of deep displeasure : "You are going on a journey; you withdraw for a long time, leaving me behind in a state of uncertainty which becomes more tormenting with every day. You prevent me expressing a wish alike to Nina and her father, which they both approve. How long is this restraint to continue, how long am I to appear in an ambiguous light to Nina's parents, the woi-ld, and herself ? " *' Not to Nina. She knows that she is loved by you ; she knows, too, why you defer your declaration." « Very good ! " " She is grateful for your kindness ; thankful, because you do not importune her, — being still so young and delicate — to embrace a resolution in which is involved her whole life and happiness. At this point of time she fears any change in her situation— nor is she prepai*ed for it. You are aware of my anxiety for Nina's health, and the delicacy of her entire constitution. I believe she ought not to marry till she is become stronger, till a little more experience of the world and its life puts her in a condition to fill her place as your wife. She is now making her first ac- quaintance with society ; let her look about, then, undisturbed ; — she is still so young ! Besides, you too may be with her there, and win " — " Win what 1" asked Count Ludvig sharply. "Win— what I could so ardently wish you pos- sessed—her heart. I will not conceal it from you Nina esteems you highly, but she does not love you." " I know it ! " answered Count Ludvig coldly. Edla gazed at him inquiringly, and with an air of surpx'ise. With some emotion Count Ludvig said, " Won- der not that he who from the cradle must needs dispense with love ; who found himself deceived in his first friendship ; wonder not if his glance has become keen, and if he is not easily deluded as to the feelings which others entertain towards him. I know it — I am not amiable ;— it is not an easy matter to love me, — I do not court it very much ! Who cannot be beloved ? Who cannot inspire passion, especially in women ? Pardon me, Edla, but you must be less blind than others to the weakness of your sex ! A poetaster, whose whole merit is summed up in a metrical ballad or romance, a skilful dancer, a little bravura or bra- vado, a little kindness, some talent, a fine exterior and agreeable address ; all this appears amiable — may inspire love. I have resolved to rise supe- rior to these. Nor does Nina form any exception to the above general rule. Yes, I am prepared to find that she can love another — one of those petty creatures whom I despise — " "Count Ludvig!" Edla interrupted him sur- prised and excited, *' do I hear aright 1" « Yes ! but hear me to the end. That charm, that sweet complacency which the Agreeable ex- cites, I cannot awake — cannot expect. Nina can- not feel such for me ; towards others she may for moments. This is natural — it injures not me — I shall lose nothing by it. I shall deserve what is better, more important — Nina's perfect esteem, confidence and friendship. In the best and appro- priate sense of the word Nina will become mine. What I love in Nina is not her beauty, not her graceful manner ; I love her, not only as the pupil of the richly-endowed Edla, but above all as a NINA. 39 woman, woman 'par excellence, kind, gentle, meek woman. I am rough and harsh, I know it ; only through a character, a temper of mind like hers, can I become milder — happy, and a promoter of happiness in others. Nina is Edla's pupil ; she will appreciate what is good in me; she will, through her angelic nature, teach me to love my fellows more. She will find in me her friend, her best guide ; she will love her children, her home, and rejoice at her influence over me. Believe me she will be happy." " I fear," said Edla, with a deep sigh, " that you misunderstand the real nature of love. Perhaps, too, you but call the same thing by different names. Friendship and confidence are certainly the very essence of all love. If, however, you believe that Nina's deep-feltrespectand confidence are sufficient for your mutual happiness, pardon me for telling you, that in order to win these you must not rely only on your sterner virtues. Confidence, espe- cially, is a bashful child ; it must be won by kind- ness and benevolence ; the flower will not open but to the genial beams of the sun. It must be your will to be beloved by Nina ; you must be kind and tender towards her ; you know not how sensitive she is, how much she requires both ten- derness and a support. Be kind to her. Count Ludvig, otherwise you win her not. Be mild and loving towards her ." " Edla ! " Count Ludvig interrupted her, " de- sire not that the oak should stoop to the tender plant ; rather raise it up to the firm stem." ^ "Not so, Count Ludvig ! " said Edla. « Your simile is a lame one ; the connection between hus- band and wife neither is, nor ought to be, so one- sided. My flower must be tenderly nurtured, otherwise she is not for you. Be kind to her, Count Ludvig, — once more I repeat it, be kind to her, and you will have unbounded influence over her. Cherish that which is so beautiful in her — her angel-like disposition, her goodness ; — have respect for it, abuse it not ; put not too high claims upon her. How easily might she be pressed to the ground, how easily might a heavy hand destroy her happiness entirely ! How often have I re- proached myself for my own severity towards her — which, however, sprung only from the most tender solicitude for her welfare ; how often has the angelic sweetness of her disposition softened me in spite of myself ! Don't you remember. Count Ludvig, that, when a mere child, she suffered much from the tooth-ache, and that the dentist extracted a sound tooth instead of a decayed one ; don't you remember how she bore the continued pain, and kept secret the surgeon's mistake the whole time he was present, and subsequently begged me not to acquaint him with it, — for, * It would hurt him ! ' — A trifle, indeed, is this ; but the first glimpse of a disposition, gentle and ten- derly mindful of the feehngs of others. What Nina was when a child, she is now. Tell me, Count Ludvig, deserves not such a heart to be treated with careful and considerate indulgence — to be sought after, and won?" Tears stood in Edla's eyes. Count Ludvig, too, was moved. " Give me," said he, « this angel to wife ! Let me live daily, hourly, under her influence, and I may, perhaps, become what you wish. Perhaps, too, I may become amiable, at least to her," he added with a smile, which lent great beauty to his features. ** And this," he pursued, " would enable me the more easily to disregard the judgment of the multitude, who will probably ever look upon me as a relentless egotist, — a harsh, proud, heart- less man. I am easily solaced on this score, nay it almost flatters my vanity to be thus distinguished. I should esteem it an honour — though I may never live to witness such — if my country should flourish under improved institutions and a better order of things, to which I have contributed, and my labours bring blessings to those who even then may brand my name. Observe, Edla, this is the fame, the recompense which I seek, and feel conscious I shall find. If in my zeal for what is actual and subsisting, I frequently break through the superficial, hurt some dove-like nature, or de- molish some flimsy fabric ; nay, if to fulfil more serious and momentous duties, I should forget that of mercy, why, Edla will not condemn me on this account, Nina will not fear me." " Count Ludvig," replied Edla, " I highly and sincerely honour the purity of your intentions, the firmness of your character, and fear nothing but the want of moderation in your sentiments. A greater degree of mildness, philanthropy, of that honour which is due to all men, if I may be allowed to speak in this strain, would make your labours doubly efficient and beneficial." « Give me Nina to wife !" said Count Ludvig with warmth ; " let her be my angel, and I shall be mild on her account. With her at my side I shall tread the earth with a lighter step. She has in her possession a talisman, which can exert great influence upon me ; let me hear her voice and see her countenance every day, then But before this, Edla, do not expect much from me, not even towards her. I am willing to risk my life for her daily ; but to be a spruce, delicate, dulcet suitor, — a Celadon amid the throng which presses round her, — this expect not, desire not, Edla ! I should only make myself ridiculous. And, I must repeat it, I attach no value to the Agreeable and the so- called Amiable, not even to what you style good- ness ! It is an ambiguous quality, which even the most wretched imbecility assumes as its badge. I have only too well experienced that all this amia- bility may subsist in connection with the deepest depravity of heart, and serve as a veil to it. You, if I mistake not, once saw Edward D. with me. What impression did he produce in you ?" « I will confess," replied Edla, " that he appeared to me to be a remarkably amiable young man, whose heart would revolt at the horrid crime he committed." « You only saw him,'* Count Ludvig continued, with a bitter smile : " but what is that com- pared to a daily intercourse with him, as I had 1 He would have gained over his most inveterate enemy. I loved him," pursued Count Ludvig with unusual softness in voice and manner of expres- sion, " as I have never loved another ; confided in him as I have never confided in another. And he deceived me, and put disgrace and shame upon me to my heart's distress ! Of a truth, I should have then become a hater of my species — have closed my bosom for ever to all the kindlier feelings, had it not been for you, Edla. With masculine strength and womanly gentleness you restored my soul to peace, and healed the wounds i of my heart." 40 NINA. Edia averted her countenance, on which the deepest emotion was depicted. " Did I really do this for you, Count Ludvig ?'' said she, in a voice to which she strove to give firmness. " Healed 1" Count Ludvig began again, speaking rather to himself than Edla — "healed is indeed saying too much. That wound will never be healed. There were moments when it seemed to me as if his blood would be the only balsam The wound is not healed ; but you alleviated its smarting. Edla and Nina won me back to love to mankind." After a brief pause, he continued, absorbed in reminiscences in which pain and pleasure were mingled : " In early youth we entered the same college. He was in advance of me in all things. This pained me. I was ambitious to be a leader. I began to hate him. About this time he fought and was wounded on my account, in an unequal contest which I had brought upon myself. I then changed my hate into love. He returned my affection — at least, I believed so. He bore with me and my temper ; he benefited me thereby. He was so amiable ! He was proud, and with all his goodness, he could not brook protection, and never accepted my proffered assistance. This both vexed and pleased me. He seemed to me the best and first of characters. I had greater confidence in him than in all the world — more than in myself. He had a power over me greater than any other before or subsequently." Count Ludvig was silent for a moment; he then re- sumed, while a terrible paleness spread over his face : " Even the serpent has a beguiling tongue. Holy Scripture informs us. How superlatively do I contemn amiability, which can cover every vice and turpitude of every kind ! The deceiver — the se- ducer ! How I hate him ! I know not what has become of him ; but I regret I did not brand him in the face of the world, that he might deceive no more, seduce no more ! Edla, if you ever meet him in this world, trust not your sagacity, trust not in your abhorrence of him, but flee him, flee him ! His amiability, his apparent excellence, his mild-beaming eye, would mislead you. See him not ; listen not to him ! Smooth is his tongue, but false ; he might corrupt the purest. Flee him ! Did he not dishonour and murder the sister of his friend ? And he still walks unpunished through the world — perhaps beloved, perhaps honoured- still to sacrifice others, still to make others un- happy ! Why did I spare him ? But Thou, Heaven, visit punishment upon him ! Just Avenger, con- demn " " Ludvig, desist !" said Edla, with earnestness and dignity. Count Ludvig paused suddenly ; he was beside himself ; passion made his pale lips quiver, and his eyes shot fire of wrath. It was a long time before he was himself again. He then sighed deeply, and said : " Pardon me ! " " Such outbursts, Count Ludvig," said Edla, ** are not worthy of you : they would destroy Nina's peace." " She shall not see such ! I will show myself moreworthyof her andyou !" Count Ludvig pressed Edla's hand to his lips, and hastily withdi-ew. Edla remained behind with excited feelings. Her desire, her thoughts, were bent on uniting i Ludvig and Nina; and yet doubt and pain reverted j again and again to her mind, and whispered, ** Will he m^e her happy 1" But Edla chased away these doubtful suggestions as spectres of the imagination. Perhaps it seems inconsistent to my fair readers that Edla should be so partial towards Count Ludvig, and that she did not perceive how little a character like his was suited to the gentle Nina, to whom love was a necessity. I am not willing to merit this censure, and therefore we will view the matter more closely. Between Edla and Ludvig there subsisted a kindred feeling, which drew them involuntarily together. Both had been treated with coldness and neglect as children ; to both nature had denied those pleasing gifts which easily win the hearts of men, and give to their pos- sessor a pleasure in his own existence ; both, too, possessed strong, pure, and truth-loving characters, though, from native pride and bitter experiences, Ludvig's rather approached to stern asperity, whereas Edla's ever continued to acquire greater prudence and considerate gentleness. Count Lud- vig's rigid virtues had awakened admiration in Edla, while his fate challenged her heartysympathy : admiration and sympathy produced deep, strong affection, and this feeling threw a veil over all his defects. Edla would have laid down her life for Lud- vig's happiness ; but so humble was her opinion of herself, that the thought did not for a moment occur to her that she might make him happy. Yet Nina ! Count Ludvig loved her, and the deep, maternal tenderness, for Nina, which developed itself more and more in Edla's heart, and was even stronger than her attachment to Ludvig: this dis- interested affection made most sweet the thought of consigning her own beloved Nina to the man whom she most honoui'ed and loved on earth. Did she at times feel a doubt whether Ludvig would make Nina happy, she also frequently felt an uncer- tainty whether Nina were worthy of him. This misgiving, however, was merged in the strong be- lief, that the two dear objects would reciprocally ennoble and improve each other ; and in this Edla looked not merely to their own happiness ; her heart was warm in the hope that this union would be productive of good to others. Thus Edla felt and thought. The last embers were now burnt out, and Edla returned to her chamber. When she there saw everything ready for her departure, her heart grew sorely and strangely oppressed. She felt like a stranger in her father's house ; she knew she was almost constrained to quit the home in which she had been the quiet, ordering Spirit — where she had been honoui'ed and beloved by all. Now she was there lonely, forsaken, shunned;— and yet from no fault of hers. The air of her apart- ment, the sight of the furniture, especially that which belonged to Nina— a little shawl which she had thrown heedlessly over a chair-back — all this awoke an indescribable sadness in her soul. A strong impulse to bitterness arose in her usually well-ordered mind against those who were the occasion of her painful change of condition. But such a feeling was intolerable to Edla, and she therefore wrestled with and mastered it — but with what weapons ! He who had seen Edla seated on her travelling trunk, so pale, moveless, and NINA. 41 mute, would hardly have thought that she fought out a fight and carried a victory, more difficult than all the achievements of Napoleon. With what weapons ? Reader, call them celestial ; you know them as well as I. Edla had separated in coldness, unkindness even, from her step-mother. She resolved to write a few words to her, to inspire her with a friendly opinion of herself, and to impress upon her an earnest care for Nina's health and welfare. Upon advancing towards her writing-desk to carry out this resolve, her eyes fell upon a casket of red morocco, which stood in the middle of the table, placed so as to lay some claim to her observation. She opened the casket and in it found a costly necklace of real pearl, accompanied by a note written by her father, " To the best of daughters, from her loving father. Early to-morrow morn- ing I shall be with thee." Now first flowed tears — but sweet tears — down Edla's cheeks ; she felt that her father appre- ciated her feelings— thanked her ; and all was serene and all the pressure removed from her heart. The separation lost its bitterness, and how cheerfully did she now obey the divine precept — •' Love your enemies, bless those that curse you." Edla took her departure, her heart being still warm from her father's last embrace. It did not occur to anybody to wonder, gossip, or make conjectures about what occasioned her journey ; she had ordered everything so quietly, and with such prudence. Deep and powerful souls move calmly and make no empty sound about them- selves and their achievements. Their movements resemble the order of nature. In stillness the Sun mounts the vault of heaven, silently the Night stoops down to the earth. What is more still than the waking of Spring from its long slumber, and what more glorious when up ? THE SECRET. " Thou Shalt tell it neither to friend nor foe."— Sirach. Two months were now elapsed from Filius' fresco-painting and Miss Greta's accident. The broken arm was again in a condition to perform its offices, and Miss Greta was in a short time to quit the sick-room entirely. But to speak the truth, she had no great desire to further this change. She had there experienced a happiness which was of greater value to her than all the agreeable things of her previous life. Ah, not before the heart begins to love, do we feel the fullness and the depth of life ! Between Miss Greta and Clara had arisen — they themselves knew not how — a cordial con- nection which made them happy. They had not reciprocally communicated anything about their concerns ; neither had recounted the romance of their respective lives to the other, or sighed forth the " Ah !" and the " Oh !" of their hearts. And yet they had an intimate knowledge of each other ; cherished a confidence in each other which only awaited an opportunity to display itself in word or act, and merit the name of true friendship. Perhaps some one of my gentle, fair friends will deem this expression a weak one ; I for my part know none more forcible. Miss Greta was within herself busily engaged on a plan, which was shortly to come to light, when one evening the Countess suddenly entered the room in which Miss Greta chanced at that moment to be alone, and said with eagerness and excitement, " Well, what do you say now ?" " What do I say now ?" replied Miss Greta, with quiet humour j " why, in the first place, good evening ! and then, like Clara, * be seated,' and * let us be quiet.' " " But it is precisely Clara who gives us occa- sion not to be so," said the Countess, with great displeasure. " Greta ! your Clara is a hypocrite, an unworthy creature, who merits not the kind- ness you and I have lavished upon her. She is a snake that I have warmed in my bosom." " Indeed ! How so ?" said Miss Greta seriously, but without any show of excitement. *' She has violated her vow, — these three even- ings she has resumed her secret promenades." « Very good ! " replied Miss Greta, striving to conceal her displeasure ; " we need not on that account cry fire and murder ! She has gone out to breathe a little fresh air ; she is, in my judg- ment, too closely confined.'' " Very well ! But she takes this fresh air in company with a young man. I have had her watched. Rosalia got intelligence about it in the house into which Clara went. These visits have been of very frequent occurrence, it should seem." Miss Greta turned pale', and the Tulle- devour- ing lover was now more terrible than Lucifer to her ; after a moment of deep silence she said, « Who is he ? what is he ? where does he live 1 " The Countess named the house in which he lived, but could herself give only obscure accounts of him. " It is reported," said she, " that he has committed a misdemeanor ; stolen, or coined false money ; is concealing himself from the police — living in the greatest poverty — in a word, it is an extremely scandalous affair." " Poverty ?" repeated Miss Greta. '' Yes," pursued the Countess, " and it is more than probable that she has supported him with— I won't accuse her formally — but her conduct is accusation sufficient, and warrants us in believing even the very worst things. Clara's refusal to name the purpose of her promenades, only shows how worthless the object of them must be. In point of fact I consider her entire demeanour so improper, so contrary, that I should like to see her removed from my house the first opportunity. Since neither kindness nor severity produce an effect upon her, she must be sunk very deeply — " " I doubt that very strongly," said Miss Greta drily. " I could wish it were otherwise," said the Countess, " but I cannot believe it is. Notwith- standing, I will not abandon Clara, but from my house I must remove her. My domestics are acquainted with her proceedings, and I cannot allow that they should think I could countenance the scandal to which her behaviour gives rise. Clara must be put under more rigid supervision. I have thought, for the present, it were well for her to lodge with Madame F." " Ah, with her ! excellent choice ! And when do you contemplate Clara should go thither ?" " As soon as possible — to-morrow, if practicable. I must confess that the daily sight of so much in- gratitude and boldness goes to my heart. Besides, 42 NINA. in the present case speedy and decisive mea- sures are requisite ; I have spoken to Clara's brothers " " Have you done so?" Miss Greta interrupted her with strong feeling ; " you disclosed to them your suspicions respecting their sister ? " " I did it," replied the Countess, " because it was due to them to be informed at the earliest opportunity about that which concerns their sister, and also to justify to them the step I have been obliged to take with respect to Clara. This evening, a short time after Rosalia's return from making her inquiries, they paid me a visit ; I was excited by the intelligence the latter brought me, and it struck me that the remonstrances of the brothers would produce a better effect on Clara than my former admonitions have done. Besides, she deserves not to be spared any longer." " You have acted precipitately and unkindly, Natalia," said Miss Greta, with great displeasure. " Why not first speak with me, so that we might together have deliberated what course was to be pursued ? Who knows but that Clara will clear herself fi'om all these apparently dark suspicions ? — But, what did the brothers say 1 " " They were beside themselves in despair, poor young fellows ; but they besought me to act in all things according to my own pleasure." *' That is more than I would have done in their situation. I cannot approve what you have done, neither can I give my consent to what you now purpose." *' Greta !" replied the Countess rather proudly, " Clara was consigned to my protection — to my supervision." ** Against that I have nothing to urge," said Miss Greta. " But I earnestly entreat you not to speak with Clara this evening, to prevent her brothers seeing her, and as soon as she returns home to send her up to me." The Countess was obliged to promise this ; and, as at this moment a message from the President announced that the carriage had been ready half an hour, and that he himself was awaiting the arrival of his wife to drive her to the royal /efe, she abandoned Miss Greta to her own reflections. Miss Greta sat long in the dark ; — she wept. After she had composed herself and her mind was restored to its accustomed clearness, she rang for the lamp, and, seated in the corner of the sofa, awaited the return of Clara with that repose of mind which a definite purpose induces. Clara came. Her step was lighter, her appear- ance more cheerful than usual ; only her voice betrayed some haste, some uneasiness, when she made some inquiries about Miss Greta's arm. Struck at the dry answers and the tone in which they were given, Clara went up to her friend, met her eyes with an expression of confidence, asking with tenderness, "Are you troubled? What is the matter ?" This expression and tone pained Miss Greta. She turned away, and said with sternness : " Clara, you have violated your vow ; again you have been out alone, and in the evening too !" Clara was silent. Miss Greta, who had not the courage to look at Clara, pursued : " They have watched you. You have been in company with a young man " Clara was silent. Miss Greta looked at her. She was very pale, and supported herself by placing her hand on the table ; it seemed as if she were striving to collect hei'self. A long pause ensued. '* Clara ! " Miss Greta at length exclaimed, in a voice which betrayed the anguish of her mind, " Clara, have you nothing to say ? " Clara's pale lips pronounced a scarcely audible but decisive " No ! " " Then, Clara," said Miss Greta, with an ex- pression both of regret and severity, ** I will tell you what fate awaits you — induced by your behaviour, deserved by your stubbornness. The Countess, justly indignant at your ingratitude, has apprised your brothers of your demeanour, and the suspicions to which it has given rise. To- morrow you are to quit the house — quit it with disgrace ; for the servants know about your wan- derings. These will soon become a topic of general conversation. Your character is gone." Very pale, but with composure, Clara replied in a low tone — " Such has happened to many an innocent person before me. God knew their hearts, and knows mine." " Speak not thus, Clara ! " said Miss Greta with warmth, " and do not here abuse God's name. I cannot bear to hear innocence spoken of when actions testify to the contrary. I have no great faith in those unhappy circumstances which compel people to appear criminal before their fellow- creatures, to tangle themselves in secret mazes, and then to take God to witness that their ways are straight. Do you know, Clara, what the Scriptures say, * Good deeds fear not the light ? ' Such mysteries and such incidents are found only in romances." " Only in romances?" Clara interrupted her with a painful smile. " Yes, only m romances," continued Miss Greta with rising warmth. '* To them belong intrigues and secret promenades, and refusing to confide in well-meaning friends. In the actual world, Clara, people deal by each other honourably and with a little common sense. Once more, Clara, I ask you, will you confide in me ? I entreat you, Clara, I entreat you, confide in me." " I cannot ; it is impossible," said Clara, with difficulty restraining her tears. " Clara !" said Miss Greta ardently, " I will not hsten to that. It is human to err, but we are not to deport ourselves stupidly, for that is not natural to man, seeing that he is endowed with a sound understanding. Your demeanour at this moment is almost absurd, and through your ob- stinacy you set up her against you, who could and fain would rescue you." " I cannot alter it," said Clara, *' it must be so." *' You are intolerable !" exclaimed Miss Greta, but quickly collected herself and resumed with great earnestness : " Be not precipitate ! Think of the consequences ! It may be difficult to con- fess an error ; but in truth it is not an easy thing to pass a long life in poverty and contempt. Be- think yourself, Clara ! the Countess may still be softened, your fault pardoned ; but all on the con- dition of your confessing." « That I cannot, will not !" said Clara now with firmness. " My conduct is pure, but I cannot lay it open to view." '* Still one moment," said Miss Greta, with un- qualified decision ; " then I abandon you. Your NINA. 43 brothers are informed of your demeanour. You have to expect their reproaches, perhaps their persecution, the resentment of the Countess " " I shall be able to extricate myself." Clara interrupted her with a degree of excitement, and a movement as if preparing to withdraw. Miss Greta laid her hand on her arm and said, casting a keen and scrutinizing glance on her, " Perhaps to run away ? Perhaps to stroll about the country, performing tragedy with the lov " " No, no, no 1" Clara interrupted her with ve- hemence. " Choose the better course !" pursued Miss Greta with cold seriousness. " / will deliver you, / will do a great deal for you. I demand only one thing, entreat only one thing — confidence. You may choose between my protection and public shame. Make your selection ! " " My choice is made," said the deathly pale Clara. " I am innocent, but I cannot, will not prove it." '♦ Go then !" Miss Greta broke forth ; " Go !" I believe not in your innocetice, and will do no- thing more for you. To-morrow you will be expelled from hence with dishonour." " That I will not wait for," said Clara, but in so low a tone, that Miss Greta's keen ear scarcely caught the words, and Clara advanced towards the door to leave the apartment. But at the moment she laid her hand on the lock, she felt herself em- braced and held back. It was Miss Greta, who almost by force led her back to the sofa, placed her beside herself, and held her embraced, saying in a tone whose effect could only be understood by an auditor : " Are you not sane ? Do you think I speak in earnest ? Do you think I can cast you forth ? Listen, child ; these ax-ms which now hold you have received their renewed strength through your careful nursing ; well, then, this their embrace is for your life long. Think not that I will let you go from me, however strangely you may deport yourself. Listen, Clara, my poor child ! You have dealt unfairly, have been indiscreet ; be not afraid, I will find redress, and, if possible, turn it to good. I am rich, and have none to care for. You, Clara, shall be my child. Poor child ! " she pursued, pressing Clara to her with tenderness, " you have been imprudent, over-strained. That you are implicated in anything bad, I can and will not believe. Fear not, rely on me ; we will set all right again. I could hate myself if I held you to be capable of anything wicked or base. I can believe all the rest, but this I cannot ; I will take all the rest upon myself, bear and make amends for it. And you shall put me in a condition to do this, Clara, you shall ! — Do you mind me, Clara ? For in future you are under my protection, and I shall exercise ruthless tyranny over you. You shall take up your abode with me, share my home, my table, everything I possess. You shall ac- quaint me with your wishes, that I may fulfil them ; your cares that I may chase them from you. Will you assent to this, Clara ? Will you be my child ? " Clara could not answer at the moment ; Miss Greta observed it, and held the trembling maiden to her breast. " Hear me, child," she continued, with a view to give her time to compose herself ; " I do not desire that you should like me now — have no concern about that ; but we shall see whether you will not be compelled to it, when you experience how I weave the threads of your des- tiny. At present I desire not friendship, only a little confidence, a little good sense on your part, or obedience to mine. Some amount of com- pliance, some amends and amendment on your own part are due to me also ; for I assure you that I have been most ill at ease on account of your mystery, and that invisible lover who devours necklaces and Tulle ruffs as an ordinary mortal might discuss field-fares ; most have I suffered by frequently not being able to resist the suspicion of still worse things in you yourself. I am persuaded that all this got into my arm and impeded its reco- very. However, it requires only a word from you to be put in a condition to do battle for you, alike against suitors and fair patrons, as well as your own folly. And I tell you that I purpose doing this — even though you pronounce not that word — whether you will or not. I have resolved no more to yield you up, and to make all that concerns you my affair. Do what you will, you will notwithstanding ever abide my indiscreet, beloved child." In the beginning Clara had been mute with astonishment ; but at these words, these tones of the deepest tenderness, the certainty of possessing a friend, her soul resolved itself into a feeling of infinite joy and sadness at the same time. She quietly laid her head on Miss Greta's neck, and gave free vent to her tears. As soon as she grew somewhat composed. Miss Greta said with equal delicacy and good humour : *' You must, however, give me your parole not to run away from me, for 1 feel that my arm is not yet strong enough to detain you unaided." " I promise," said Clara, smiling in tears. ** Very good. And now a question — Where did you just now think to go 1 What did you mean to do 1" *' To go away-^far away— into service." « Into service — of the lover — your husband % " ♦* No, no ; I have n't got one." •* Mind me, Clara," said Miss Greta upbraid- ingly, " do I still merit to be put off with such » '* And will you not, can you not believe me on my word ? Then you do not hke me !" said Clara rising. ♦* Well, well ! spring not towards the door di- rectly!" said Miss Greta, and held her fast by her dress. " Can we not talk over the matter without passion ? You have, then, no husband ; you are not secretly married the man you visit is your brother, then ?" «' Ask me not, ask me not !" entreated Clara, much excited. " Truly I cannot answer." *' And you are aware of nothing in your con- duct to put you to shame ? And are mindful of the Ten Commandments ? And can lay your hand to your heart and asseverate that you are inno- cent?" said Miss Greta, observing Clara atten- tively. " I can! I am!" said Clara, pressing her hands on her bosom. " Very well, then, Clara," said Miss Greta, I will no longer trouble you with questions; nor will I do like Thomas ; I will have faith, though I see not. I believe jou, Clara." And she regarded 44 NINA. her friend with an expression of perfect repose and joy. There is, perhaps, no feeling that might prove equal in sweetness with that of unlimited and un- conditional — blind confidence. It may mark the most foolish, but no less the most sage — be the divinest attribute of man. •* For you see," pursued Clara, placing Miss Greta's hands between her own, while she spoke with an expression of the eye, in which a glimpse of wildness and emotion might be discerned, such as Miss Greta had never before seen in her, •* I have taken an oath, a sacred oath — I have sworn on the Bible to observe silence. It was a fearful oath and a fearful moment. Death and judgment sealed it ! " Clara shuddered. " Heavens !" thought Miss Greta, " here is a question of high treason. God save the king." ** But now," continued Clara, raising her folded hands and eyes in fervent gratitude to heaven, " from this day I am free — free from all partici- pation, all secret dealing. Now can I walk with truth and sincerity before the face of my fellow- creatures. God be praised !" Clara's cheeks were suffused with a deep glow, her eyes beamed ; Miss Greta thought her appearance fine, but was alarmed by her unusual enthusiasm, and troubled by her words. She laid her hand softly upon the arm of the excited young lady, and said with stress : •* Clara, 1 must put one more question to you, which you must answer— Does no one suffer through your secret i Is there no injury, no dan- ger to anybody involved in it ?" " No, no !" exclaimed Clara, " nobody in the world. All is well got over, and from henceforth I may act openly. God be thanked — praised ! " " Well, then, do calm yourself," Miss Greta entreated. But conflicting and too violent feelings had agitated Clara's otherwise deep, though quiet, spirit. Her whole being was thrown out of ba- lance ; she fell into strong convulsions. Miss Greta, who had to struggle both with de- light and alarm, poured over her JSau de Cologne^ administered Hoffman's drops, and wished she was less sensitive and enthusiastic. By and bye Clara grew calm, and, her head resting on her fair friend's knee, she ultimately fell asleep. But as it was quite contrary to Miss Greta's destiny that a scene in which she sustained the principal character, should not end in mirth, so before the close of this evening, the two friends might have been heard laughing heartily to- gether. In the first place. Miss Greta did succeed, though not without pains, in convincing Clara that she would be of far more real service, and contri- bute more to the comfort of her fellow-creatures, in the position she offered to her than in any other ; that, besides, in this way too she would fulfil towards her friend the will of our Lord and Master, which is, that we love one another and make each other happy. When this was fully set- tled and adjusted. Miss Greta— who, in the capa- city of a motherly friend, felt herself authorised to take an active share in Clara's education — read her, half in jest, half in earnest, a little lecture on her former demeanour, her indifference, her sewing, and her uncourteous manners ; all which she represented in a terrible aspect. She warned Clara seriously of the future, and threatened again to commit to the flames any piece of sewing which should prevent her listening to people. Clara laughed, promised amendment, and Miss Greta pledged her word in return that nobody should tor- ment her any more with marriage matters. She wished, however, that Clara would consider this well, as it respected Baron H. But now the tables were turned, and instead of questioning whether Clara was worthy of Baron H., the point wa«, whether he loved Clara fx'om his heart ; whe- ther the mere housewife did not too much occupy his thoughts. It was of especial consideration to ascertain the origin of Filius, and of what Spirit he was come. AH this Miss Greta wished sub- sequently to investigate in a befitting manner. She then instituted a comparison between the present and past sentiments of Clara and herself, and concluded with the question : *' But tell me how came it that you could be so taciturn towards me 1 " " Because I did not then love you," was Clara's answer. " And now ? " "Now, and for a long time, with my whole heart, and for my whole life." It is a charming thing when young damsels unite in joy and goodness, and live together and play like the waves on the shore — like young leaves curled by the breeze ; but beautiful it is when women of noble and confirmed characters meet, prove, and learn to value each other — when they form genuine friendships. Such bonds of amity are found more frequently in life than is gene- rally believed ; and where I see two lady friends living under the same roof, I feel well at heart ; for I then know that there is subsisting that which makes life pleasing, our days light and serene. And what, my friends, what more do we need for happiness than lawful freedom, daily bread, a friend, and lastly, a little thought, or conversation, about that higher world which concerns us all ; an ear for the communion which the good and the wise of all times hold with each other ; some little attention to the great drama which is enacted in the world around us, and to the thoughts of the good poet — nay, some active part in this, that our breast may expand, and we become better, and not shrink together in our little self, and the straits of our house-keeping existence. PROCEED. 'O, very well, then I proceed." Thk Yawning GKNitKMAW. Dead calms there are, not only on the sea, but on land, and in life. History has its periods of dead calm ; man has such in his life — there are days and hours of dead calm. Then welcome yawning ! Dead calm is not repose ; it is a rare- faction of the air without currents — an impotent heaving of the sea : the wind is gone. Does any one write a stoi'y of every-day life, he can portray everything in it but a true picture of such a period — ah, the quintessence of many an every-day ex- NINA. 45 istence. This he must pass hurriedly over, or else nobody will read what he writes, or there is great danger of the reader's feeling a sort of sea- sickness over the book, and dealing very uncere- moniously by it. With secret di'ead I therefore hasten to get forward, for the wind in my story is here hushed for a while, occasioned by a winter in the metropolis of that fashionable life (that is to say, a sort of dead calm) which has already been glanced at in ray tale. Therefore forward, forward and away from this time ; but while a faint breeze is still stirring, it may not be rash to lift up a veil here, draw aside a curtain there, to remove a little obstructive jealousy, and quick as possible to get a sight of good friends behind. We cannot forego the pleasure of casting a hurried glance at the Countess Natalia's conster- nation, the wild ecstacy of the three unruly brothers, Rosalia's long face, and the bright looks of the cook, who was sincerely attached to Clara, when Miss Greta, with a high hand, and a high tone, interested herself in behalf of Clara and her affairs, in such wise, too, that even tittle-tattle was stifled, and the glory of triumphant innocence shone untarnished round Clara's head. Still more difficult to us would it be, to deny ourselves the pleasure of peeping into Clara's new abode, and witnessing how, in the mild sunshine of that home, she, to the great delight of Miss Greta, displayed more and still more skill of a high order in painting flowers from nature ; an accom- plishment to which she laid the foundation even during a period of life so scanty in flowers. While thus occupied. Miss Greta would read to her from the " Memoirs of the Duchess of Abrantes," and various other books of the same kind, which served to open her eyes to the brilliant and shifting diversity of colours which life exhibits, and at once delighted and surprised her. It did not, however, unsettle her views of life, for they were founded in truth : Miss Greta also coincided with her in the main ; both had hitherto been too exclusive, now they were reciprocally enlightened and reconciled. Frequently Miss Greta would put aside her book, ostensibly to look at her paint- ing, but more often to read the expression of her soft eyes ; then lay her hand on Clara's shoulder, and, their glances meeting in a spirit of mutual kindness, the former would resume her reading, the latter continue her flower-painting — life was so pleasing to both. Clara's quiet and beneficent influence, in the sphere she moved in, enlarged her friend's view of life, and imparted to it an agreeable earnestness and a multiplied interest. Pass we now to glance at Clara's suitors. Mr. Frederics, a friend only to resolutions quickly taken, having no disposition to wait long, got one more interview with Clara ; and he kissed her hand with devotion and said, " God bless you ! " And before three months were elapsed, the church had blessed his union with another. Baron H. persevered. He continued to evince an attention to Clara, which gradually assumed the appearance of paternal tenderness. He di- vided his time between her and Miss Greta, who recommenced a shrewd inquiry into the origin of Filius, which the Baron with equal acuteness contrived to elude. Miss Greta had got it into her head, I know not how, that Filius was the son of an opera-dancer. Now for this entity " with legs in air," Miss Greta — who, we must confess, had her prejudices — entertained superlative contempt, and this liaison which, independently of the above, was quite repugnant to her fine sense of pro- priety, furnished a strong qualifying "but" as a set-off to the Baron's good qualities. It was now intimated to the Baron, that only through Miss Greta could he obtain Clara's hand, in the event of the latter consenting to a union with him. Baron H. answered, that the beloved hand would thereby be doubly enhanced to his affection. Clara remained stedfast to her unqualified refusal ; the Baron persevered in his unconcern about it, and the cordiality of his demeanour, the paternal cha- racter of his advances, constrained Clara by and bye to take pleasure in his attentions, and to feel kindly affected towards him. Filius painted her portrait in an infinite variety of style. Nina continued to attract to herself the eyes of all, and the homage of many. Count Ludvig was constantly about her ; the connexion between them was friendly, but without confidence. Everything around Nina was cheerful and flat- tering, but her glance betrayed more and more a joyless spirit within ; from day to day she sank into dreamy inactivity, which the Countess did her utmost to promote. Reposing on soft silken pil- lows, she lay languid and beautiful, surrounded with flowers, reading the latest French romances, which the Countess constantly supplied. The talented but impure Balzac, the richly imagina- tive but chaotic Victor Hugo and their swarm of imitators, were never from her side. Gradually her character seemed to suffer a change. Her dress became more splendid and less modest ; she listened with a degree of complacency to adula- tion, which at these symptoms showed a bolder front and made nearer approaches. She by and bye lost something of her noble simplicity, and became more like the ordinary mortal. Nina, Nina ! instead of raising those around thee to thy high standard— as Edla thought— thou didst stoop lower and more low to their level. Poor Edla ! But to avoid judging with undue rigour of Nina, let us contemplate her more closely ; let us cast a glance into the depths of her soul, and thus we will, wherever we can, deal by our erring fel- low-men—our blame will then most frequently be tempered by compassion. We will, then, contemplate Nina in one of the few moments when she is alone and endeavouring to arrange her thoughts to clearness, by commit- ting them to writing ; an excellent practice, which cannot be too strongly recommended to my fair young reader. Nina writes : '* Edla desired me to write ; she wished me to apprehend clearly my impressions of life, my thoughts and feelings. Why don't I do so ? Why am I so reluctant to put pen to paper 1 I have nothing to write. My impressions are faint — I am unable to think distinctly. All within me and without is so dim — like shadows ! Life — man- kind — what indeed are they ? " Thou lettest them pursue their course, like a stream, and they are as if sleeping, as grass, which soon withers. ** We hasten away like a stream in some cavern of the earth, whose course has not been ob- structed. " Edla taught me another, a higher doctrine. 46 THE H- FAMILY. A strange and deep emotion seemed to have stolen over the Colonel ; he stood immovably, with crossed arms ; but a dim hght glowed in his eyes. With a hushed transport Elizabeth continued : " O, how have I not loved you ? More deeply, more ardently, has mortal never loved ! Ye heavens, which rage above me — earth, that will so soon open for my grave — I call upon you as witnesses ! Hear my words ! And you, dearly- loved anguish of my life, noble, high object of all my thoughts,— my love — my hatred, — yes, my hatred — listen now while I say, * I love you ! ' With the most fervent, the holiest life of my whole being, I have loved you — deep as the sea, but pure as heaven, was my love. You could not understand it, — no one upon earth can understand it — my mother knows it — and He, who is above all. Had we lived in a world where word and deed could be innocent as feeling and thought — O, there might I, lilte a clear warm flame, have embraced and beamed round thy being — have filled you with happiness — have burnt for you only, like a holy flame of sacrifice. Such was my love. But you understood me not — you loved me not — you thrust me from you, scorned me — and I was guilty — but I loved still — and love now — and shall ever — and eternally — and alone ! '' " Alone ! " cried the Colonel, while a powerful emotion seemed struggling for utterance. " Yes, alone ! " the blind girl began again, alarmed and trembling ; " who, besides is there ? I have sometimes longed for it— but — my God, my God ! were it possible ? say, is it possible 1 By that eternal happiness, which you deserve — and which can never be mine, — by that light, which you can see, but I can never behold, — I conjure you, — tell me, tell me ; have you ever loved me ? " A deep silence for a moment ruled all nature. It was as though it was longing to hear that answer, which I, too, awaited in trembling anxiety. Only the pale, lingering lightning hovered above us. Suddenly, with a strong compressed tone, the Colonel said : — « Yes ! " The blind girl turned her face upwards ; it beamed with an unearthly ecstacy, while the Colonel continued, with deep, violent feeUng : — " Yes, I have loved you, Elizabeth, loved you with all the energy of my heart ; but the power of God in my soul was more mighty, and preserved me from ruin. My harshness has saved you and me. My love was less pure than yours. It is not the poison that your hand prepared for me, that has broken down my life — it is the struggle with suffering — with longing — it is grief for you, Elizabeth ! Elizabeth ! you have been infinitely dear to me — you are so still, Elizabeth " Elizabeth heard him no longer ; she sank, as though the weight of happiness had bowed her down ; and at the moment I rushed towards her, Bhe fell like a corpse to the ground, while her lips, with an indescribable burst of happiness, mur- mured — " He has loved me ! " The Colonel and I could scarcely bear her back to her room. I trembled — his strength was, as it were, palsied. Drops of anguish stood upon his brow. Elizabeth did not for a long time recover her consciousness ; but, as she raised again her eyelids, and the stream of life again i*an through her veins, she whispered only, " He has not despised me ! — he has loved me ! " and she continued calm and quiet, as though she had closed her account with the world, as there were nothing left to wish for. During the rest of the night the storm raged fearfully ; the lightning shone upon the face of the blind girl, beaming now with fervent ecstacy. From that hour, and during the few days that she lingered, everything in her was changed. All was tranquillity and gentleness. She spoke seldom, but pressed, kindly and thankfully, the hands of those who drew near her bed, where she lay im- movable. We heard her frequently say, in a low tone, " He has loved me ! " One day Madame H was standing by Eliza- beth, who appeared not to be aware of her pre- sence, when she repeated, with a peculiar sweet delight, the words so dear to her. I saw an ex- pression of pain upon the gentle, kind face of the dear woman. I saw her lips tremble, and a tear steal down her cheek. She turned hastily and went out ; I followed her, for she had forgotten her bunch of keys. She went through the draw- ing-room ; the Colonel sat there, his head leaning upon his hand, and he appeared to be reading. He sat with his back turned towards us. Madame H slid gently behind him, kissed his brow, and as she went into the bedroom, stifled a rising sigh. The Colonel, astonished, looked after her, then looked upon his hand, which was wet with his wife's tears, and sank again into his thoughtful posture. After a moment I followed Madame H to the bedroom, but she was no longer there ; her prayer-book lay open upon the sofa ; the leaves bore the traces of tears. At last I found her after I had passed through all the rooms to the kitchen, where she was reproving the cook for forgetting to cut off" the cutlets from the breast of lamb that was crackling over the fire. This over- sight was, indeed, unpai'donable, for I had told her twice ali'eady, that we should have the bi'east of lamb at noon, and the cutlets at night. " One can never depend upon any other as upon one's self," said Madame H , with a slight insinuation against me, as I gave her the bunch of keys. I now left Elizabeth neither day nor night. Her earthly being appeared to hasten toward its dis- solution with unwonted suddenness. It seemed as though the first word of love that she had heard, had been a signal for the release of her weary soul. So is it with many children of earth. They struggle against the sharp sword of suffering, many, many years — they live, suffer, and struggle. The sword is broken, and they fall powerlessly down. Success reaches to them the goblet ; they touch their lips to the purple edge — and — die! Besides Helen and myself. Professor L. was constantly by the side of Elizabeth. Part of the time he read aloud, and at times he conversed with us about the means by which we might quicken the fear of God slupibering within her, and strengthen her faith in those dear truths, which, like angels, stand around the bed of the dying. Once he questioned her upon the state of her soul. She answered, " I have not the power to think clearly — I have not the power to examine THE H- FAMILY. 47 myself. But I feel — I have a hope — and look forward to light ! " " The Lord shed down the light of his counte- nance upon you ! " said Professor L., with a gentle voice of trust. The next day Elizabeth begged that the whole family might be assembled. When all of us, including Professor L., had gathered around her in fearful silence, Elizabeth called him by name, and begged him to come up to her bedside. She seized his hand, kissed it, and uttered, in a supplicating tone, the word " for- giveness." It pierced us all. No one had power to speak ; and the sad word — " forgiveness ! for- giveness ! " was the only sound that broke through the murmuring of deep sobs. The Colonel and his wife stood together at a little distance. Elizabeth was silent a moment, and breathed heavily ; and, with difficulty, at last she said, " Will my uncle come to me ?" The Colonel drew nearer ; she stretched her arms to embrace him ; he bowed down to her — they kissed each other. Such a kiss ! the first and the last — the kiss of love and death ! Not a word was heard. Pale as a corpse, and with tottering steps, the Colonel retired. With a trembling voice Elizabeth said : *' Lift me from the bed, and bear me to my aunt." We obeyed. She seemed endued with an unusual strength ; and, supported by two persons, walked towards the other end of the chamber, where Madame H , who did not seem to per- ceive her purpose, sat weeping. " Help me to kneel," said Elizabeth. Madame H rose hastily to prevent her ; but Elizabeth, still more quickly, threw herself at her feet, kissed them, and sobbed convulsively, " For- give ! forgive !" We bore her almost lifeless to her bed. From that moment the Colonel never left her. During the night, and the following day, she lay quietly, but seemed to suffer bodily pain. Towards evening, as Professor L., the Colonel, and I, sat silent at her bedside, she awoke from a gentle slumber, and said aloud, in a clear voice : " He has loved me ! Earth, I thank thee !" She sank again into a kind of slumber, or stupor, which lasted perhaps an hour. Her breathing, which had been quick, became fainter, by degrees. A long pause, then a sigh — a still longer pause, and then again a sigh. At one moment, her breathing seemed to have ceased. It was a fearful moment ; a slight spasm convulsed her limbs — again a heavy sigh, followed by a mournful, plain- tive sound — and all was still. "She is dead !" said the Colonel, in a choked voice ; and he pressed his lips upon her death- cold brow. " She sees now !" cried Professor L., as he raised a radiant glance to heaven. The wandering breeze of a summer evening played around the open window, and the birds sang gaily on the hedge beneath. A soft, roseate glow, a reflection from the sun, now setting, lighted up the chamber, and shed a glorious radiance upon the lifeless one. Calm and untroubled she lay there now ! she who had struggled and despaired so long — peace- ful, quiet, now ! Her rich brown hair floated over the v/hite pillow to the ground. A strange smile. expressive of a higher consciousness, hovered around her lips. I have seen this smile on the lips of others, after death : the angel of eternity has pressed them with a kiss ! Peaceful moment, when a heart, that has throbbed long with trouble and sorrow, lies calm in rest ? Peaceful hour ! when every enemy is reconciled to us, every friend brought again to meet us ! when forgetfulness steals over our faults — beams of glory hover over our virtues ! when the eyes of the blind are opened, the bonds of the soul loosened ! Beautiful, peaceful hour ! borne, as it were, on the wings of an angel of light, thou smilest upon me like the glow of morn- ing ! and many times, when I have seen thee summon others, have I longed that thou mightest have come to claim me ! THE EIGHTH CHAPTER. Elizabeth was no more. She had risen like a dark thunder-cloud, and had shadowed the clear heaven of those about her. She had gone. All felt a sensation of peace and tranquillity. Many tears were shed to her memory, but no heart called her back. Unfortunate Elizabeth ! the first moment of peace that was granted you, your heart enjoyed, alone, in the grave ! We see, every day, those who were in life good and peaceful, though undistinguished and unim- portant, go forth from the world more loved, more regretted, than one of greater talents, more richly endowed, who has misused his powers — who, with all his beauty, his genius, his warmth of heart, has not made a single being happy. The Colonel for a long time remained gloomy, and was more reserved than usual towards his wife and children. Their tenderness and constant attention, and the beneficent passage of time, were by degrees dissi- pating his gloom, when an event in the home circle occurred, which agitated his tranquillity anew, and excited the more powerful emotions of his nature. One day, Arwid's father. General P., rushed into the Colonel's room, in a great rage. At first he gave vent to his feelings in a load of curses ; and when the Colonel asked coolly what was the matter, he burst out with — " What is the matter ? What is the matter ? Thousand d — Is 1 The matter is, that your — ^your — your daughter is "General P, !" said the Colonel, in a voice which brought the angry man to his senses. He went on, somewhat more calmly : " The — the matter is — that your daughter has trifled with truth and faith ; has played a false game ! May- seven thousand — that she wishes to break her troth with my Arwid — to return him the betrothal ring — may seven — that Arwid is beside himself — that he will shoot himself — he is so wild and vio- lent — and that I shall be a miserable, childless old man !" Here two tears ran down the cheeks of the old man, while he went on, in a voice in which anger and sorrow strove for utterance : — " She has been sporting with the peace of my son — with my gray hairs ! I loved her — like a father ! I had placed upon her all my hopes of peace in my old age — it will be my death ! She 48 NINA. " The reading of great and good poets. It being her lot on earth to be a worm-eaten flower, she drinks in life for a higher existence, through the medium of its prophets — the poets. Who will blame her, or do aught else than bless them ? Speak to her about Klopstock, and you will see how that languid eye can beam." Clara's eye, too, beamed with a pure ray at the thought of an unhappy one comforted. Miss Greta's attention was distracted by those who were walk- ing near. «* Before all things, excellent Baron," she began, " do tell me something about that family there, who are so extremely ugly, and linked so faithfully together. Papa and mamma, five daughters, three sons, I can discern by their owl likeness. Who are they 1 I fancy they must be irksome to each other." « The best and happiest people in the world. Good, cheerful, witty, well-informed, and so de- voted to each other, that they need little concern themselves about what the rest of the world think of them." " I thank you for the information. Who, pray, is the person sitting on the bench opposite to us ? I observed that she bowed to you just now. She makes a painful impression on me. Her countenance is noble, but without a trace of the agreeable. There is a repulsive gloom in it, fatal to all animation. She is dark and still as a mummy. Has she committed a crime ? Can she be like other people ? Can she utter a cheer- ful word ? Can she laugh 1 " " She cannot ; she can only pray. By those constantly-abased eyes, her mien, which belongs rather to death than life, you may discern that only incessant prayer can save her from madness. I iiave been told that she loved somebody who was not worthy of her, and who died an evil — I mean he destroyed himself. All that I know of Sophy T. is, that she is not happy in her home. Father, mother, brothers and sisters, are entirely the opposite to her in character, and live besides in unceasing discord. Contentions and disputes are the music of their home, and all vie in outbawling one another." " The unhappy — the horrid creatures, I meant to say ; and she ? " " She has become silent and gloomy, even like a shadow, and seems to linger on earth only to pray for the unwoii;hy object of her affections, and those who are alike a torment to themselves and her. Her appearance reminds me of a martyr of Domenichino ; it is a silent but fervent Miserere.^' " Gracious heavens ! an incessant prayer — and that terrible expression. It might drive one to distraction." " That ought never to be our case. Her long prayers will ultimately prevail ; but everything has its time. Do not look at her so much ; it is not well to do so, and avails her nothing. And then— she must indeed bear her burthen hke so many others." " And if she becomes insane ? " " Many before her have been in that condition, and there is still room for her in the lunatic asylums. It is not the worst thing that can befall her. The night of the insane is assuredly fol- lowed by a morning. We will now look around for a more cheerful object Do you know, now, | what preserves the life of that gentleman with the long legs? what it is which maintains his spirit and strength unimpaired ? Forgetfulness. He forgets everything — except his dinner — sorrow, joy, acts of friendship or enmity. At night he has forgotten the day just closed ; and hence it is that every morning he awakes as a new man, or a new creature, just as you are pleased to take it. And again, that man of quiet character there, and serious brow, whose figure looks something like a trunk, — are you at all aware what gets him tran- quillity through life, and keeps him active and in good spirits ? It i^|^mory. His vital energy is gratitude. He lives, minks, and labours to acquire a fortune for the children of his benefactor." " That's bravely done on his part," said Miss Greta. " So say I too, and Ah ! your most humble servant, Madame Pre — . A vastly neat little per- son. She has a charming way of gossippingfor hours together ; only it annoys one to find that she speaks of nobody but herself, her experiences, merits, and tenets, to the effect that we should never talk or even think about ourselves. To hear her, you would believe that she constantly forgot herself in her concern for others — that she counted as nothing her will and convenience, if assured of the happiness of her husband, children, and sister-in- law. (N.B. — I know a large number of ladies who entertain a similar conviction about themselves). Affected by her own excellence, she, with humble assurance, assumes to herself all the fine things which poets and courteous authors have said of woman, and is deluded into the pious belief that she is a very angel (see the parenthesis above). But somebody has whispered in my ear that her husband, hearing a friend say, * Your angel of a wife,' in the bitterness of his heart exclaimed, * Yes, a fine angel, truly ! ' " Miss Greta laughed heartily, and said, " You, then, find no angels among ladies ? " " I, my gracious one ? I see more angels among them than my head and heart can bear. But my angels do not praise themselves." " And in that they are right, for nothing is less tolerable. But whom have we here ? The gentle- man looks like an author ; but I think I should have no fancy to read his books." " I must admire your good taste. The gentle- man is actually an author, and the writer of a book on the Mission of Woman, whose tenor is something like this : — * Woman shall be educated for her wedded lord. Thou shalt be submissive to thy husband. Thou shalt endeavour to please him in every possible way. Has he faults, thou shalt, with great humility and unknown to him, labour to rectify them. Are they incorrigible, thou shalt veil them from the whole world, and only love him the more. To sum all up in a word, thou shalt amend thy husband, and be subject and perfectly devoted to him throughout all time. Amen ! ' " « Do you know. Baron," said Miss Greta, " I have often thought you should have been an author ? I feel persuaded that you would have furnished us with excellent and useful books." " Do you know, my gracious lady, that I equally with yourself entertained such a persuasion, and was really one time on the point of entering on NINA. 49 that career ? T began to write a philosophical romance, and was myself touched by all the wisdom and goodness which I was going to blow through my pen into man. I believed the world could not possibly get forward without the aid of my book, and I scarcely comprehended how it had hitherto got forward. I was just in the middle of my ^opus,^ when I one day opened the Catechism in order to examine a little boy. But I soon began to read for my own edification, and I should find it difficult to describe the impression which the perusal made upon me. Yes, I was at once aifected, delighted, and put to shame ; for I saw as clear as the day that in this the world was already in possession of everything it required. I immediately went home and burned my manu- script, the best thoughts of which seemed to me a dilution of the essence of the Catechism. And since that period, whenever I have felt tempted to take up my pen to teach mankind, the voice of my understanding has thundered forth to my vanity — < They have Moses and the Prophets ! what would it avail them if one arose from the dead ? ' » " Perfectly right. Baron. But pardon me for believing that your considerate indolence had some share in letting Moses and the Prophets deter you from your work. And I confess that I am far from participating in your opinion of the all- sufficiency of one book. Besides, I need books for my amusement." " You wish to amuse yourself. Well, then, my gracious one, do contemplate that gentleman with the heavy, and that lady with the tripping gait, who are always together, in something like the manner of a couple of dogs, that tug and tear each other, and yet cannot separate. Never, surely, has Heaven permitted two such dissimilar beings to come of one father. He sees diificulties in all things — in life and in death ; as to the latter he may, indeed, be right — in standing, in sitting, walking, and lying — ma foi / I do not understand how he gets through the world. She, on the other hand, belongs to that class of well-meaning, but obscure optimists, who, without knowing why, really believe, and constantly assert, that everything is for the best. Of the destruction of Lisbon by an earthquake, and the atrocities of the French Revolution, she says that they were certainly for some good purpose. Is it bad wea- ther to-day, she says it will be the finer to-mor- row; and when the day of judgment, and the consummation of the world by fire shall arrive, I am persuaded, that she will find an opportunity of assuring some consuming fellow-Christian, that everything is for the best. Now, though I be- lieve that such a faith as hers is alike Christian and rational, yet I cannot deny that it often calls to my mind the story told of the parrot that cried out — ' It speeds well ! It speeds well !* while a Turkey-cock was picking out its eyes. I was once on the eve of falling in love with her, for I, too, am most willing to look on the bright side of things, and I thought that with so light-hearted a person, life itself would pass right lightly on. But from the time when she consoled me during an accursed attack of the gout, which had then tor- mented me for a year, with a * this, too, is all for the best,' we have ceased to agree entirely. At the same time I cannot help congratulating her upon the manner in which she views and bears things, and admiring her patience with her bro- ther, who could not live without her, although he is constantly vexed with her, and all the world beside. The lady rather oddly dressed, who is walking behind her " " yes, Madame K., I know her," Miss Greta interrupted him. " That person has more than once tempted me to be guilty of foolish things. While near her, and hearing her speak, I always become thoughtless and giddy." " You astonish me, for she is the very reverse of levity. Precisely for this reason, or, to speak more accurately, the more readily for this rea- son, namely, because she makes reasoning such a tedious affair. She wishes to be philosophical, I fancy, and argues and debates on all subjects. A thousand times has she made me think on the words in Scripture — 'Let your conversation be yea, yea, nay, nay ; for whatever is more than this Cometh of evil.' You smile, Clara, I see you are of my opinion." •' And yet," interposed the Baron, " this very disserting and hair-splitting may be due to a very praiseworthy feeling ; viz., a strong desire to be enlightened on all subsisting things." *' That is quite conceivable," said Miss Greta, after a pause ; " but certain it is, that I cannot, and will not, assist her ; neither do I believe that her method of inquiry is the right one. Much rather would I prefer to listen to Madame N., who is incessantly, but with real sincerity, talking about her children and domestics." " I admit you are quite right, and am of your opinion. Such a topic may for a while be equally interesting with any other. And how much de- pends on the spirit which — "at this moment Miss Greta laid her hand on Baron H.'s ai'm, and exclaimed, in a low and eager tone — " For Hea- ven's sake, who is that — the lady there in black, who is stalking about that cluster of lilacs ? She exactly fulfils the only notion I can form of a living shadow — and she but now fixed so keen and strange a glance on us." Scarcely had Baron H. got sight of the coun- tenance of the lady in black, just as she disap- peared behind the lilacs, when, as if struck by an electric shock, he rose up, and darted off like an arrow in pursuit of her. Miss Greta looked after him with the highest degree of astonishment and curiosity. They did not meet again till they entered the saloon, and Baron H. perspiring profusely, blowing, and with troubled looks, said only that he had thought he recognised an acquaintance in the lady in ques- tion, but he had not, however, been able to over- take her. The little knot of critics were now become si- lent, and occupied themselves merely with filling and counting their glasses. While they are drink- ing and promenading, I will continue their review for a moment, and hovering with eye and thoughts above the thronging crowd, will recount my ob- servations to the reader. For to contemplate the inequality of men in position and in personal endowments, is an employment which does not readily fatigue the attention ; we are interested to observe, how differently the world reflects itself in ail and each, and how, notwithstanding, the man may be recognised in every instance. The 50 NINA. breath of God and the perishable body, all possess in common. The perishable body ! Can this be said of that charming countenance, looking about it with an expression of such cheerfulness and enjoyment ? Certain it is that its possessor does not know much about it. She loves dancing, music, cheerful words and faces, the sun and the flowers. Her soul is turned full to the sunny side of life ; she dreads the other as she does sin. She dances on through life innocent, singing, and playful. May no one ever morosely shake his head at her ! Human life needs its lark-like spirit : — " Soar thee singing, Joyful winging Tliy flight to sun-lit heights. To the grieving Masses leaving, Sing thou the charms of life. " At feasts of pleasure Strike glad measure. Yet be the friend of sorrow. To the dreary Of life weary, Give their spring again. " Anguish stilling. All hearts filling With thy heavenly love ; Then thy singing Will soar, joy-ringing Round th' Almighty's throne." " The dreary, of life weary" — yes ! if it lies in thy power, do recreate his spirit. See bow, with drooping heaa, he drags on to the fountains, not venturing to hope, and yet unwilling to despair. From beneath the green tree on which my lyre is hung, I will also sing him a song : — "Art thou of all joy on earth bereft? Is glad hope for ever from thee flying ? In the grave alone thy refuge lying, Are thy fervent prayers xmanswered left ? " O, there's still against life's stormy gale One shield for all who are before it driven I— By life's best teacher is the lesson given ;— Thee, mild and noble Patience, hail ! all hail ! " Thou art the haven where the wild waves' flood Is lulled to mirror clear, bright heaven disclosing ; The glance wherein his care is seen reposing, Beaming with peace of angels fair and good. "The aspect thou impartest is so fair ; Sweet Power ! all earthly sorrows quelling. Within the heart grows still each doubt rebelling, When we the sufiFerer view with smiling air. " And I believe the God, he sees through all ; Believe the pow'r that is in him victorious ; Believe the spirit's range, its freedom glorious — Most humbly I on the Redeemer call. " Son of griefs ! prophet of better days ! Thy thorny circlet, soon transformed, is beaming ; From every thorn delightful roses gleaming. Bloom brightly under glory's purest rays." But where was I before this little digression 1 — at the mineral waters singing joy and patience — Very good. My spirit has now soared higher, and in its playful vein has hailed the " well of water springing up into everlasting life," which, from im- mortal fountains, is poured out upon mankind. 1 will pursue it,and mark howit sheds blessings on the souls of men. I will observe the various beings that move about me in all diirections. Here are the good, the loving, who live and move in mutual affection. How much good they do my heart ; the very air around them inspires one with delight ! Here are the strong ; those who, by their native force of character, create a career for themselves ; who have drunk in noble thoughts, and, by meditating on life and on their own nature, give an elevated tone to their being. The sight of them is invigo- rating. Their eye is clear— no wonder that it is so ! Truth they have sought and seen intuitively — beautiful, lovely, glorious truth ! And those on whom nature has conferred no great powers, on whom life has bestowed no great joys, but who still receive contentedly the crumbs which fall from the banquet of existence, and weary not heaven with importuning for " more." The little ones in life, the unobserved of this world, how beautifully, how appropriately do they too sustain their part in the ordination of Providence. How many quiet spirits there are, who find enjoy- ment in flowers, in the song of the birds, and the little chamber facing the sun, where, cherishing these careless children of the field and the air, catch something of their freedom from concern and blithesomeness. It is delightful to reflect how many springs of enjoyment the all-bounteous Father has provided for his children, and how He reveals himself to them in these. We are con- scious of His omnipotence, not only in the hours of devotion : the divine spark glows in every part of life, and may be kindled into a flame, by honour- able and pure exertions, on the part of every human being. Love, Nature, Science, Art, Phi- losophy, are they not all and each thoughts of Him, emanations from God ? In every one of these realms has He not given to every man a native land in which he can find a settlement and a home ? and the same heaven, the bright, eternal sun of the one source of love, beams above and in them all ! How often does it happen that men, in their pursuits or their labours, are penetrated by a sudden flash of light, a ray of bliss, for which they have not expression. Gleams of a higher exist- ence, which it exceeds their faculties to comprehend, shoot through them, and then they cannot forbear exclaiming to themselves — " It is the Lord ! " And yet there still exist in the world poor, for- lorn ones, who are destitute of everything which gives worth to life. Things will not continue thus. The prophet has had his day, so, too, has the hero ; the day of the man is now coming. But mankind is a legion, and every individual of this vast con- course comes forth, at the present day, as a pleni- potentiary from heaven, and demands to be allowed scope on earth for his freedom, his love, his acti- vity, and his happiness. That in the beginning there must be elbowing and cuffing is quite obvi- ous. All push forward to the healing waters ; all are emulous to fill their goblets. Some get thrust back, others trampled to the ground. But, patience ! things will be better ; for the shield of the nations has spoken to the rock, and it has opened its bosom ; the waters flow high and more high and abundant. Some day there will be enough for all. One fountain there is, which is now first begin- ning to diffuse its silvery di*ops among men ; a spring which will slake the thirst of the millions, and afford a full measure of peace and joy to all who drink at it. n \-L The draught from the well of knowledge, of in- tellectual cultivation, it is which gives such fresh- ness and clearness to the spirit of man, and makes his life so tranquil, and independent of external circumstances. Go and drink at this spring, thou whom fortune has slighted, and thou wilt feel thy- self affluent. Thou mayst then go forth into the wide world and feel thyself at home in every place ; thou mayst shut thyself up in thy solitary chamber, and yet have society enough ; for thy friends, those who are ever at hand, and with I whom thou canst ever commune without restraint, are nature, antiquity, and heaven. The works of instinct, and the productions of men — the rainbow, and the Runic monuments, equally offer enjoyment j to thy soul. The splendours of the creation are I not seen with thy eye of sense only, they are a j glory to thy thoughts, a light to thy reason. 0, I thus to contemplate, to comprehend, and to adore I — is not this enough for an earthly life ? Enough ? j It is inexpressibly, infinitely, much ! And wherefore is it enough ; so much ? — Infi- nite One ! — source of light and of life ? It is because thereby we approximate to Thee ; because thereby we are better enabled to perceive Thy light and Thy love in every atom of existence. " If," as a great writer says, " the Heathen forgot the Crea- tor in the creature," it certainly behoves the true Christian everywhere to labour to comprehend and adore the all- wise Creator in the creature and the creation. THE FIRE ORDEAL AND THE WATER ORDEAL. " Take courage, my brothers, and cheer ye. Dance too ! hark, how they're playing I " [ Bellman. I And assuredly we ought to be cheerful and glad ; nature will have it so, and no less is it the will of the Creator. Music and dancing are a leading theme in the great opera of the creation. , With harmony, the various systems dance their j round about the central sun ; with a song, the winged tribe tread their measure on the air ; the I waves dance on the ocean's bosom, and the leaves in the wind, and the winds themselves disport in gay gambols ; the child dances in its mother's arms ; fire, when kindled into flame, is an incessant dance ; the heavens, too, have their shawl-dance, now enveloping themselves in their veils of clouds, now loosing them to stream on the air, now sud- ' denly contracting them. (At this moment I am making a glissade-assemble with my pen — and thou, \ my reader, hast thou not followed me long enough j in my gallopade ?) I The savage dances in joy and in pain ; and, per- fecting these essays of rude nature by art, the civilised man dances with such taste and grace, that brutes attend and angels smile. His attitude is that of hovering on the borders of a higher world ; his " partner," at whose hand he is led over them, is Death. Sweet must the songs of heaven sound in the ears of him who has passed through his portals into eternity. On a smooth, green level, dance the company at the Wells of Ramlosa. With friendly loquacity Baron H. is busied in presenting dance-loving gentlemen to dance-loving ladies. He also compels those who are no dance-lovers to sweep merrily about, for Baron H. likes to see people cheerful and sociable. NINA. 51 By tacit and almost unanimous consent, he had become the maltre de plaisir to the company at the waters. He knew all the world, was beloved by all the world, and, moreover, led the world so discreetly and easily, that it was quite satisfied, and willingly followed him. This post was also exactly suited to his sprightly temper, but seemed not so well adapted to his corpulency, which suf- fered much from his exertions for others. Baron H. however, apparently resolved to let it suffer, nay, he seemed determined to relievehimself of this burden. Miss Greta rallied Clara on this token of his affection, and prophesied that one of these days, slender and genteel as Cousin Pasteaureau, he would fall at her feet, and get possession of her heart. Cruel Miss Greta ! While Baron H. was toil- ing to make life light to all, she was devising in her head plans most fatal to his peace ; nay, even perilous to his life. She had resolved the first opportunity which offfei'ed itself to put his love for Clara to a very severe test. If the result should be a persuasion that he was prompted to solicit Clara's hand, not merely by a sort of needy at- tachment — a desire to lead a comfortable and Epicurean life — but by true affection, she meant to advocate his cause herself ; if the reverse proved to be the fact, she undertook seriously and with energy to break short a courtship which had already extended far beyond the appointed three months for consideration, and gave people occasion for talk. With this she united the full determi- nation to ascertain by fair or unfair means from whom Filius was descended. And I must add, that it was a critical aff'air to oppose Miss Greta's will, when she had completely resolved to accom- plish anything. Where were we but now ? yes ! At the dance on the grass. The evening is beautiful. The wind has ceased to gambol with the leaves and the flowers ; he is now still, slumbering in the groves. But the birds are carolling their farewell to the sun. Nina's beautiful sylph-like form floats along in the waltz. Her graceful partner in the dance is a very handsome young man, with the elo- quence of Apollo, and the smiles of Cupid. What is his name ? We will call him Don Juan, What is there remarkable in Don Juan ? He is the hero of Byron's longest poem, a cousin of Ri- chardson's Lovelace ; and, like the latter, re- nowned for his conquests over the wealcnesses of the fair sex, and, consequently, according to the dictum of certain thinkers — a decided favourite with all ladies. Holy Clarissa ! Aurora Raby, thou fairest con- stellation that Byron has conjured up on his stormy heaven. In your names, and in that of your prototypes, do we protest against this narrow- minded judgment, and declare that those thinkers knew none but the woman of great cities, already corrupted by the world, not true, unspoiled woman. Don Juan was really dangerous. For who could have anticipated treachery in that open, clear look, under that cordial laugh, and that amiable, uncalculating manner 1 Who could have believed that wickedness dwelt in a soul which appeared so enthusiastic for all that is honourable and beauti- ful ; which, too, in the hour of quiet confidence, sighed out that in life he had not realised that after which he had aspired ; was not become what he wished to be ? Nina suspected nothing, and 52 NINA. suffered herself to be carried away by an amia- bility and spirit which affected her in an agreeable manner. The Countess knew perfectly well what ground she was upon, and therefore she was in the highest degree taken with the interesting stranger and his distinguished musical abilities. He became one of the most intimate of her circle of acquaint- ances. Miss Greta saw everything clearly, but observed silence, and was summary and cold in her deportment towards Don Juan. Clara avoided him from a sort of repugnance for which she could assign no reason, but which greatly resembled that wise and unerring instinct by which animals avoid noxious plants ; whereas he, on the other hand, frequently sought her, — he very well knew why — thus verifying the remark frequently made, that the voluptuous man seeks the pure of heart by preference ; not with a view to elevate himself to her, but to draw her down to himself. Clara, however, seemed but a secondary thought with Don Juan ; his attention and homage were from day to day devoted more and more exclusively to Nina. But to the dance again ! This, however, is terminated. Baron H., after dancing a Polka with a lady who had found no partner, lay panting on the grass. Miss Greta, in a gentle mood, pre- sented him a glass of lemonade with her own hand. The President was awaiting his Countess, who was looking around with a little anxiety for Nina, but she forgot her uneasiness in a highly interesting conversation with a handsome colonel. Nina, in company with some acquaintances, had strolled into the more shaded part of the park. Don Juan followed and endeavoured to captivate her attention. Unobserved he separated her from the rest of the company, and when they sat down to rest themselves, he chose a seat for Nina, dis- tant enough from the others to render his words inaudible, and sufficiently close to lull all dis- quietude on her part. The tranquillity of the warm evening, the shade of the thick foliage of the trees, all conspired to heighten that melancholy temper of mind so peculiar to Nina. Dreamily she leant her beautiful head on her hand, and gazed before her on the deep twilight. Don Juan observed her state of mind, and availed himself of it. In a low melo- dious tone he spoke of the inanity of ordinary life, its obscurity, its coldness and fetters. He talked of the life of nature, so warm, so full of love, — in that was revealed the spirit and the goodness of God. He spoke of a life in accordance with that of nature — and, therefore, beautiful and full — like that which the Patriarch once lived ; like that which in fairer, sunny climes, is still the right of each and all who are free. He eulogised the power of love which can shed a glory on everything ; it was the beatific vision of life, which alone enno- bles existence, which alone is worthy to engage our care. He cited texts from John the Evan- gelist. His words were pure, his voice was fasci- nating, his language poetical ; Nina observed not the serpent which crept beneath the flowers. She listened almost without thought, but a spell had come over her. Strange, indistinct, but pleasant emotions heaved her breast — it was fruition. The bosom of nature, as it were, opened to her ; she would gladly have sunk into it, have mingled her being with the fragrance of the flowers, with the flitting shadows and the dew-drops, and become a part of the wonderful life which encompassed her. A well of voluptuousness sprung up in her soul — tears gushed from her eyes, while she cast them down, when they met the dark fiery glances which, as if spell-bound, were stedfastly fixed upon her. There was a movement in the groups around ; the company rose to return. Nina also rose ; she looked up to heaven; she gazed on the clear, twinkling stax-s. It produced a painful impression in her mind ; she fancied their look was stern and cold ; she associated the penetrating glance of Edla with it. Nina abased her eyes, and an involuntary impulse urged her to remove herself from Don Juan. This did not escape his ex- perienced eye, and he said quickly, but in a low and troubled voice — ** Thanks for this hour after years of inanity ! The remembrance of it will be my good angel, and enable me to bear with a lighter heart the weariness of existence. My character may be marked by levity, but my heart is capable of deep feeUng .... My path has been a solitary one .... I have not been understood ; no one has as yet really known me as ... . and I — have never yet known happiness." He pro- nounced these words with deep emotion, and was then silent. He offered his arm to Nina ; she took it. Why, he was unhappy, not understood ! They both returned through the then hushed groves, along which the din of the company rang indistinct from the distance. Nina went on with drooped eyelids, mute, and a mystery to herself, but not insensible to the glance which her companion fre- quently fixed upon her. The wanderers found the company still assembled upon the dancing ground, listening to a flute-player who was blowing his last quaver just as they came up. Don Juan was immediately surrounded. All joined in soliciting him to put the crown to the evening's pleasures, by exerting his far-famed musical talents. He did not require much en- treaty, and, taking a guitar from the hands of the Countess Natalia, seated himself upon a moss- grown stone and preluded. It was beautiful to see him as he sat there, his fine head bent down in thought, his dark Byron-like locks lifted lightly by the evening breeze, while his soft white hand flew rapidly over the strings. He sang, and atten- tion hung upon his tones. Anything more en- trancing they had never heard. It was a wild romance of ill.sped love. In it were embodied passion, criminality, wild raptures, madness, death. The singer grew pale at his own sounds ; the listeners were no less moved. A shudder of horror thrilled through them ; the foliage quivered in responsive sympathy. AH were silent as if con- founded, while the last abrupt but melodious accords, like death-sighs, floated away. At their close, Juan riveted a long and ardent look on Nina, and his tones became lovely, melting, and as it were charged with delight. He sung happy, free, and paradisiacal love, such as Albano and Correggio have painted it. In Nina's bosom were made to vibrate chords which had never before been touched. Anticipations, longing, sorrow, and joy, alike vague and indefinite, seized upon her. Was it the bottomless pit — was it heaven which was about to open itself to her % She knew not. She would that she might have died at that moment, and yet till then she had never antici- pated such affluence, such fulness of existence. That which took such powerful hold of Nina's NINA. 53 soul, was not without effect on others ; at the sight and sounds the heart of many a one present melted into a lost Eden. Tears mounted to the eyes of many, and the flame of love shot forth from them, not to read but to enkindle those of their neighbours. Many a rosy recollection awoke in the breast of the hoary-headed man and the elderly lady — no, this will take me too far. We cannot spend our time in noting down all the im- pressions which the strains produced. Great is the power of song, greater however is that of sleep — at least in our rather dull regions of the North. Miss Greta was the first who made this observation, as turning with a yawn to Baron H. she said, <' This is really beautiful, but not suffi- ciently so to keep us sitting here all night. Listen to my counsel, Baron, let us act the wiser part — let us return home." Baron H. answered in a language quite unintelligible to Miss Greta, which circumstance was an enigma to her till she per- ceived that he was — asleep ! He lay on the grass with coat unbuttoned, with his open, cheerful, somewhat Bacchus-like countenance turned up- wards toward the sky in dreaming contentment. Miss Greta beckoned to Clara, and smiling pointed to the sleeper. " He will take cold," said Clara, with an ex- pression of concern, and seizing a shawl she spread it over him. Was it now in pursuance of a dream, or was the sly man awake, or was he internally clair-voyant? Enough, when Clara stooped to cover him with the shawl he stretched forth both his arms, but Clara drew herself quickly up, and he embraced only her two hands, which he kissed heartily. Clara did not allow it at all to trouble her ; Miss Greta looked on. Filius at this moment had his own particular employment. He had conceived an especial attachment for a certain Caroline, a pretty little German girl of fifteen, and was paying court to her by drawing Arabesques on her shoes and the hem of her black dress with a piece of chalk. In vain did the young lady weary herself out with, « Leave off, dear Filius ! Dear youth, do let me be quiet ! " In vain ! his love of art had now fairly gained ascendancy over him ; he neither answered nor obeyed, nor did he indeed seem to hear what was said. Miss Greta, who sat near the fair victim to his artistical /wror, now joined her prohibitive authority to Caroline's entreaties. Filius turned himself round in silence, and almost at the same instant Miss Greta caught sight of a great white Roman nose figuring as an ornament to her own dark green silk dress. This was too much. Look- ing on at the scene between Baron H. and Clara, she pressed her fine lips almost imperceptibly together ; a little sternness spread itself over her countenance ; her white fingers found their way to the blond locks of Filius, and « Oh ! oh ! oh !" resounded the shrill cry of pain. Baron H. sprang up with the agility of a squirrel, and called out, "Filius!" Sobbing deeply Filius went to his foster-father, and was only able to stammer out, " She pul— 1 — ed my hair !" Surprise mingled with mirth diffused itself through the bystanders. But Baron H. looked at Miss Greta as if to demand an explanation. That lady rose with some dignity, and said, " My excellent Baron, it is, I presume, superfluous in me to assert that he merited the chastisement. All that I have now to say is to express a wish that you yourself may apply a method in some degree resembling that which I have just had recourse to ; otherwise the boy will be intolerable." Baron H. made no reply, but took the hand of Filius — whose grief Clara had assuaged — and prepared to depart. The rest of the company also now broke up. Clara expected to get her shawl back, but was disappointed in this. Baron H. wrapped it very calmly about himself, extolled its softness, its warmth, and mild character. Miss Greta gave Clara one of her shawls — of which she possessed a host — and walked home silent as a post. At the moment of separation Clara delicately made mention of her shawl ; but the Baron put it into his pocket, and declared that he would never part with it. Nina was accompanied home by Don Juan. When arrived at the dooV he again riveted one of his ardent looks on her, and then departed. But while lying in bed she was enraptured by his tones, which were heard in an undulating barca- role sung delightfully from the syren-bower be- neath her window. The moon shone clear ; the light fell upon her bed. The two dark cross-bars of the window cast their deep shadow on her breast. Nina observed it — the symbol of self- denial and suffering, — but she was also suffused with heavenly splendour. Without were love and song. Her heart beat uneasily ; her tears flowed to her relief, and calmly laying her fair arms over the shadow-cross on her breast, she surrendered herself in unspoken prayer to her Father above, who read her heart better than she, and decided on her fate. Miss Greta did not allow the evening to pass without calling Clara to account respecting the words she had uttered about Baron H. " He will take cold," and asked with great gravity whether she was purposed to keep him warm, and that too not only with her shawl but heart also. Clara declared that such was not her intention, first in a playful manner, then with much seriousness. " Very good," thought Miss Greta. That evening, however, Clara had to endure much from her friend, who could at times be rather unmerciful, and who, on the pi-esent occasion, made frequent inquiries about the shawls Clara had " still left." Miss Greta declared also, that she would gladly see other proofs of the Baron's love than those which deprived her of her attire. Then she would at intervals ask, with a roguish glance, what would be the issue of the affair. But Clara put a good construction on these jests ; re- mained silent, and did not allow herself to be dis- concerted by them. The connexion, however, between Miss Greta and Baron H. was really a little disturbed. A certain degree of variance, and a cold politeness, for some days supplanted their former unconstrained and cheerful friendship. Does it not look as if we were entirely unmindful of the President ? We have, indeed, not forgotten him ; but beside his brilliant wife, of whom, by the way, he was quite proud and a little jealous to boot, he retired more and more into the shade. Every morning he drank, with religious scrupu- losity, his quantum of twelve glasses, and com- plained a little of his stomach and his temper ; to which the Countess paid no attention. She prac- 64 NINA. tised music incessantly with Don Juan and Nina. In their society, especially with Nina alone, he made full display of his admirable accomplishment ; he swam, as it were, in music, and became intoxi- cated with his own tones. Nina, as if beneath its fascination, became from day to day more deeply wrapt in sweet melancholy reverie. Don Juan's passion for her became every day more evident and more violent. She moved amidst his homage, his songs, his glowing poetical world, — her spirit rocked upon a sea of melody and delight. Like the effect produced by the strong odour of the flower, was the impression which these sweet breathing strains of music wrought on her ; it was a delicious but stupifying sensation, a pleasant inebriation, a luscious poison ; by such, my fair readers, the soul may be killed. " But do not the pure angels in God's heaven sing ? Song, in its own nature, is so divine ; how can it kill the soul 1" "It turns entirely upon what Spirit it is that inspires the song, my dearest one. The noblest in- strument may, in the hands of the evil disposed, be applied to a bad purpose, and be made subservient to iniquity. There is fire which illumines, and imparts vivacity and life, — there is also fire which consumes." « But . . . .» But ! and but, my affectionate fair one, whose pure soprano I hope to hear one day — if not earlier — in the chorus of the singers in heaven, — I have not time to argue with you at present. Besides, Clara, the pure, the devout Clara, will reply to thy doubts. « Why, Clara," asked Miss Greta, " do you almost always leave the room when Don Juan seats himself at the pianoforte, and sings in such a manner that Nina melts, and Natalia looks quite entranced, and turns her eyes on every side, save where the President sits ; who, notwithstanding, strains every nerve to keep his rapture from flagging. Tell me, why do you always steal away ?" Clara blushed, and said with a smile, " Because I wish to be neither melted nor enraptured by Don Juan's tones." She was silent for a moment, and then added, with heightened complexion, " I like music very much, and have not a harder heart than Nina ; but there is something in Don Juan's singing which is not good for me. It excites and softens ; but without being salutary in its influence on you. There is a something in his manner and tone, which tells that he is not pure in heart and purpose." " But your heart and mind are so," said Miss Greta, laying her arm round her friend. " I could wish that the beautiful and perfect Nina, as Natalia calls her, had only half your sense." " Speak to her, warn her ! " besought Clara, with sincere feeling. " She is so young and so good !" " That I shall take no part in," said Miss Greta, with decision. " I do not properly comprehend that girl ; and besides, we may look for the speedy arrival of one whose vigilance neither she nor Don Juan will escape. Count Ludvig R. is expected daily to arrive here, and then, I shrewdly suspect, that his presence will temper the heat of these musical exercises. With Natalia, however, I have spoken ; but it availed like a sermon to the deaf. She is ever expert in making black appear white, and — but they are ringing for dinner. Put on your Tulle pelerine, Clara — that is, provided you have one left ! Well ! — I wonder Baron H. did not also " Clara silenced the jesting lips with a kiss, and hastened to follow her friend to the table d'hote. Miss Greta seated herself beside Baron H. at table. From the manner of both it might be seen that they wished to become friends again : Baron H., whose meridian hour was always that at the dinner- table, where — which is not frequently seen — he possessed the social gift of seasoning the meal with conversation sustained with much good taste and vivacity — the Baron on that day was perfectly " charmant.'* His first essay was to consult Miss Greta on the education of children, and that lady, half in jest, half in earnest, communicated some tolerably sturdy strokes of advice, which might have proved more salutary than agreeable to Filius. She also said various things about his future career, whether, for instance, it were not expedient for him to follow his mother's profession at the theatre, — but observed at the same time that Filius appeared to have very little liking for dancing, and always walked with his toes turned inward. Baron H. stared at Miss Greta with some sur- prise, coughed, drank a glass of wine, and replied that the boy might follow his own inclination. Miss Greta then suggested the profession of scene-painter, and in a very lively manner related the story of the chalk-drawing and the ear-pulling during the dancing on the green. Both laughed at it ; Baron H. confessed that Filius well deserved the chastisement that was administered ; nay, he even solicited Miss Greta's advice — he would not say " manual assistance," in the education of the boy ; she promised to do her utmost, and took care that Baron H. received the best of everything on table. In fine, they agreed so excellently in all things, that Clara, who sat exactly opposite, smiled to herself at it, but she did not observe how espe- cially sincere and warm they were in praise of herself. The Baron's eyes sparkled like crystals in the sunshine. The great friendship of the antagonists extended also to the afternoon, when Baron H., who, con- formably to what Miss Greta called his "lean- making system," was eager for walking, — proposed a tolerably long promenade after dinner, she assented with the utmost willingness, although otherwise no especial friend to promenading. Clara rejoiced at the beautiful views, which according to Baron H.'s declaration she was to witness, and went happy and tranquil at the side of her friend. Filius, who was still adverse to Miss Greta, and regarded her with distrustful glances, was, however, that day very sprightly, and very choice in plucking the loveliest flowers for Clara and his father. Miss Greta observed that, though bois- terous, the boy was still faithful in his attachment to those who had been kind to him ; she there- fore resolved for once to make trial of the gentle method in order to obtain some power over him. The gentleman who saw difficulties in all things, and his sister, the fair optimist, were the only members of the company that joined in the pro- menade ; we know not exactly what evidences of perplexity or good they respectively anticipated in support of their opposite doctx'ines. The party had in good humour got over a good part of the NINA. 65 way when a thunder-cloud which arose in the rear of the pedestrians, made the difficult gentleman exhibit the most wo-begone expression of counte- nance, and suggested to Miss Greta the idea that a storm with thunder and lightning might possibly be one of the beautiful sights with which Baron H. meant to regale Clara. However, whether from kindness or cunning is still a question— she did not allow her unhappy suspicions at all to tran- spire. Baron H. once turned round to look at the cloud, trilled a merry air, and pursued his way in the very best temper. Not so the difficult gentle- man : he and his sister lingered a few paces behind, and Miss Greta heard the following con- versation arise between them : — " Well, this seems likely to turn out a fine ad- venture ! Heavens ! what a storm we are going to get ! That mad-brained Baron ! We shall all be drenched through and through ! " *' Dear Bony ! take my word, there is no danger of that. It is passing off. The wind blows against the clouds." " Blows, blows ! . . . . Heavens ! what a fanci- ful notion. But if the wind does blow upwards, I should like to know of what service your accursed wind will be to us, otherwise than by flinging the confounded dust into our eyes, and blowing away our hats. Wind is a horrible thing. I should like to know of what good it is." " It is unquestionably good for something. / find it very agreeable. It makes one go forward with more vigour. I like to take an air-bath occasionally ; it promotes health." " You may bathe to the full in wind or dust ; I for my part will beg to be spared the pleasure. A drop of rain ! Well, now we've got it. We shall have incessant rain for a week. My rye-fields will get beaten down and mouldy ; how — what— and I feel already that I am going to have a relapse of that ague I had five years ago. See, the accursed mass of water is coming down upon us like a second deluge." " You will see that we shall arrive before the rain falls. Those little dark wreaths of cloud are of no significancy, and are, moreover, at a great distance. We shall soon be under shelter, and then Baron H. has promised us some good coff'ee." " Coffee ! yes, yes, we shall drink coffee in a pool of rain-water, I maintain ! " " Before we are aware of it, we shall be on the spot." '< On the spot ! we shall not be there till we are drenched, I maintain ; and this promenade will be my death." " Do you wish to turn round and go back 1 We can " " We cannot return before the rain and thunder and lightning overtake us." " But we can assuredly venture to essay it, and hope the best." " No, say I — no, no, no, no ! " " But what shall we do then ? It is assuredly better to go one way or the other, either back- wards or forwards, than stand still here." " Yes, now we have got it ! ' What shall we do ? ' is always the cry when people have com- mitted every possible kind of absurdity — and then they stand there gaping in their folly. Baron H. ! Baron H. ! we're going to have a storm ! We shall be drowned in the thick-falling showers ! Baron H. ! I believe the man is deaf ! I can make no more impression on him than a stone. Baron H. I H. ! Baron 1 " Baron H. appeared not to hear, and went briskly forwards. At last he was plucked so vio- lently by the coat-tail, that he was obliged to retreat some few paces, and stumbled with his whole weight full against the difficult gentleman, who repeated with all his might, " We're going to have a storm ! We're going to have a storm ! " " Oh ! bah ! " answered the Baron phlegmati- cally, suppressing a laugh with difficulty. " You may ' Oh ! bah ! ' at your pleasure. We shall have a storm, and all get soaked through, on account of your obstinacy," " We shall have no storm, I say ; but if you are so fearful of it — why there stands a barn. You will find shelter in it, and dry hay on which to rest, till all danger is past." « That is excellent, indeed ! " " Excellent ! Hebbla, everything is excellent with you ! And yet everybody knows that the lightning is wont to strike barns, and, besides, the hay irritates one. Excellent ! " This was quite irresistible to Miss Greta, and the hearty laugh into which she broke out nettled the difficult gentleman in such a manner, that he seized the arm of his sister, turned on his heel from the party, and shaped his course towards the barn. After Miss Greta's mirth, in which Clara and Baron H. participated, was restrained by her, she said in a more serious tone : — *' Do you know. Baron, that of all the beauties of nature, a shower excites my curiosity the least ? If you think we are soon to regale ourselves with one of these, I beg — at least as far as Clara and myself are concerned — to be allowed to con- template it from the bai'n, despite all the diffi- culties which may attend it." But Baron H., with whom it was a matter of especial concern to reach his goal — due, we believe, in some measure to the coffee — would not listen to any proposal about the barn, and pledged his word that the storm would pass over. The in- frequent drops had already ceased, and a merry song would certainly conjure forth the sun ; and im- mediately Baron H., " with the vilest voice in the world," as Miss Greta styled it, commenced a cheerful song of spring. And lo ! the sun did appear, the clouds dispersed, and the party went blithely on, after making divers nods and signs to the brother and sister in the barn to follow them. Only that the wind, which continued with in- creasing vehemence to drive clouds of dust across the fields, and grew stronger with every minute, became more and more annoying to the pedes- trians. Miss Greta grew fatigued and heated, and a little out of temper — a circumstance which might be gathered partly from her silence, partly from her drily warning Clara *' to wrap herself up well, to hold fast her shawl, her bonnet, and not to anticipate the mowers' labour ; " for Clara could not forbear assisting Filius in collecting specimens of grass and herbs. Baron H. became more and more lively, and praised his beautiful weather, his sunshine. The party were walking along the margin of a rippling streamlet, across which, from one green bank to the other, a few planks had been laid down to serve the purpose of a bridge. But these appeared so fragile, that they were quite 56 NINA. warranted in doubting whether they would sustain the weight of a full-grown person. Suddenly a gust of wind lifted bonnet and veil from Clara's head, and with it crowned one of the dwarf pines on the opposite bank. Great was the surprise and embarrassment of the little band. I here assure thee, dear reader, that I do not at all know what ill-favoured little demon put it into Miss Greta's head now to practise an experiment on the subject of the Baron's love to Clara. Baron H. stood there, looking with an expression of surprise at the bonnet and veil flaunting on the top of the fir-tree, but did not betray the slightest evidence of an intention to venture across the dangerous bridge. Miss Greta cast a look at him. " Well, Baron? " said she. " Yes, my gracious one, that was a most disastrous piece of business ? " " Disastrous ? Were I in your place, I should call it a fortunate one. This is one of the oppor- tunities, so rare in our refined state of society, in which a lover is still allowed to evince his chivalric devotion — that despises danger where there is a gleam of hope — to his lady fair ; a noble feeling to which Baron H. is certainly susceptible." " Your most humble servant! Exactly so ! But — but let us not be over hasty to display our gymnastic skill. A gust of wind bore the bonnet away, a gust of wind may convey it back again. We will wait a little while ; we will see what may happen." " I admire your patience, Baron. I now per- ceive that there is a prospect of our stopping all night in this place ; and in the meantime Clara's beautiful bonnet will be spoiled, and the wind will solace her with the headache and toothache." " If Mamselle Clara would take my hat ! " *' No, no. Baron ; she will not take it, rely upon that. She knows too well how to value the head of a fellow-creature, to deprive it of its covering. No, you must devise some other expedient, if you wish well to Clara." Baron H. had eaten a hearty dinner ; he was warm from walking. None but a Quixotic knight could wonder that, in his eight-and-fortieth year, he delayed exposing himself to the capricious temper of the water-spirit. Clara again declared with sincerity that she could walk home quite well without a bonnet, and that if it were imperative to venture across the bridge, no one should do so but herself. How she was to release herself from Miss Greta, who held her fast by the arm, might have been a very doubtful question. Silent they stood some time exposed to the wind, contemplating the flaunting bonnet and veil, and awaiting the lucky gust of wind, which, according to the Baron's assertion, " certainly would come." At last Miss Greta's patience was exhausted, and she exclaimed — " No, this I can no longer endure, and since Baron H. consults Clara 80 little, and is so fearful to venture anything for her, I will go myself ! , Stir not, Clara ! " « That you shall not ! " said Baron H., with full determination, holding back Miss Greta ; " for though no friend to unduly magnifying trifles, yet I do not fear a cold bath in any instance, least of all when taken for the good Clara ! " And with this he was across the bridge without further ado. Miss Greta, who kept fast hold of Clara, sent after the Baron a half-audible critique on his ex- pression, " magnifying trifles," but observed with uneasiness — which was not visible to others, how- ever — his course over the planks, as they bent far more than she expected beneath his weight. We cannot say what at this moment she felt internally from remorse and anxiety ; for she never made it known to any one. The Baron, meanwhile, was tolerably near attaining his object without any adventure, when there occurred an accident, which could not possibly have been foreseen. The event- ful bridge consisted of three planks, of which the centre one was evidently rotten. Baron H., there- fore, avoided lejtbste milieu^ by setting his feet on the planks on either side of it. Thus was formed an opening, which Filius was suddenly inspired with a wish to dart through, with the double pur- pose of surprising his father by his agility, and winning the palm of priority in rescuing the bonnet and veil. Unhappily, however, the Baron was no Colossus of Rhodes, and Filius was in point of fact anything but agile. The youth flew like an arrow till he reached his father's legs, between which he remained fast entangled. His parent, alarmed and excited at the danger of his position, raised a cry of distress, and was well nigh losing his balance, but was brought into equilibrium again by com- municating a thrust to Filius. At the same instant Miss Greta set her foot on the bridge to lend them her assistance ; but the fragile structure broke beneath its threefold burden, and with a loud crash Baron H., Miss Greta, and Filius, were precipi- tated into the water, and plunged amidst a flock of ducks, which, with a terrible noise and plashing, flapped their wings in and about the intruders' faces. Baron H. disappeared entirely beneath the waves. On showing his head above the surface again, he sent forth such a complication of wonder- ful sounds, that it might well have been said — with King David, I believe — " He made a noise like a crane and a swallow, and cooed like a dove." But as soon as he had recovered himself in some mea- sure, he swam like a swan, and immediately bent his course to the assistance of his co-mates in mis- fortune. Miss Greta in the interim had not lost her usual self-possession. With one arm she had embraced a fragment of the bridge, while with the hand at Uberty she seized Filius by the hair — though with a very different design from that of the former seizing — and she succeeded in drawing the boy towards her ; and during the whole time she con- tinually called out to Clara, " not to stir, for she should be able to help herself." We know not, however, in what way she could have accom- plished this without Baron H., who with equal dexterity and prudence swam, first with Filius and then with her, to a place where the bank being less steep allowed him to land in safety. If the swimmers had but possessed sufficient skill to have displayed a little more taste in grouping, it might have afforded an artist — had one been present — great pleasure to have viewed them. Baron H., with his good-humoured, cheerful and expressive countenance, might have been a river- god without an equal ; and Miss Greta, with her fair complexion and regular features, a stately Naiad ; while Filius might have figured as one of the tiny elves that haunt the lesser streams. But the thought of such a representation did not for a moment enter the fancy of those in the water. NINA. 57 Baron H. had deposited his precious burden on the soft, green grass, where they were received with rapture by the pale, terrified Clara. He him- self, who had apparently got a relish for swim- ming, landed merely to put off his coat. When relieved of this impediment, he plunged into the stream again, swam across to the opposite bank, and returned in triumph with Clara's bonnet, which with one hand he held high in air, while he worked his way with the other. Miss Greta was enchanted with this chivalric exploit ; her taste for the comic found high gratification in the whole adventure, and their present pitiable aspect. Her spirits rose excessively high. The banks re- sounded with incessant peals of laughter, and the little mishap — as is of frequent occurrence with good people — only served to draw them nearer to each other, and to effect a more cordial ac- quaintance. The luckless party were by Fate and Baron H. agreeably lodged in a little cove, where, sheltered from the wind by the high verdant bank and a cluster of alders, they dried themselves in the sun. Yet, as Miss Greta observed, that was not a place in which to pass all their days. " What is now to be done 1 " was the common question. They were really in a critical situation. Clara offered herself as a courier to Ramlosa, where a coach could be hired. Miss Greta put a very emphatic veto upon this, for she " was cer- tain," she said, " that Clara would run herself into a fever." Should they, however, wet through as they were, tread their way back on foot, in such wind and dust ? Miss Greta thought such a method of drying themselves more than of doubt- ful efiicacy. The party in the little cove were in great embarrassment. We are not so ; for already afar off we hear in fancy the tramping of horses' hoofs, and the rattling of a carriage approaching the scene. Our friends in need also soon heard the welcome sounds, and Baron H. ran along the high-road, calling out most lustily, *' Ho 1 so ho, there ! holla ! stop ! stop ! " The traveller was no less a person than the distinguished Count Ludvig in propria persond. How astounded he was, with what courtesy he offered his splendid landau ; how the water-party and Clara took up their quarters therein ; how astonished and surly the post-horses seemed, on account of the un- expected quadruplication of their burden ; and how the owner of them comforted himself with the prospect of four times the amount of drink- money. All this we beseech the reader to picture to himself as his own fancy may suggest. The Countess Natalia had just been engaged in rehearsing some of her most admired vocal exer- cises, and Don Juan was transporting her and Nina with his wild ballads, when the unlucky party and their deliverer entered the room, and great and strangely assorted were the impressions they produced. First came astonishment, exclama- tions, questions, and general confusion ; then a general excitement during the interchange of salutations with Count Ludvig. Paleness spread itself over Nina's countenance, when Count Ludvig approached her with more than usual vivacity. A slight blush of embarrassment coloured the cheeks of the Countess, when she presented Don Juan to the Count ; the former alone looked quite unconcerned, as he somewhat negligently returned the stiff bow and searching glance of Count Ludvig. But we must not lose sight of our wet friends, for extraordinary fortunes are still in reserve for them. How they dried themselves ; how they drank elder-tea and went early to bed ; how Filius, notwithstanding, caught a violent cold, — we take liberty to pass over with this brief notice. On the other hand, we must relate that the day after the water-ordeal — which upon the whole had but an ambiguous result — Miss Greta received an invitation from her aunt, the Dowager Countess Nordstjema, to spend a day and a night with her on her estate, which lay at a distance of seven miles from Ramlosa. The card of in- vitation contained also an inquiry, whether Miss Greta desired to be received in a ^^ courteous or discourteous manner ? " Miss Greta immediately answered in a '* discourteous manner." I regret not having time to make the reader more intimately acquainted with the Dowager Countess ; for I am persuaded that — however anti- aristocratic he may be — he would derive great pleasure from it. A more aristocratic old lady might not have been easily found in Sweden, although I know several who are equally so ; — and when I say aristocratic I do not mean so much her distinguished birth, but rather her superior manner and understanding ; that je ne sais quoi which makes the man the opposite of everything that is rude, displeasing and vulgar, — in a word, nobility of soul, enlightened kindness of heart and purity of manners. How amiable was this old lady ! To have seen and known her is as delightful to me as the remembrance of a sweet day in spring. Amiable she was to high and low, — / employ these words in their usual sense, though the Countess never used them to designate the condition and connexions of people, — amiable she was to old and young, and especially attractive to the latter, from the pleasure she took in cheerful, innocent frolics, her wit in devising them, and her benevolence, and — how shall I express it ? — her indulgence towards the pleasures of others, which made her so ready to serve them with all she possessed, and was the mainspring of that life and hilarity which she diffused around her. She was also I'ich, and thereby enabled to gratify her wishes, and gather around all that ministered to her happiness. Reader, I can imagine that you already behold her in fancy surrounded with artists and works of art, with briUiant young people and the most choice objects of luxury. No, no, my reader, turn and look on another picture — the most ill-favoured, poor, neglected, slighted, forgotten .... Ye Genii, Zephyrs, Graces, and fair Loves ! if you had got sight of the seven ill-favoured young ladies, and the three infirm widows, — all of them unable to help themselves and neglected by others, — whom the Countess had assembled around her, you would have fled away — fled away for terror from our globe, I do believe. Concord and Chris- tian love, however, did not : they felt themselves well in this chosen circle, and the ten planets of this system, according to the example of the heavenly bodies, moved, with order and without impediment, round their sun, the angelically good and merry Countess. She was very glad to see strangers, and strangers, too, were willing guests 58 THE H- FAMILY. the two lovers and joined them. The whole family formed a circle around the two happy ones. No word was spoken ; but those looks, those smiles of love and happiness — oh, how much better are they than words ! CHORUS OP ALL MY READERS. "But how?" "What?" "Why?" "When?" " How happened it ? " " How did it come to pass ? " I shall do myself the honour immediately and in order, as becomes a family counsellor, to give my Explanation. When a jelly is nearly made, they put in the white of an egg to " clear " it (as it is called in technical language). So also when a romance, a little narrative, or any other literary medley, is near its termination, then we add an arrangement or explanation to " clear " the muddy sediment ; and this has commonly much of the properties of the white of an egg, namely, it is glutinous, clear, and clarifying, and nearly as tasteless. I see already what faces will be made over my white-of-an-egg chapter, and I am myself some- what restless and anxious, as about everything tough. I believe I shall succeed best if, instead of my own twisted words, I lay before my readers a conversation which took place on a beautiful Novem- ber afternoon, between Madame D. and Madame Mellander, who was a newspaper and advertise- ment to all the country round. To prevent my reader from being misled by the errors and false conclusions of the two ladies, 1 will (unknown to both) bring upon the stage a prompter, that is, a breath from the spirit of truth, which is always an important assistant, who cannot be bought too dearly, either to travel over the history of the world, or to go through the smallest crevice in the door of domestic life. My prompter is unlike those who are employed in the royal theatre, for he does not bring the actors, but the audience, into the right track. But to the business. The Scene is at LS/staholm, in Madame D.'s parlour. {Madame D. is sitting at her coffee, after dinner. Madame Mellander enters.) Madame D. Now, my dear Madame Mellander, at last — welcome ! I have waited at least half an hour. The coffee is nearly cold, I must have it warmed. Madame M. My dear madame, cold or warm, it's all the same to me. Madame D. (While she fills the cup.) Now, Madame Mellander, is there any news ? Madame M. Yes, my dear lady ; and now, God be praised ! I understand everything. A. little sugar, if I may ask. Madame D. Now tell it, tell it ! I have heard that the little woodbird there — Herminia, has been received into the H family as their own child ; that she and the Cornet are betrothed, and will soon be married. The Prompter. "Three years from now," Colonel H says. The Cornet must first travel and see the world ; and Herminia, Mrs. H says, must learn Swedish housekeeping, and three years are necessary for that. Madame M. It seems to me as if somebody spoke near us, — are we alone ? Madame D. No living soul can hear us. Madame M. Then I must tell you, my dear lady, a frightful 6tory,--just see — I do not wish it to be said, I said it Madame D. No living soul shall hear it. [The Prompter doubts. Madame M. Well, then ! this is it. The present Baroness K. was married in a foreign land to a Swedish nobleman, and had by him a daughter — that pretty thing there — the Herminia, about whom both father and mother were much troubled — for you see they wanted a son, and the maiden was unhappy at home. Now comes Baron K. te Italy — or wherever the place was, and happens to see the beautiful woman— Herminia's mother ; he gets mad in love with her, and she dying in love with him. This the husband sees— a frightful confusion ensues, and it came to a brawl between the two lords. Prompter. A duel ! Madame M. The end of it was, the baron must leave the land. He came back to Sweden, and led such a wicked life, played and was so dissipated, that his affairs fell into disorder. He learned one day, that the husband of the beautiful woman had died abroad, and immediately he travels off, and thinks he shall get a pretty wife, and with the pretty wife money to pay his debts. Now he sues for the widow — she gives her consent — marries him in secret, and expects to be forgiven afterwards by her old father — but he (a rich and eminent nobleman) is enraged, and disinherits her. Yes, the newly mar- ried pair had not the least thing to live upon, there in a foreign country. Then they came here — and at the same moment a mercantile house became bankrupt, in which were the rest of Baron K.'s possessions. And now his creditoi's assailed him on all sides— and he was obliged to hide himself from them, and for this reason, he lived in the little house in the wood there, and would not see dog nor cat — and if people accidentally came there, he was like a mad bull, and was cross to his wife, who, he thought, enticed people there. Yes — it must have been an unhappy and wretched life. Madame D. But how came young H there? Madame M. God knows how ! I have not been able to get behind that — but he came — and the two young people fell in love with each other. About the same time the handsome and rich Commis- sioner G. came, and fell in love with Herminia. Madame D. That is entirely incomprehensible ! The girl is not beautiful — no fraicheur— no colour Madame M. Ah ! what is she by the side of the sweet Misses D. ? Like a radish near red turnips. Madame D. {offended.) Madame M., you mean possibly roses. Prompter. Peonies. Madame M. Yes, I mean so — of course — where was I ? Ah, I know now — young H went a journey in the mean time, and was gone the whole summer, and G. went constantly to the K.s, and one day he off'ered himself, and what do you think ? Herminia would not have him, and straight- way gave him the bag. Now there was trouble enough in the house. Madame D. The girl always seemed to me a romantic fool. Madame M. In the autumn, all Baron K.'s THE H- FAMILY. 59 creditors thronged around him, and would have their money, or put him in prison. You see, my dear lady, this is the business ; through the sum- mer he went secretly to Stockholm, played and won : with part of this, he defrayed his household expenses, and with part kept off the creditors for a time. But all at once his fortune turned, and he was in frightful distress. Then he swore a strong oath, and said to young G., " Pay for me immediately ten thousand dollars, and you shall have Herminia for your wife." And he answered, ** As soon as she is my wife, I will pay the sura in a moment." At first the baron wished to intimi- date Herminia into giving her consent. But that did not succeed. Then he threw himself upon his knees and begged, and the baroness did the same — and the maiden wept and only said, " Give me three days for deliberation." The parents did not wish to, but were obliged to yield ; and during this time she wrote to Cornet H that he must come home immediately. Prompter. Not entirely true. Madame M. That he might pay the money and have her for a wife. Prompter. She did not write so. Madame D. An intriguing creature ! Madame M. Yes, truly ! Now, the Cornet went home, out of his senses, rushed to get the money from his father, who said. No. Madame D. The old man was miserly. I know the rest ; words were exchanged between father and son, Madame joined in, and foolish things were said. Prompter. False ! Madame D. Yes, there was a real family quarrel. The Cornet rode away desperately, came to the woodland cottage, found the K.sgone away, became nearly mad, rode hither and thither the whole day, and met at last an acquaintance whom he challenged. Prompter. False ! Madame D. Yes, and at night was carried home like one dead, to his parents. But where were tlie K.s gone ? Madame M. That's the thing. There came some people who wanted to take Baron K. prisoner. Then he and the baroness besieged Herminia with prayers, so that at last she consented to say ' Yes' to all. G. spoke with the creditors, and promised to pay them in a few days. And so he carried her to Stockholm, that the banns of marriage might be published on the following Sunday, and soon after to be married ; all was going on quietly and hastily, for all, especially G., were afraid of young H . Madame D. But how came it that nothing came of the marriage ? Madame M. Yes ! because Herminia became ill, and was nearly half crazy, like Clementina in Gran- dison (a romance, you know, dear lady), and was on the point of putting an end to her life. Prompter. False ! Madame D. How wicked ! Madame M. Then her mother became anxious, and allowed Colonel H to come, with whom she had been before very well acquainted. Prompter. False ! false ! false ! As the prompter seems to be one of the three speakers, who knows the course of the piece the best (possibly because he holds the manuscript in his hand), he may come alone upon the stage, and set the affair right. Prompter. My good friends, the affair is thus. Herminia's mental sufferings, under which she had long struggled, caused actually on the appointed day a silent wandering of mind, which frightened all who saw her. Genseric G., who learned in Stockholm the desperate state of K.'s affairs, and observed Herminia's dislike to him, withdrew him- self from the business, and disappeared for a time, without any one's knowing whither he had gone. Baron K. soon saw that nothing could save him from destruction, and resolved to fly. In this hour of hopelessness a new star rose to the hus- band and wife. They drew near to each other, they wept together ; the veil of forgetfulness was thrown over the past, they vowed to support each other upon the painful wandering ; their early love was reawakened, and made them feel that if they could guard its fire, they should be able to find, even in the depth of misery, some happiness. The baroness's heart, whose ice appeared to be melted by suffering, bled for Herminia, and she shuddered at the thoughts of her wandering over the world with her parents, a prey to necessity and misery. One evening she was sitting by her, and, ob- serving the beautiful, pale girl, wasted by grief and mental suffering, who was now lying in a quiet sleep, she felt her heart breaking. She seized a pen, and wrote the following lines to Madame H : "A despairing mother calls to a mother for mercy. In twenty -four hours I shall leave Stock- holm, to fly from Sweden. I will not, and cannot take my daughter with me, for I go to encounter misery. Your estimable character, the kindness which I myself have seen shine from your face, have given me courage to turn with my requests to you. (0 could you hear them from my trembling lips, could you see in my breast the torn and re- pentant mother's heart, you would grant my re- quests). Take her, take my child into your house, into your family. In mercy take her ! Take my Herminia under your protection, take lier as a maid in waiting, for your daughter ; for that, at least, the Marquis Azavello's grand-daughter must be fit. Now she is weak and ill, weak in body and mind. Now she is not fit for much ; but have patience with her. Ah ! I feel it, I am bitter, and I should be humble. Forgive me ; and if you would save me from despair, hasten, hasten like an angel of consolation, and take to your protect- ing arms my poor child. Then will I bless you and pray for you. O may you never have a moment as bitter as this ! « Eugenia A." Madame H received this letter a few days after her son's accident. She showed it to the Colonel. They both travelled immediately to Stockholm, and returned with Herminia, whom they looked upon from this time with parental love, and who soon, in the atmosphere of peace and love which surrounded her, bloomed beau- tiful and full of joy. The Prompter goes out to make room for Charlotte Beata, who seems anxious to speak. Few persons like dumb parts upon the stage of life. Each one wishes to come forward and say 60 NINA. exhibit many marvellous things. Despair gives birth to extraordinary courage. Of this Miss Greta gave evidence. Driven to extremities, and to the full as irritated as alarmed, her energy, which had been for a while suppressed, was sud- denly restored. For the purpose of self-defence she felt about her for a weapon of some kind, and caught hold of the handle of along ponderous warm- ing-pan. Woe to the Black Ones ! such sturdy cuffs were scarcely ever before dealt ; and never did ghosts cry out so grievously or fly so hastily from a weapon of tin ! Miss Greta pursued, laying about her with blind zeal. The Black Ones quickly collected in the corner in which they had made their first appearance, and began to descend into the earth. Thither she followed them with lusty blows, beneath which the Black Ones made a headlong retreat, crying in anything but spectre- like tones. In her zeal, and with her formidable weapon, Miss Greta would, I think, have pursued them to the realm of Pluto, but her steps were suddenly arrested, for it turned out that the place through which the Black Ones had disappeared, was nothing more than an opening into a cellar, and the narrow, steep steps down which the spectres tumbled were by no means inviting. Besides this, instead of sulphur and flames, thei-e arose so strong an odour of potatoes and salted articles of food, that she gave up all thoughts of dark shades and demons. Her ideas took another turn, and she rang the bell so vehemently that the rope snapped and remained in her hand. This circumstance, together with the deep silence which, in spite of the ringing, prevailed in the house, only augmented the fermentation of her mind ; resting the warming-pan on her shoulder, she went to Clara's bed, plucked her violently by the arm, and said : " Clara, are you dead 1 Are you bewitched ? Will you sleep till doomsday 1 Clara, wake ! Well, thank heaven ! rise, I pray you, and dress your- self quickly ! put no questions, but make haste ! " Clara quickly fulfilled her friend's wishes, and while she dressed herself Miss Greta answered Clara's questions only with abrupt and violent ejaculations, such as : " Absurdities ! I will in truth put an end to this ! They shall no more trouble me in the middle of the night. Stupid pranks ! I will teach them " The friends were soon ready ; they went forth. Miss Greta prepared to wake the whole house, and with fresh strokes with the warming-pan to salute any shadow they might encounter. Fate, how remarkable are thy decrees, how wonderful thy ways ! in thy nocturnal blind- man's-buff gambols we are banded darkly between friend and foe, recognise neither of them; we move and stand hoodwinked, and in the end fall from one danger to another — from Scylla into Charybdis— all which let CEdipus attest, and what follows : scarcely were Miss Greta and Clara out in the long dark corridor which ran along their chamber, before a white spectral appearance glided on towards them. Miss Greta raised her weapon ; with a shriek of terror the apparition fled away, but then — ye demons of the abyss — there appeared before them a dark gigantic mass, which seemed to occupy the whole corridor, and barrica- ded the way of the wanderers. Miss Greta thought of the Minotaur: heavy did the formidable weapon light on the monster ; the latter gave forth a hollow echo, and a violent, "Oh, who the deuce is dividing my stomach in two ! " was bellowed out by the terrible thing. Miss Greta was amazed ; at the same moment she saw herself disarmed and a captive. A vigorous hand laid fast hold of her arm, and the same bass voice said in a menacing tone : " Hear you, good friend, that far exceeds joking ; ghosts that deal murderous blows on the stomach, with heaven knows what kind of weapon, must be content to be treated like prisoners of war. Come, then, away to the court-martial I " Miss Greta was silent, perhaps with the design of letting it come to a coup d' eclat, but Clara, who was beside herself, cried out, " Baron H., Baron H., it is Miss Greta !" "Miss Greta!" repeated the Baron with un- speakable astonishment, slowly releasing the arm he held fast : " my gracious lady I must say .... a-hem .... my chest .... I confess that I did not expect you would strike me to death. And Clara .... but how in the world 1 explain to me ! I confess my dear Miss . . . ." " We will defer our confessions and explana- tions. Baron," said Miss Greta with warmth ; " and if you are really Baron H., and no ghost, conduct us to light and mortals, or bring light and mortals hither, if such are to be found in this bewitched house." " A ghost ? " repeated Baron H., a little irritated, " a ghost ? I would I had been one just now ; in that case I should have come off with my ribs unbroken by that accursed thing. What ? what 1 a warming-pan, I do believe ! in heaven's name I demand of you, to whom has it ever occurred to battle with a warming-pan — to assail people with a warming-pan " Miss Greta's risibility was powerfully excited during this soliloquy of the Baron, but vexation at the nocturnal adventure, and some displeasure at the part she had sustained in the shifting- scenes, caused her to repress her gaiety, and she said with seriousness : " Let us now, I beseech you. Baron, forget all this, and conduct us to society of some kmd ; I shall be ill if I stand here any longer ; I wish to see the light and mortals." At this moment a door in the back part of the corridor slowly opened, and a sheet of pale blue light came gliding on to the feet of our friends. Music inconceivably beautififl was now heard to rise from the same part : exquisite voices, accompa- nied by the subdued tones of a fine organ, com- menced a solemn chorus. Astonishment mingled with pleasure took possession of our trio in the corridor. « If this is an apparition," said Miss Greta, " it is at least an agreeable one. Let us regard it nearer." Baron H. immediately recovered all his courtesy, offered his arm to each of the ladies, and escorted them to that part whence the light and the music appeared to proceed. At the termina- tion of the corridor they found themselves una- wares in a little box, from which they became astonished spectators of the following scene : they beheld themselves in a large vaulted chapel, faintly but beautifully lighted by a few lamps, which flung their dim reflection on walls hung with scarlet drapery j old hatchments, ancient pictures and devices, representing dark scenes taken from the life of the Saviour, gleamed solenmly between. The seats in the body of the NINA. 6] chapel were unoccupied, but in front of the altar, which was illuminated by two tall silver branch- lights, a venerable priest stood immoveable : he was attired in the primitive stole, and stood there so moveless that he rather resembled a statue than a man. The organ pealed with a grave sound, the invisible singers sent up their sublime, harmonious " Gloria." The whole scene was strange, was beautiful, but gloomy: it resem"bled the worship of shadows. Soon, howevei', it became enlivened, but still without losing its unearthly complexion. Softly, silently and shadow-like an extraordinary procession entered the church. Pale and beautiful and attired in the exquisite costume which was peculiar to the noble virgin ladies of the sixteenth century, glided on foremost of the train a young damsel, escorted by an elderly dame, stiff, painted, splendidly dressed, — such as may still be seen in many an old picture of that period : then followed two ele- gant brides; at the same instant stepped forth two stately knights, the one advanced in years, the second youthful, both arrayed in superb festive garments ; behind them two handsome pages were seen. Soon the young knight and the young dam- sel separated from the rest and advanced to the front of the altar ; the others formed in a circle around : all still, slow, and with that pale solemnity of countenance which we might imagine those acquainted with the grave to exhibit : but in the eye of the bridegroom glowed that fire which neither death nor the grave can extinguish. The lovers took their places before the altar, and the statue-like priest became suddenly animated. The song ceased, and with a low solemn voice the ecclesiastic performed the marriage ceremony. Almost breathless with attention, Miss Greta strained to catch the names of the betrothed, but they were pronounced in so low a tone that they did not reach her ear. She could not, however, help fancying that the faces of both the bridal pair and the marriage guests were known to her. At the conclusion of the nuptial ceremony the beautiful chorus was commenced afresh. Baron H. and Clara, both real lovers of music, were in the third heaven, even Miss Greta was moved, and her fancy enchained by the beautiful antique spectacle, which appeared to her ever less and less spectre-like. All three were so fully occupied with what they saw and heard, that they did not for a moment think of explaining the scene in the corridor. The bridal procession then withdrew, slowly and in silence, in the sam e order as they had entered the church ; the music died away in lovely harmony. Soon everything was desolate and still ; even the glimmering of the lamps became fainter and more faint. A shudder thrilled through Miss Greta. " We will not remain seated here, Baron, till the lights go out ; I cannot say it would delight me at all to sit here in darkness among the old knights . . . ." " Why, have we not weapons ? " said Baron H., laconically, and drew forth the warming-pan from under him. " My excellent Baron," said Miss Greta, in a friendly tone, as she turned towards him her fine, cheerful countenance, "I must " But Miss Greta's remark was suddenly broke short, by the sound of dancing-music. " Hey-day ! " said the Baron, with sprishtliness. and made an attempt to open the door leading to the corridor ; his efforts were inefiectual, the door opened not. " I do not see," said Miss Greta, calmly, " why we should labour at this door so. Here we have another." And a door, concealed behind a red silk curtain, at this moment opened beneath the pressure of her hand. Our friends saw themselves suddenly transported into a splendidly-illuminated saloon. There, in the back-ground, they beheld bride and bridegroom seated beneath a canopy of blue velvet ; ranged in a half-circle around sat the other members of the bridal procession, and in the midst of the apartment, arrayed in light and gleaming vestments, was a group of ladies and gentlemen footing the torch-dance ; not that abortion which one sometimes sees in the palace of Stockholm, but the legitimate, primitive dance, as, inspired by the adoration of the god Seeva, it sprung up in the Indian nocturnal saci'ifices, — full of spirit, grace, and variety. * Three arm-chairs stood in the least brilliantly- lighted part of the room in which our friends found themselves. On these they sat down to view the magnificent spectacle. Miss Greta soon discovered among the torch-dancers some of the Nine Muses, whose vocal accomplishments she had become acquainted with. She fancied, too, that she again recognised her aunt in the finely- dressed old lady who led the bride to the altar. She was soon placed beyond all doubt as to the company in which she found herself. Baron H., during this time, was as if electrified by the dance. — He had been a distinguished dancer in his youth. — He speedily comprehended the move- ments of the torch- dance in question, and was urged by an irrepressible desire to participate in the pleasure. His feet moved involuntarily ; he stooped forward and raised himself again, and joined in the chorus. The order of dance was disturbed ; they knew not whether to wheel in- ward or outward. One gentleman entirely lost the thread of the dance, and stood irresolute, hold- ing the torch in his hand. The Baron could no longer restrain himself ; he sprang forward, snatched the torch from the hand of the astonished cavalier, and began to dance himself, while, wit?i great zeal and comic dignity, he pointed out the due order of the dance to the rest. But his efforts were fruitless, for surprise and the peals of laughter which shortly succeeded, prevented alike order and attention. Soon came the Baron's turn to feel surprised, when he suddenly saw Miss Greta, with a light in her hand, figuring as his partner in the dance. The spii'its of both rose to an extravagant height, when the glare of their torches showed them the striking contrast between their own attire and the costumes of the rest of the company. The cordial and immoderate laughter, on all sides, animated them still more. They became as if carried away by an irresistible rage for dancing ; they wheeled around, formed in " chaine," capered, bent, and bowed. The other dancers ranged themselves around them in a circle ; the dance grew more and more spirited, the steps unpremeditated and diversified. Bride and bridegroom rose to dance. The most aged of * Should any one of the learned be disposed to dispute with us on the origin of the torch-dance in question, we will answer— never a word. 62 NINA. the gentlemen and the ladies rose to dance. They all dance, laugh, and wave their torches. It was passion, rapture, confusion, frenzy ! The music was also under the magic influence ; it was a wild revelry Oberon winding his horn. Clara alone did not share in the general gaiety. Not accustomed to the life of fashionable circles, ignorant of the ease with which its ^^Jtahitu^s" accommodate themselves to its movements, and — since she felt secure in a circle of those she knew — frequently breaking the fetters of hienseance, her truly original notions forming a world of nature in the midst of an artificial one — all this prevented Clara from comprehending the dancing fury and the comic gravity which her friends exhibited. Notwithstanding the tranquillising words Miss Greta had whispered to her at the moment of rising to mingle in the sport, Clara was so oppressed, so excited, by the extraordinary scenes around her, that tears gushed from her eyes. The scenes of the night rose, terrifying and bewildering to her imagination, she neither understood them nor the different actors in them. She could not endure to see her friend wheeling about in the torch- dance in her nightcap. It appeared to her as madness, folly ; and, in obedience to an irresistible impulse, she stole in among the dancers, with the de- sign of taking holdof Miss Greta's hand, and drawing her out of the rapid whirl. But Clara herself was entangled in it. Such was the general rage for dancing that she, too, was not permitted to remain still ; they took her hand, drew her into the dance, — she was constrained to form in " chaine," wheel round, &c. Clara danced, wept, laughed, lost her understanding and her shoe. The torches blazed and gleamed before her eyes. Baron H., too, figured before her — his coat-laps in a blaze. Reader, look not at the light in Miss Greta's hand ; I protest that it was not from thence that the fire came. At the first sensations of heat Baron H. made a high vault into the air; the second movement was a bound on the floor which made the whole apart- ment shake. *' Fire ! fire ! " some exclaimed. " Water ! water ! " others. " Clara ! " cried Miss Greta, in a strong, clear voice, for she at that moment perceived her critical situation. Too late ! the Baron's fire had communicated itself to her, and the light material of her dress was in a blaze. The rapacious flames curled up and around in all directions, and laid hold of gauze upon gauze, dress upon dress. Senseless, Clara fell into the arms of her friend, who embraced her with firm- ness and resolution. Crying and in flames the fair dancers ran through the hall. Torches were flying in all directions. Curtains and sofa covers were on fire. O ye Furies of the Abyss ! what a sight, what sounds ! Fire ! fire ! water ! water ! Hour of amazement and noble revenge ! Baron H. sprang forward to the comer in which the warming-pan was lodged, seized hold of it, and emptied its contents over Miss Greta, who — though with danger to herself — had already suc- ceeded in extinguishing the flames in Clara's dress. Irritated at the unnecessary shower-bath. Miss Greta could not at the moment refrain from exclaiming : " Before drenching people. Baron, do see whether there is any necessity for it." She was right, there was no necessity in the present in- stance, but terror and generous zeal had dazzled the Baron. And the other unfortunate, burning, flying, screaming members of the company — were they to perish without assistance ? Kind Provi- dence ! two folding-doors sprang open, i*evealing a side-board covered with bowls, bottles and cups. O punch, bishop, ale and orgent, hard was your fate ! Instead of regaling and receiving the praise of refined palates, you were obliged to surrender yourselves to be instrumental in extinguishing barbarous fire. Necessity, however, commanded, and the drink flows in streams, the bowls are emptied, the ladies swoon, the torches are extin- guished ; a flood of Uau de Cologne is poured forth ; there is a general stir, consolation and thirstings ; ices are at hand to cool, to refresh, to revive ; explanations, congratulations, laughter ensue ; the apparitions and the marriage cere- mony are cleared up — the former were fictions, the latter a reality ; bride and bridegroom are presented, recognised and congratulated ; gladness and gaiety were universal. Only that between Baron H. and Miss Greta, the double scene with the warming-pan had engendered an atmosphere a la glace, which threatened to occasion a frozen ocean between them. The slumbers of our friends after the incidents of the night were not the most quiet ; in their dreams they heard incessant cries of : " Fire 1 fire ! Water ! water ! " THE LAST ORDEAL. "To a debauch succeeds head-ache ; to study, weariness ; to the beloved one, the wife." The Watch-toweb in Koat-vbn. After storm, calm ; after the deluge, the olive- branch ; after trial, certainty ; after dinner, diges- tion ; after mid-day, evening. Here we will pause. Time, evening ; Miss Greta seated in an arbour of blossoming linden trees. She was alone, busied in cutting oranges and overlay- ing them with sugar, and that too for Clai'a, whom she was expecting from an excursion to Hoganas, which lay at no great distance from the Wells of Ramlosa. The greater part of the Bath-company were there too. Miss Greta, for whom the weather was too warm, and who was at no time friendly to " wrestling " for pleasures, preferred to remain at home quiet. The sun, stooping down towards the horizon, shot some of his golden beams on the noble fruit, and the fair, white hands which were occupied with it. Miss Greta was gladdened by this greeting, gladdened at the prospect of the lovely evening, and internally blessed " our Lord and Master who made everythuig so good." Recollections of the ordeals recently passed through, flashed upon her mind. At times she would contract her eye- brows lightly together, while at intervals a sportive, roguish and kind smile played about her well- formed lips. Quite unexpectedly the Baron entered the arbour, but with so uncommonly grave a mien, that all the playful gaiety of Miss Greta's counte- nance was put to flight. Baron H. took his place on the same seat with Miss Greta, but removed from her as far as possible, and preserved an obstinate taciturnity. She was embarrassed by this, and began to put to him some unconnected and indifierent questions, which were answered NINA. drily and with a negligent air. Another pause then ensued. At length Baron H. said : *' I leave the Wells to-morrow." " Indeed ! " said Miss Greta. " I have," pursued the Baron, ** endeavoured for the last time to induce Clara to change her views respecting her condition in life, and matri- mony. But it was ineffectual ; at least it is not in my power to alter her opinions ; and I con- fess that I have long been persuaded of this." " That nobody would have anticipated," thought Miss Greta. ** And now, since I have full certainty of this, I am desirous as soon as possible to depart from a place, where not only old friends, but the very elements seem to conspire to torment me with trials, to subject myself to which I have no liking, and which, moreover, I suspect are prompted by a desire on the part of the former to accelerate my journey." On this Baron H. looked keenly at Miss Greta, who with assiduity sugared a few pieces of orange and offered them to the Baron. He rejected them with a motion of the head, and continued : " Notwithstanding this, I have conceived such real friendship for Clara, such — I may say — paternal attachment — that I find it impossible to relinquish the design of a closer connexion with this pure and virtuous being." « What will be the result of this ? " thought Miss Greta. « Is he going to woo in behalf of Filius ? " "I have . . . I wish . . ." pursued the Baron, with some embarrassment and perplexity, " I have proposed investing some amount of capital, the in- terest of which she may henceforth en joy — thus put- ting her in possession of means which would enable her to live perfectly independent. After my death she will acquire the right of disposing of the capital according to her own will and pleasure. Till then I should wish to become her guardian, and I can promise that she would with difficulty find a better, or one more devoted to her. I would ask you to endeavour to persuade her to allow me in such a manner, at all events, to gratify the sentiments I entertain towards her. Beg of her to bless the wealth which Providence has given to me by raising no objections to my sharing it with her. Beg of her to accept it for my sake, or Heaven's sake ; choose the expression you think will operate most effec- tively. Beg of her only to think on me with some feeling of friendship ; to have a little kindness for me, — or — no! say nothing about it, — that must abide as it may or will — but beg of her " " I cannot possibly retain so many entreaties in my head," said Miss Greta ; " why it is longer than the ' Pater Noster.' " " Well, very good, tell her merely that she should not refuse to testify some kindness to a sincere friend ; tell her that if she reject my wish, my entreaties, I shall believe she hates me ! " Baron H. drew forth his pocket handkerchief. The high-coloured, narrow ring which moistened round Miss Greta's brightened eyes, and their entire expression, contrasted strangely with the tone in which she said : « Tell me, Baron, do you in earnest fear that I should let Clara die of hunger ? " " Heaven forbid the thought ! " exclaimed Baron H., quite astounded. " I am convinced that with you Clara is as well off as in the house of her mother, or still better — according to what I have heard about her mother. But who can foresee all the contingencies of marriage, of death ? And then " " My marriage, my death, do you mean, Baron? my death?" " Heaven preserve you and all of us from such misfortune, but .... but . . . ." " Very good. Baron. But will you not give me credit for so much good sense as to have thought of and secured Clara's future independence ? " " That may be ; but it need not forestall my design. Two certainties are better than one." Miss Greta was silent for a moment, and then said, in a friendly but serious manner : *' Baron, to speak with candour, I deem your generosity superfluous, and I think it better that Clara should be solely dependent on me." « That is selfish of you. Miss Greta ! " " It may be so, Baron H. ! But I feel so for once; — and — I tell you frankly, that I will neither convey your entreaties to Clara, nor even say to her that it would be prudent in her to assent to what you wish." " That is rather harsh and very extraordi- nary!" said Baron H., with heightened complexion and strong displeasure. " You have long named me your friend, and yet for a long while, you, like a real enemy, have done everything to impede my happiness and peace." " The charge is a severe one. Baron H." said Miss Greta, seriously moved ; <* and it would affect me more closely than it does, if I knew that it were true.^^ " You " — the Baron pursued with more and more warmth — "you have prevented my union with the only lady I really loved . . . ." " And who is that lady ? " Miss Greta hastily interrupted him. " You yourself I " said Baron H., his emotion still increasing, " You have, too — I am certain — laboured to hinder my union with a person whom I tenderly esteem, and who would have made me happy. You at this moment oppose yourself to the pleasure I might derive from disinterested well-doing towards her. For ten years past you have shown yourself on all occasions really inimical to me, have in every way thwarted my plans, my happiness with — and moreover, you your- self certainly will not " " Go on. Baron — ' certainly will not ' — " " Certainly will not — now take the care of my happiness into your own hands ? " " Yes," Miss Greta laconically answered, peel- ing a fresh orange. « What ? " " Yes, I say." « Do I hear aright ? " " Yes." « You will—" « Yes." " Accept my hand ? " « Yes." " Become my wife ? " '' Yes." " Are you in earnest ? " " Extend your doubts, and I shall begin to say No." *' Good heavens ! " exclaimed the Baron, quite pale and with a tear in his eye, while he seized 64 NINA. her hand with both his ; — *^ Is this no dream ? Is such happiness in reserve for me. Can you love me ? " "Baron," said Miss Greta, mildly, nay even with great tenderness, " I have loved you longer than I should like to tell." " You will become my wife ! " exclaimed the enraptured Baron, springing up from his seat with joy. " You will become my partner, my friend for life — and that, too, speedily — in a month 1 " " Not so soon, Baron. Besides, all has not yet been said. Hear and consider. My consent is coupled with two conditions." « Name them." " That I may be permitted ever, as now, to keep Clara with me, — at least as long as she herself wishes it." " Oh, certainly ! certainly ! Of course. She shall be our child. I shall be fond of her " " Only with due moderation, for the future, I must beg ! — " " Very good. Now my second condition." « Well ! " " You shall tell me who Filius' parents are." Baron H. looked confounded and almost in despair. - " Ne-v-er ! " he stammered. ** You shall tell me, Baron." " This you cannot be earnest in insisting upon. You can attach no importance to such a matter of indifference," *' You shall tell me, Baron." "Greta!" " Gustav ! you shall tell me." "Never !" exclaimed Baron H. with vehemence, and rushed out of the arbour. Miss Greta sat there a long while in stillness, her head resting on her hand, wrapt in deep reflection. A low rust- ling among the foliage, like the stirring of a chilling wind, and a dark form which stood between Miss Greta and the entrance to the arbour, roused her from her meditation. She was surprised and troubled in mind when she perceived before her the ghost-like lady, and dressed in deep mourning, who had once befoi'e made her appearance and then vanished, and who then riveted her own attention, and the Baron H.'s still more strongly. In the present instance she stood moveless, and extraordinary to look on ; two large clear eyes, but it was not the clearness of health, lighted a wasted countenance, pale roses of the grave tinted the hollow cheeks, and long suffer- ing had left his dark traces around the mouth, which had lost all its freshness. The whole form appeared as if ready to sink together. Miss Greta could not help thinking on the * Ancestress ' of Grill ptzner, and was almost prompted to say : " Why is thy rigid gaze thus fix'd on me ? " when with her almost transparent hands, crossed on her breast, the dark figure ad- vanced towards her and said : " Do you recognise me again ? " ** No ! " answered the astonished lady. " You have seen me before ; but ten years have since elapsed. I am the daughter of Baron H.'s sister. Leo is — but ought not to have been — my son." Miss Greta regarded her in silence, and strove to recall her features to memory. The latter pursued in short sentences, which she pronounced with difficulty : " The father of the boy sleeps in the grave. I shall soon go to him. My uncle has done everything to screen my error, and stands in the place of a father to my son. I wished to see my son and my uncle before my death ; with a view to this I am. come from a foreign country. I shall return thither — to the home his care has prepared for me, without pressing either of them to my bosom. I deserve not this. Accident led me to hear what has but now transpired between you and my uncle. He, excellent man, shall not suffer on my account. Hence the reason why I stand here to acknowledge my ignominy. Farewell ! Make him happy, and be silent as to everything you have heard and seen. Never let him sur- mise that the unhappy Cecilia has been so near to him, never let him know that my secret is known to you It would only disturb his peace. Farewell for ever ! " And making a motion with her hand, she withdrew. Miss Greta arose quickly and pursued her. " Shall I not see you again 1 " she inquired. " On earth never ! " answered the black form. In an hour I shall be far from hence. Do not follow me. Farewell." An elderly lady now stepped up to her and offered her arm ; she took it ; and they both walked slowly away. Miss Greta followed them with her eyes till they disappeared among the trees. Miss Greta felt exactly as if she had seen an apparition, but the impression of terror and sorrow communicated to her mind was strongly mingled with an agreeable feeling, and in this complacency she saw a halo of glory spread round the head of Baron H. She could not, however, long surren- der herself to her meditations ; she,was again dis- turbed. It was little Filius, who inquired after his father. Miss Greta called the boy to her. He glanced distrustfully at her, but she looked so kind, that he took courage and went up to her. She took him on her knee, played with his fair locks and caressed him, while she thought all sorts of kind things about him and his foster- father. Filius cast a side-glance at the oranges. At this moment Baron H. came back, led her aside, and said with a very grave mien : " In that you cannot possibly be in earnest : you cannot possibly wish to sacrifice my happiness — which, I am certain, will not be apart from your own— to a whim, to idle, childish curiosity. ..." " Whim, childish curiosity or no, — tell me whether in real earnest you prefer to renounce my hand rather than gratify this childish curiosity, — rather than name the boy's parents ?" « I cannot, I will not name them, let it cost me what it will," said Baron H., depressed, but fiiTn in his resolve. « Very good, then ! " said Miss Greta with a dignified cordiality, which became her remarkably well : " if you cannot tell me who his mother wasj I will show you who mil be a mother to him." On this she lifted Filius up, embraced and kissed him with tenderness, to which the boy immediately responded : the Baron, weeping with joy, laid his arms around both. « The curtain falls," it is commonly said in the drama, when the author has succeeded in getting his characters united in an embrace, and so here : for the highest joys of man, as well as his profoundest griefs, are only for the eyes of angels : if, how- ever, we drop the curtain for a moment, we shall NINA. 65 immediately draw it up again to present a little after-piece, which shall be entitled MISS GRETA'S ANXIETY. I The scene is laid in Miss Greta's sleeping-room —time, the evening of the same day. Against her own will and purpose the above lady is in great embarrassment. She wishes to confess to Clara what has occurred, but does not know how to begin, or how to express herself. The very word " confess," as applied to an action of her own, pains, and will not suit her. For the first time in her life she feels herself embarrassed and almost dispirited. She snuffs the candles incessantly, laughs, puts things out of their places, is hurried and uncertain in all her movements. Clara seems to remark nothing ; unusual vivacity animates her entire being. She appears resolved on talking incessantly of Baron H. ;— a circumstance which occasions Miss Greta a vast deal of anxiety, believing, as she does, that Clara has really begun to be a convert to matrimony. Olara. Certain it is — and I believe we feel more strongly convinced of this every day of our lives — that there is an infinite deal of goodness in the world ! Miss Greta. yes, unquestionably ! — Certainly ! there are both good and bad, Clara. Clara. Yes, but the good greatly predominate. The more we become acquainted with mankind, the more we perceive that every individual has his good qualities, his excellences, which make him worthy of esteem. Every one has his talent of celestial possession. This talent, this amount of goodness implanted in every human soul, appears to me like his good angel, who is constantly inviting him to heaven : Baron H.'s example has taught me to be especially mindful not to judge according to the surface of things : I long consi- dered him a bad man, and intent only on discover- ing and laughing at the defects of others. I now see that it is nothing more than this, namely : that he is witty, and has still greater goodness than wit : he loves mankind, though he is not blind to their faults : he would, if it were in his power, do good to all and each. Besides, he laughs at him- self just as well as others— and then there is much noble seriousness in his character. Miss Greta. Hem ! Clara. I am persuaded that Baron H. unites with his good humour qualities the most estimable. He appears to me to be one of the few with whom one might without any disquietude venture on the journey through life. Miss Greta. Hem ! Hem ! Clara. I am certain that he would make that partner happy who should understand him aright. Miss Greta. [Blowing.'\ It is terribly warm in this room. Clara. And it must be a delightful thing to be able to contribute to the happiness of so worthy and amiable a man. Miss Greta. [Aside.'\ In the name of all the world ! that is downright raving. [Loud.'] Yes, if we could be sure of making any one living being rejoice at it, and would advise them to marry with all speed, and I should feel happy in witnessing her happiness. Miss Greta. [Breaking foiiih with impatience.] Clara, do for heaven's sake speak out boldly ! — are you in love with him ? Clara. I am not, but — but — Miss Greta. Well, but — but what — can you not speak, child ? Clara. [Laying her arms round her neck.] But I am convinced that you are a little, and .... Miss Greta. Do not strangle me on that account. Clara, pardon me, but I am in anxiety, and you — you are practising upon it. Clara. Let me conclude my sentence and em- brace you. Miss Greta. [ With tears in her eyes.] Do as you please, Clara. Clara. Very well then ; and — and I am con- vinced — or more properly — I know that Baron H. loves you in return, and that he has long loved you. Miss Gi^eta. That was finely spoken, Clara ; and you are convinced of it % Are you glad of it, Clara ? Clara. Yes, sincerely glad : for you and he are worthy of each other, and will make each other happy. I only wish that both you and Baron H. were better acquainted with your own feelings towards each other. Miss Greta. At my age I cannot in anywise allow myself to be charged with not knowing myself, not understanding my own feelings. And in order to convince you of the contrary .... to let you see how wrong you are .... offer me your con- gratulations, Clara, I am betrothed to Baron H., do not I pray, look as if thunder-struck — do not let your arms hang down as if they were of lead ; lay them round my neck — it is now more befitting than previously — and they will be the most valu- able necklace I have had or can obtain : look, this way ! that is right— there ; now, mind you, my Clara, my naughty girl, if it should occur to you to love me less on account of this marriage, or should you think you might feel less comfortable in my house in consequence — why, there shall immediately be an end of it. Clara. No, no, never ! fear not, I shall be happy in your happiness and in that of Baron H. I shall love him . . . ." Miss Greta. [Interrupting Tier.] Softly, softly. From these pledges of such strong mutual affec- tion, I once for all grant both you and Baron H. a dispensation. I shall rest perfectly satisfied with your agreeing — to love me. I, for my part, am resolved to the best of my ability to hold you to the fulfilment of this duty. Tell me, Clara, that you do not think it burthensome. Clara. [From a full heart.] It is the sweetest, the most cheerful my life has known. [The curtain falls. Clara. But sometimes we may hope to achieve this ; and if I had a friend whom Baron H. loved and who loved him in return, why, I should PICTURES. The maiden went into the grove. Where roses A nightingale sang for our virgin fair. Swedish song of the fbofle. These pictures, my reader, are not splendid, or beautiful, not like those which in the course of the 66 NINA. winter have delighted court and city. Besides this, I am now not in the vein for pleasantry ; and, believe me, it is with profomid reluctance that I kindle my lamp and throw light on those pictures for Truth's sake alone. My soul is troubled. It is even so with nature. It is a hot summer's day — sultry, and oppressive. A sky, obscured by a dense mist, overhangs the earth which is yellow from drought. Stillness reigns among the trees, the birds of the air have hushed their carols, the waves glide on in silence. Everything is so languid — so languid. Languid is the hum of the air-flies, languidly droops the flower in the mea- dow, languidly the beasts of the field stoop their heads to the earth. The caterpillar is lazily gnawing the sapless leaf. The glowing sun glances languidly through the mist and burns even in his declension. The company at the Wells are regal- ing themselves with curds at Pilshult. Nina only has remained at home. Having the head- ache she begged to remain alone. Towards the evening she felt relieved and went out to enjoy the cool air. A degree of melancholy torpor clouded her senses, and languid were her steps through the oppressive, sultry country around. The mur- muring of a little cascade served as a guide to her course. She instinctively followed it, seeking the refreshment of its waters. Refreshingly foamed the silver waves; the banks were flowery and covered with a vivid verdure. Nina laid herself down on the velvet couch ; her hand played with the waves ; her eye followed their course. She saw how they flowed rapidly on, restless, and compelled forward, without know- ing whence they came or whither they sped. She felt an undefinable relation between the dark emotions and thoughts of her own heart and the natural scenes around her ; her soul was tossed like a flower drifting on the waves (a perilous voyage) ; she sufiered it to be tossed ; she felt better ; the air of the spot where she was seated possessed some freshness; the sultry veil which lay upon her spirits was raised ; tears of melan- choly pleasure trickled from her eyes ; the potent aspiration after happiness and the enjoyment of existence swelled her breast. Near her she heard the tones of a guitar. The leaves intercepted her view of the singer, but Nina again recognised the melodious voice of Don Juan. Away, away, Nina ! wherefore didst thou not fly, inconsiderate one ? Nina's first thought was to rise and retire ; but an involuntary sensa- tion of pleasure paralysed her senses, and she felt not strength of will to master this weakness. She lingered, and in sweet, melting tones he sang this poem : Love is this world's life and being ! Is the vital air we breathe ;— So mid Zephyrs, sportive fleeing. Lovingly do flower-sprites wreathe. See the birds, how mild caressing, Where on high the green leaves wave ;— How glad bounding, how soft pressing Yonder shore, the billows lave. See the pliant grass-blades shining, Jn the •winds' dance fondly move ! See how joyously they're twining Garlands of imdying love. Seest thou Phoebus, swiftly pacing, Toward fair Earth descending glide. And with heavenly love embracing Her, his warmly-welcomed bride ? Hear'st thou not from murmuring River 'Plainings of its love arise ? Hear'st thou not, where dim woods quiver. Love, hushed love, in their deep sighs ? Hear'st thou swell in air surrounding Voices,— tones of melody ? Hark! those sweet love- voices' sounding Softly whispereth, — "I love thee ! " Above us such is Angels' breathing. Mortals thus, too, mortals greet. And, from stem to stem enwreathing. Whisper thus the Flow'rets sweet. Still and fair the night descendeth To the Earth with balmy dreams ; Heart to heart then softly wendeth. Eye to eye responsive beams. O ! wilt thou when all creation Drinks from such fount— blessing rife — Thus delay the sweet libation Of the joy and bliss of life? All delights by love approved Wilt thou to thyself deny?— Drink, and learn on heart beloved To Life's questionings full reply. Feel thy nature's sun and treasure Life's chief charm,— all charms above,— Earthly and celestial pleasure, — Feel the God-like power of love ! The song was hushed. Wherefore did not Nina fly ? The singer lay at her feet ; there he poured forth his love in burning sighs. To his addresses he imparted the greatest ardour of feeling and beauty of language. They took deep and strong hold of Nina's soul. She beheld herself the object of adoration, and believed that it was love she felt ; she was wrapped in sensations pleasurable, bright, dazzling, fascinating ; but she feared them, and was about to fly. Juan detained her. " Let us love 1 let us love ! " he whispered in broken, passionate, beguiling accents, — " let us be happy ! Brief and dark is life. Let us die in the arms of pleasure ! " He had pronounced a sentiment which Nina deeply felt. A vague and indistinct tremor, a weakness which bordered on despair, filled her heart. God and heaven vanished from her thoughts, she desired to love, — and to die. But the good angel within her still stirred in prayer, — she invoked a deliverer from her own weakness — her hps stammered forth the name of Edla, See that ill favoured, pale countenance rising like a Nemesis even-handed over both ! With a cry of joy and amazement together Nina ex- claimed : " Edla ! " She sank at her feet, em- braced her knee, and gracious Nature flung a veil over her soul and senses. She was bereft of con- sciousness. Edla raised her, cast an annihilating glance at the thunder-struck seducer, and bore the senseless Nina away. Maddened with passion he stood there cursing his fate. He stamped on the ground, raised his clenched fist, and was preparing to quit the still murmuring brook, when he heard footsteps ap- proaching. It was Clara, who at sight of Don Juan hastily came to a stand and said merely — " They told me 1 should meet Nina here." In the appearance and entire character of Clara, there was something which might be compared with a calm and serene summer's night. The voluptuous NINA. 67 Don Juan had already felt its charm ; and at the moment in question he experienced it with double force. The feverish excitement which was still upon him, and his thirst for revenge, which in the irritation of disappointment, extended to the whole sex, suggested a Satanic desire to him. " Saints," thought he, "are just as easily caught as the children of the world, if we do but weave the net of their own yarn." But he subtilely concealed his design. To Clara's inquiring after Nina he replied : " She will soon return. Ah, stay a moment here. The evening is so mild — can your heart be less so ? Will you not bestow a word, a look of solace on him whose heart is consumed with trouble ? " Clara stood still and said in a tone of sympathy : " What can I do for you ? Tell me quickly. I must go." Don Juan drew nearer and essayed to take her hand which she withdrew from him. " Tell me only," he entreated, " that you do not hate me ; that you feel some kindness for one who would lay down his life to be as pure and as good as you are, and journey to heaven at your side. Stay, ah, stay. Your presence sanctifies the very air around me and fills my heart with pure aspiration. Sweet saint ! Tell me that the heaven which is known to you has not cast me out." " Heaven rejects no one that seeks it with earn- estness," Clara replied meekly and tranquilly. " Seek it in such a spirit, and you will find it. Farewell !" '* Stay, divine Clara. Do you fear me ?" " What should I fear ?" answered Clara, stop- ping and regarding him with surprise and natural dignity. " Stay, then ; ah, stay with him to whom your presence is life !" *' I cannot. You may, if you please, speak to me at the Countess's. Adieu !" " O, Clara, that is harsh ! You say Heaven re- jects not — be you not more stem. Do you reject not the erring. Show me the path to happiness. O, Clara ! let me press to mv heart the hand which " But he grasped the air only. Clara's good an- gel warned her ; she listened to the voice, and obeyed the beckoning ; for no vanity, either spiritual or worldly, dwelt in her soul. Like a shadow, she vanished into the night of the wood. With an imprecation of wild anger, Don Juan followed her. But friendly stars watched over Clara, and she discovered her way in their light ; and when she heard the footsteps of the voluptuary approaching near her, when anxiety and fatigue impeded her flight, she sank safe in the arms of her friend, who had gone out to meet her. Juan withdrew quickly behind a tree; there was a nest of magpies in its branches, and the young brood seemed to mock his imprecations. Shall we now pass to the couch on which Nina reposes, while Edla is watching over her ? Shall we witness the waking of the slumberer ? We will not ; we turn our eyes from their meeting. O, certainly, it is a bitter thing to see eyes which were wont to follow us so mildly, so lovingly, now looking on us in sternness and rebuke, or avert- ing themselves with painful contempt ; nay, per- haps, suff*used with tears of humiliation at our weaknesses. Certainly, it is bitter, certainly it is crushing ; and yet — blessed tear, blessed chastise- ment in the eye of a beloved one ! — burn in the soul of the fallen ! — burn, for thou purifiest ! Love, friendship — who will not bend when your hands administer the correction ? Who will not open his heart to your searching, reproving glance ? Unhappy is he who will not ; who can shut his heart to such — he is lost for ever. For three days after Edla's arrival, Nina lay in a burning fever. Edla herself imposed sile|ice upon her and remained with her — a faithful nurse ; but tenderness and confidence were not there. Edla was sUent, but her pale cheek attested the deep grief of her soul. One evening when she thought Nina was asleep, she put aside the locks of hair which concealed the forehead she wished to contemplate. Nina felt it, hastily took her spare hand and conveyed it to her lips. Edla did not withdraw it from her. Nina impressed on it kiss upon kiss, and bathed it with her tears. " Do speak to me," she begged, " say a kind word to me." Edla bent over her and said with tender- ness : — " My poor child, I am ever kind to you." A warm tear fell on Nina's arm ; she kissed it away. "Now I shall soOn get better !" said she, with a comforted heart. Some days after she was so far recovered as to be able to sit up, and Edla no longer delayed an ex- planation, for which they both longed. Then Nina opened her whole heart to her sister. Edla made her inquiries freely, with precision and firmness, but affectionately. Nina resigned herself as fully and completely as one human being can surrender himself to another. She felt an alleviation in it ; yes, she felt that she was in the hands of one in whom skill and address worked through love. Di- vine confidence, refreshing devotion to a friend ! Invigorating humility — sweet bitterness— peace after the struggle ! Speaking of which, Jean Paul has already said, " When man is no longer a friend to himself, he goes to his brother, who is such that the latter may speak kindly to him and restore him to life." And not kind words only, but stern ones, and even chastisement are willingly received at the hands of those we love. Chastisement ! Art thou astonished at it ? No, for looking deeper into thy own heart, thou dost acknowledge that it is so. Holy temple of the soul — God dwells in thy inmost sanctuary. Edla discovered the purity of Nina's heart ; at this her pulse of life beat high with joy ; but she was shocked at the state of her mind — its weak- ness — the torpor of all the higher powers, whereby she had been brought so near to misfortune. With all the force of her clear insight into human nature, and her superior understanding, Edla now discoursed with her sister, pointed out her situation to her, and exhibited her error in the strong light which at once humbled and ex- alted her. She made her examine and reflect on herself. She caused her to feel how deeply she had stooped below the true dignity of woman, and awoke in her the desire to rise again to its proper level. First a tear of remorse, then a prayer, then action ; such is the order of amendment. "You must," said Edla, "reUnquish your dreamy bewildered manner ; you must be active, F 2 68 NINA. have dealings with your fellow-creatures, and you will then learn to place your happiness in well-doing. Nina, you must make a noble-spi- rited man happy, and gain for yourself a support and a guide in life. Can you now listen calmly to what I have to say to you, or shall we defer it?" *• No, now, now ! When everything has been said, it will be better with me. Spare me not, Edla — do I deserve it 1" "Very good, then. Unpleasant rumours re- specting the connection between you and Don Juan are afloat in this place. Do not turn pale on that account, Nina ; turn pale, because occa- sion was given for them ! A jest which Don Juan allowed himself, and of which you and I were the subjects, gave additional weight to those reports. Count Ludvig insisted on a retractation. They fought a duel. Don Juan has received his well- merited chastisement in a sabre- cut across his forehead." '' Good God ! And I am the unhappy cause of all this ? And — candidly — is this all 1 Has no- thing worse occurred ? Is there no life in danger 1" asked Nina, beside herself with fright. ** No, be calm. Juan has departed from hence. His wound is not in the slightest degree dangerous, and will, in all probability, be attended with no worse consequence than a deep scar. Count Lud- vig has been able to chastise him, and protect you without injury to his own person. He em- braced, too, the opportunity thus presented, to make an unreserved avowal of his sentiments towards you ; he has solicited your hand of your father." " He is noble, he is good !" said Nina, deathly pale, and excited. " O, how little do I merit this ! Could I but duly acknowledge his kind- ness ! Here is my hand, Edla, place it in yours ; dispose of it as you think fitting. I have made such bad use of my freedom of will, that I resign my- self to you. Speak only, and I will cheerfully obey." ' ' Your own desire, Nina ; your own waking judgment of what is most expedient and best, shall determine us. But on this article you shall not give judgment in the present hour of excite- ment. To-morrow, when the repose of another night shall have recruited your strength, we will talk farther about this matter." And when, on that evening, Nina perceived more than usual tenderness in Edla's considerate attention to her, when she read in her counte- nance the evidence of a lightened heart ; when, as in the days of her childhood, the elder sister sat like a watchful sustaining angel beside her bed, and spread out on her coverlet the tiny mea- dow-flowers she had gathered for her, and wove them into a circlet for her arm— Nina then felt that Edla would determine her destiny ; that she herself would do all she could to regain her sister's respect and confidence ; and a repose, to which she had long been a stranger, diS'used itself through her soul. On the morrow, when the morning breeze awoke the sweet flowers, and a stream of light and natural melody and fi*agrance rushed in through the open window, Nina too awoke to a fresh and more vigorous existence. Pale, but with quiet composure and resolution, she arose from her bed. Perhaps she had never appeared so beautiful as at that hour, when humility and vigour seemed to have sanctified her being, and resignation shed a heavenly calm upon her beautiful forehead. Between the sisters arose a conversation, such as mothers and daughters have frequently held, and frequently will hold on earth. The daughter will acquiesce in the mother's wishes ; she will consider her choice to be the most prudent, the best ; she will only deplore in an under-tone her want of affection for the suitor ; she will make an acknowledgment of esteem, perhaps friendship, but .... but .... The mother will talk of the safe and sure foundation of a union which is based on the rock of esteem ; of the happiness of a life of active well-doing for those who are dear to us ; of the necessity of having an object, an interest in life ; of the peace which suc- ceeds to duties well fulfilled, &c. &c. With reference to the conversation we are con- cerned with, this much I know, — Edla's words were not those of a slender understanding ; they proceeded from a profound conviction that Count Ludvig was one of the noblest of men — that only in connexion with him could Nina attain to the deve- lopment of her powers, her life on earth ; without which consummation existence would be worthless. Nina's words were the same with those of the previous evening. " Judge, decide for me, Edla," was her entreaty. *' I trust myself no more ; I am apprehensive of my own heart. What you believe, that I believe ; what is your pleasure, that is mine also. To Count Ludvig for what he has done on my account — for his faithful devotion — I will make an acknowledgment to the utmost of my ability. I will endeavour to be a worthy partner for him. I will win back the esteem of all, minister to the happiness of all, if I can. Then shall I, too, assuredly learn in what real happiness consists." Edla embraced Nina, and so happy was the latter to have regained the affection of her sister, that it was with a feeling of true satisfaction she allowed herself to be led by Edla to her father, in order to express her desire of deferring entirely to his wishes in the disposal of her hand. But before drawing aside the curtain to exhibit what met the view of the sisters in the President's chamber, we must conduct the reader to another scene, which was seen by several persons besides ourselves. Figure to yourself, then, the President, with un- covered head, endeavouring with hat and person to shelter his wife from a violent shower of rain ; taking off" his galoshes to let the Countess make use of them, and then at her side stepping in the puddles on their way home. This may explain the fact of the sisters finding their father seated in his easy-chair, with his countenance in contortions, speechless, and unable to move. The President was labouring under a violent nervous affection. The Countess Natalia was promenading in the large saloon at the Wells, surrounded with her friends and acquaintances. By the speedy and judicious application of remedies, the President was so far recovered, after the lapse of a week, as to be able to speak and move his limbs with some degree of freedom. But his mental powers were still enfeebled, his counte- nance still distorted, and his left side paralysed. Several physicians who were consulted, were unanimously of opinion that the influence of a more genial climate could alone perfectly restore the President's health. A journey to Nizza was advised. Whenever danger threatens, or a shock of any NINA. 69 description is given to the life of man, the power of fleeting attachments ceases, and those feelings which are rooted in our better nature, in the in- ward man, cast off" their slough and come to light. Then to the faithful, the really affectionate friend, the hour of triumph is come. Thus it was with the President, When he felt the potent hand of sickness upon him, when they apprised him of the necessity of a journey to be entered upon in his still feeble state, and a lengthened sojourn in a foreign country, he turned away from his brilliant consort and her affected tenderness, stretched forth his arms and stammered — " Edla." He was not able to live without Edla, and was calm if he only saw her near him. Edla's resolve to accom- pany her father was taken the same moment she heard mention made of the journey, and to the Countess Natalia it was a real favour at the hands of Fate that a serious ankle sprain pre- vented her — ** to her perfect despair," as she assured every one— from joining her husband in his journey. Edla was very desirous to see Nina betrothed ere she was compelled to leave her afresh. Nina surrendered herself entirely to her sister's guidance. The Countess Natalia, who all at once had cooled considerably towards Nina, and was altogether void of feeling towards Edla, maintained neutral ground ; and nothing was remarked, except that she employed the word " hienseance " more fre- quently than usual. Count Ludvig urged — not with- out claims — the fulfilment of his wishes. Who, then, was it that opposed himself to it ? Even the poor bewildered President. In his anything but lucid state of mind, he seemed to have taken it in his head that betrothal and marriage were one and the same thing ; and on Edla's speaking to him about Nina's being affianced, he would always reply — " In a year, when I come back ! " Inef- fectually did Edla strive to explain the matter to him. He reiterated the same answer — " In a year, when I come back ! " At length he grew angry, and said — " Do you think that a gay feast and my condition accord well with each other ? No, in a year, &c." Edla, therefore, forbore to speak any more to him on this subject, and at the same time relinquished her hope before her de- parture to see Nina plighted to the man she esteemed so highly. " Take me with you," Nina sincerely besought her sister, " Let me share with you the care of our father." Edla could not give her consent to this. She was apprehensive for Nina's health, her hving with an invalid ; and besides, she wished to be free, that she might be able to devote all her care, all her powers to her father. She feared, moreover, to separate Nina and Ludvig at that juncture. It was therefore resolved to await the coming of the time specified by the President, and if at the expiration of the year his health and mental vigour were not restored, the formal betrothal between Nina and Ludvig should take place notwithstanding. Up to that period Nina was to remain with her step-mother, who had in- timated her intention during the President's absence to withdraw entirely from society, and retire to his estate, which lay further up in Norr- land. There Count Ludvig was to pass the spring and summer of the approaching year in Nina's society. Edla was persuaded that a closer acquaint- ance with him, which would be thus effected, could not fail to awaken in Nina that attachment of which he was so worthy an object. Internally, Nina felt happy at this delay in that which was to decide her fate ; but she scarcely ventured to confess to herself this inward struggle against Edla's wish. It was evening. The following day was ap- pointed for the departure of Edla and the Presi- dent. Nina, who had passed several days with her sister in their father's sick room, walked out at the solicitation of Edla to enjoy a little fresh air. Miss Greta, Clara, and Baron H., had the same day gone on an excursion of pleasure with the rest of the company at the Wells, and the avenues of the grounds were almost vacant. None but this or that invalid, whose condition did not permit him to undertake a more extended ramble, was seen dragging his faint limbs along them. Nina stood on the grass-plot in front of the rooms which the President occupied, breathing the pure, de- licious air. The sun went down in serenity ; small yellow and red flowers seemed to wave cai'essingly at her feet. Not a leaf quivered on the trees, which were tipped with gold, and peopled with countless carollers. Nina looked around her with complacency ; it was a charming picture — she the most beautiful figure in it ; but she did not see it. She glanced affectionately at the sun, in playful- ness kissed his beams as they fell upon her marble- white hands, and he irradiated the fair daughter of earth with a glance of parental affection. In a short time Nina saw a family — to all appearance — of the working class, slowly make their way beneath the shade of the trees, and take their places on a seat at a distance from the spot where she was standing. The husband and wife had good, honest- looking countenances, but they were furrowed by grief. The children were pale and quiet. You might perceive that they were the offspring of poverty. A servant in livery, who passed by with a basket full of the most choice fruits, was asked by the man, whether he could sell him a portion. The servant replied that he could not, it being a present for Miss Nina G., the beautiful daughter of his Excellency G. Perceiving Nina at the same instant, he went on to her, and gave her the basket with a low bow. Having commissioned the bearer with her thanks to the Countess Nordstjerna, and laid aside some beautiful grapes for Edla and her father, she took up the basket, advanced, blush- ing, to the artisan family, and begged in the most courteous manner to share the fruit with them. Nina's unspeakable grace, the touching kindness and benevolence which were depicted in her countenance, made probably a more pleasing im- pression upon the family than the offer of the fruit. The evident pleasure which her gift oc- casioned rejoiced her. She herself took the youngest child on her knee, and gave it some of the fruit which she had spread out on the table, repeating at the same time most cordial invitations to begin. And when she saw all around her glad, and felt the little one on her knee struggling with very delight at the feast, she experienced a pure pleasure, such as she had seldom known. The good people soon grew communicative, and Nina heard with interest — what it is so beneficial to those who are in prosperity on earth to hear — a relation of suffering, such as especially visit the dwellings of 70 NINA. the poor. There was, however, no complaining — no despondency in the present instance — but, contrariwise, gentle Hope had shed her fresh leaves on a life of distress and sickness. Nina was at ease in this little circle, in which mutual tender- ness was evidently at home ; she, too, felt at home, and cordially caressed the little one on her knee. Suddenly she perceived Count Ludvig, who, with a strong expression of displeasure on his stern countenance, stood before her, contemplating the scene. Nina's complacency vanished at once, and a degree of embarrassment spread through the artisan family. The children pressed nearer to their parents ; the latter left off eating of the fruits. Count Ludvig approached Nina, saying with a peculiar intonation of voice — " Would it not better beseem Miss G. to walk a little up and down the avenues than sit Tiere ? The evening begins to get cold." Nina had not felt it before, but now she did really feel chilled. She acceded, however, to the wish of the Count, after once more kissing the Httle ill-favoured child who was unwilling to part from her. The parents then rose and turned to Nina with their warmest thanks. Ludvig scarcely allowed her to accept and reply to these with her wonted kindness. He almost pulled her from the spot, saying with a negligent air and tone — " Enough, good people ; the children may take the rest with them." " Do you know the people whom you were with en famille ? " Count Ludvig asked as they with- drew. " No," answered Nina, regarding him with an expression of some disquietude. " Neither do I," said he negligently. " Perhaps honourable people ; or they may be scoundrels." " We will, then, put the better construction upon it," said Nina gently ; " and I do not merely think, I am convinced, from their appearance and con- versation, that they are honest and good." " Admitting that, it is always most advisable to avoid intimate acquaintance, thus quickly formed, with people — especially with people of this class." Nina did not allow herself to be perplexed by the harshness of Count Ludvig's expressions, but related in an artless and kindly manner what had given rise to the acquaintance. Count Ludvig curled his lip to a sarcastic expression, and said : — " I acknowledge, that, as you have but now related it, the affair has something more of the romantic in it — nay you may even hope to see it paraded in a novel." " Believe my words, no such thought occurred to me ! " said Nina, rather excited. "The affair would have assumed quite a dif- ferent, and, perhaps, a flat aspect," pursued Count Ludvig, « if you had acted simply and rationally — that is to say, if you had sent the fruits to the working people by your servant, they would have tasted quite as well to them, that I will vouch to you." " I am not satisfied of that," said Nina, with some warmth, "and how easily might not a worthy feeling of delicacy on their part have been hurt. Besides — why should not my way of acting be the simplest, especially when the present place and circumstances are considered. Is it not precisely this which is contrary to nature — that we in every- day life should live in a state of defence against our fellow-creatures 1 In heaven, where things are duly ordered, man will meet man certainly more cordially and in a manner entirely different from that which is commonly the case here." "We will defer such advances till we get there," said Count Ludvig drily. " Now we are living on earth — where we have frequent opportunity of seeing what unpleasant consequences may result from acquaintances inconsiderately formed." O my young reader, I see already— in spirit— how thy eye flashes fire, how thou, in Nina's place, wouldst proudly have raised thy head and replied : ** If the Count believes that ray inconsiderate- ness may be productive of unpleasant consequences to him, — I will not expose him to such— and it is best we now part for ever." How do these words and the tone of feeling they indicate please me, thou good one. For the fact that thou canst think and answer in such wise, is to me an infallible sign that the purity of thy heart and thy conduct is unimpeachable — that thou hast nothing wherewith to reproach thyself. But it was not so with Nina. She had to re- proach herself with gx*eat weakness, great im- prudence, and therefore she did not answer in such a manner. Nina was silent^ though the harshness of Ludvig's allusion swelled her heart and filled her eyes with tears ; but her natural meekness, the consciousness of having erred, the remembrance of Ludvig's behaviour during the period so recently past, suppressed every rising of anger ; she was silent only and deeply dejected ; while leaning on the arm of Count Ludvig, she paced up and down under cover of the thick foliage of the trees. Count Ludvig broke silence, say- ing: **If I have spoken too warmly or with un- due severity on this subject, do not therefore be — distressed. Nature has denied me a smooth and flattering tongue, and I know it is difficult for me to please and win the favour of ladies. That is my misfortune ; but believe me I mean well." "I believe — I know it," said Nina ardently, touched by the tone in which he pronounced the last words, and she lightly pressed his hand as he raised hers to his lips. They walked on further, and Nina felt — what she frequently experienced in his presence — possessed with what we may call the spirit of silence. She had not a word to say, and even her thoughts and feelings were as if spell- bound. Two entirely dissimilar feelings may pro- duce such an effect as this — love, and fear. Nina's feeling was not that of love. As they returned it was become dark. The air was damp, and chilling mists hovered around them. A shudder passed through Nina's tender frame. " Are you unwell ! " Count Ludvig asked with sympathy. " No," she answered, " but I feel cold." They walked faster. This walk with Ludvig was oppressive to her spirits ; it appeared to her a type of her future life ; all so silent, so cold, so dark. They passed the table at which the artisan family had sate ; the fruit was left behind thereon. Count Ludvig muttered between his teeth something about " stolid pride." Nina thought another word, but she said nothing. She quickened her steps that, at Edla's side, in her company, she might forget the unfriendly impres- sion she had received. It was a peculiar, un- fortunate circumstance that, — whereas Nina fre- quently, Edla, on the other hand, scarcely ever perceived in Count Ludvig those traits of cha- NINA. 71 racter and of mind which show what a man is in the domestic circle of every-day Ufe,— towards those who are about him. Perhaps Edla looked all too exclusively at that which distinguishes the statesman and the citizen, in a more extended sense. Nina, on the other hand, was more alive to the virtues which make up the happiness of the family circle. Yet at that time she had surren- dered her own will to such an extent, that she did not allow her thoughts to dwell- on what in Ludvig hurt or chilled her. She conformed to his wishes, she thought on his distinguished qualities, she marked them, she endeavoured with full earnestness to love him. Endeavour to love ! — what Sisyphus' labour ! Edla set out with her father, — who, like a child, committed himself to her guidance— and deeply agitating was the separation for Nina, already weakened by strong emotion. As to Edla, she was calm, and only the tremor of the body betrayed her internal struggle. Long she held Nina pressed to her bosom, as if she would impart to her the strength that dwelt there ; she then placed her hand in Ludvig's and regarded them both with an indescribable expression, without the power of uttering a word. It would be impossible to recount all the ru- mours, stories, and opinions, which the occur- rence in the President's family put in circulation among the company at the Wells. They afforded inexhaustible matter for conversations, whisper- ings, and conjectures. The quintessence of all condensed itself into the exclamation : " The poor Countess ! 0, it has touched her closely home !" With this moral corollary : « What are we, poor mortals ? To-day in health, to-morrow on the verge of the grave ! It is the wiser way to hold ourselves prepared to meet the worst l" After Edla's departure, it seemed as if the former lifeless indifference would again take pos- session of Nina's soul, but she combated against it. A quiet, mild seriousness, an amiability lovely beyond expression, towards every one, shed a pe- culiar charm around her, and communicated itself to those about her. Even Count Ludvig expe- rienced the influence of this more and more, and became gentler in her presence. To him she ap- peared to be the woman destined to be his part- ner ; from day to day he became more strongly captivated by her ; her presence became more and more a necessity to him, and he looked upon it almost as a misfortune when, through the death of an indifferent kinsman, he came into possession of a large inheritance in France, which required his personal superintendence. A short time after Edla's departure, then, he, too, was compelled to separate from Nina. He did so with deep and sincere regret, without being able to state definitely the time when he should see her again. How much more easily she moved and breathed after his departure, Count Ludvig had no idea. He thought that she had attached her- self to him as the future support of her life ; and we will not question that — this very thought of a support in life is sufficient with many weak, femi- nine natures, to induce them to incline to a man of a harsh, stony character. Thus was it not, how- ever, with Nina ; what she wanted was a quick- ening internal energy — was sunshine. Count Ludvig thought she looked up to him as to a supe- rior being, and it was really this species of devo- tion which his imperious spirit most desired. Edla had been absent but a short time, when Nina received the following lines from her : — " When far removed from those we love, it frequently happens that the remembrance of some word, or some action, reverts to the mind asso- ciated with the silent reproof, *Thou wert not sufficiently mild or forbearing.' Such silent ad- monitions, Nina, I have now, and would so gladly efface from your heart the impressions of many a moment of our last term of intercourse. I am at a great distance from you, and cannot speak with you ; I must therefore write to you. My good sister, treasure in your heart these my heartfelt prayers. Be not too severe towards yourself; judge not yourself too rigorously ; and, above all things, suffer not the remembrance of that occur- rence which has cast a shade upon your name, to abase yourself, all too deeply in your own thoughts. The actually accomplished deed it is which lowers us in the eyes of the world ; but not in this does the declension, properly speaking, consist. That must have long been achieved within ourselves. The first thought, Nina, the first impulse, con- science must be alive to and wrestle with. Watch over the emotions of your heart, my sister ; these are they which, when duly ordered and sancti- fied, will give worth to your being ; these are they which, when ungoverned, draw down the soul to what is vulgar and despicable ; and that, too, though no actual deed has yet betrayed your spirit's infirmity to man. The institutions of organised society, our social relations, and the precepts of worldly wisdom, prevent many an open irregularity. But how few men are virtu- ous, because they love virtue for its own sake — with how few is it an active and operative princi- ple of life, to stand pure before the face of the Creator ! And yet this alone is real virtue — this alone is real purity. When the aspiration after this, when the love of this pei'sonal purity is ex- tinguished in the soul of man, then he is sunken. When kindled again in the heart, the man lifts up his head again, and approximates nearer to God, deeply sunken though he be in the eyes of his fellow-mortals. But this bond of union which the soul has formed with holiness, also leads, in many instances, to reconciliation with human so- ciety ; and when won to us in this manner, it must truly be endeared to us. But, Nina, transforma- tion is accomplished not at one stroke. Even in the chrysalis, there is a constantly sustained acti- vity of those quickening energies which afterwards develop the radiant wings of the butterfly. Our daily vocations, the society in which we move, our conversation, our reading, our thoughts, our feel- ings — these are the threads which, in impercepti- ble but intimate connection, weave the web of our existence. Eternity is made up of moments. Lavish we the latter, and how shall we win the former ? The minute is the parent to the hour, the hour to the day, the day to the month, the month to the year, the year to the whole life of man ; did we more frequently reflect on this, how much better would be our way of thinking I " My good child, before all things know what you are now going to do ; think on the past firstly and foremostly to derive light for the future ; think on the way which leads upward, for.it is the 72 NINA. way you are appointed to go ; and when your soul is purified, when your will has been brought in aflfeetionate subordination to the Divine will, then your heart will know peace, and you will be wor- thy of the noblest of men, and will make happy your Edla." All the world travels now-a-days. One half of life is passed on the highway : individuals rush by each other " to their neighbours " while nations ply the gambol of " Fuel-borrowing " * on a large scale. — It is the fashion. Now the persons of my story are for the most part people of quality, let their constant journeying therefore be no wonder. Many a one I hope will accompany me whither I am now preparing to conduct him — namely, east^ ward to Paradise. PARADISE. "And the gold of that land was good." FiusT Book of Moses. "Are not these meadows divine to view?" Bkllm&m. Paradise was the name of a little estate which Baron H. had inherited from his fathers ; it lay in the sunny hospitable province of Skaane. " Know ye the land ? " It is a glorious land ; rich fields of standing corn wave on the plains. The heart grows warm there, alike from the southern sun and the good- ness of heart and gaiety of spirit which animate the inhabitants. Life passes blithely among them, and the stranger who has been there ever pre- serves a grateful remembrance of the kindness and hospitality which he has experienced in their society. In this province Paradise was situated, thither Baron H. journeyed, after his marriage with Miss Greta had been solemnized with the utmost quietness ; the good and happy Clara accompa- nied them : it was here they were to receive the Countess Natalia, Nina, and a host of other friends and acquaintances besides. Miss Greta — now Baroness H.— during thejour- * " To borrow Fire " is the pame of a social gambol well known to Swedish readers: it resembles our own " Turning the Trencher " very closely.— What point there is in the passage of the text, it will be obvious, lies in the analogy between the constant shifting from place to place in the game, and the habit of frequent travelling so much in vogue at present. A brief description of the gambol may not be unaccept- able to those who interest themselves in the matter of popular sports :— Chairs are provided for all who engage in the game, excepting the party whose office it is to borrow fire. When the rest of the players are seated, the latter takes up the large poker used for the Swedish stove, and goes in quest of that material. Having determined on the person whom he intends to ask the favour of, he stops before him, strikes the floor with his staflf, and solicits the loan of some fire. The party applied to refers the applicant to his neighbour. In the interim, two or more of those who are possessed of places have by secret signs agreed to change seats. On perceiving this, the fire-borrower throws down his instru- ment and makes a rush to get possession of one of the vacated chairs. If he is successful in this, the party dis- lodged must take up the staff and try his fortune in the same manner as the former petitioner ; if disappointed he renews his application till a favourable opportunity offers.— Tr. ney was vastly inquisitive about Paradise, which name she was sedulous to associate with swine, fowls, and other unparadisaical animals*, for which, under leave of the learned, I take the liberty to reprove her, and on this subject she continued to jest, without thereby being able to call up the slightest cloud on the brow of her husband. True, Paradise and its aforesaid quadrupeds, possessing as they did a strong affinity with ham^ did not awake in the Baron's mind ideas so entirely opposed to what is paradisaical, and let me tell you, my reader, that a more cheerful after-mar- riage feast has seldom been celebrated on the greensward. It would be utterly impossible for us to conceive more sumptuous entertainments, a better and a happier husband, a more sprightly and courteous wife, a more sympathising, beloved, and amiable lady friend. To realise the truth of the last remark you must have seen Clara. Nor should we omit to relate with what great decorum Filius deported himself during the above important period, and how he drew sketches of domestic scenes wherein his foster-father and his new foster-mother always figured as the principal personages. After they had for a time feasted together, laughed, and well examined all the beauties of Pa- radise — among which the Baroness H. never forgot to distinguish the farm-yard — after they had danced and amused themselves, and finally too, had yawned a little in common, the guests began to depart to their respective dwelling-places. The Countess Natalia and Nina went northwards from Paradise, after they had come to an understanding that Baron H. and his family should follow when winter set in, and pass the Christmas with the Countess in Norrland. How Baron H. and his wife now cultivated their Paradise, how they there, as with God's help does every newly-married couple, renewed in their own way the beautiful golden legend of the love and happiness of the first paradise ; how Baroness H., in direct opposition to her fair pro- genitor Eve, sedulously warned her partner and his beloved Filius not to eat apples, how with good- tempered pleasantry she surveyed her new world on all sides, drew upon her the regards of the men and animals therein, and inspired a love of order and cheerfulness in all, — to relate all this would certainly be instructive alike to narrator and reader ; to me it would be a peculiar pleasure to relate how happy Clara was, how active too, and beloved by her friend she was ; what enjoyment she had in the meadows and deep woods of Para- dise, so much so, that it might have been said then as in the first days of the world, "angels had com- munion with the children of the earth ;" but then the happy ones are so well able to take due care of themselves, and I am longing to see and inquire about the pale Nina, — to ascertain whether life possesses not an elixir which shall invigorate that existence, which we confess, has heretofore little resembled that of the heroine, and has * Bishop Spegel in his great work : " On the Works and Sabbath (i. e. Rest) of God," does indeed name " the imclean swine" among the animals of Paradise, but, since those learned In the lore of antiquity have convinced us that tradition is not competent authority in these subjects, we take the liberty to regard this expresion of the Bishop's as a poetical licence. NINA. 73 inspired rather the interest of compassion than love. I therefore push forward with my story over the busy period of dressing nuts, drying and salting provisions, pickling and preserving, with a low and respectful curtsey to all good housewives and fair economists, comprehending the Baroness H. among the number. November storms are already howling at the windows ; the sky is bleak, the air is bleak, the earth is bleak ; the carolling of the birds is hushed, the foliage of the trees is withered. Now the nose of the inhabitant of the north gets blue ; now the Englishman hangs him- self ; now people remain sticking on cumbered roads ; now the soul of the poet is frozen, and so the last pansy of the hill-side. Now well-warmed houses and friendly souls are required. Kindle the fire, kindle the fire, everywhere. November you are an ugly sullen gray-beard, bad-tempered and frosty ! but you pass away, and December comes on still more gloomy and stern. Now the heavens put on their misty drapery and in order to conceal the deformity of the earth, and to pre- serve the hope of summer, the light flaky snow copies down and spreads his white covering over lake and plain. Now I order the covered sledge of Baron H. to be got ready, and amid the jingling bells of the post-horses drive him and his family up to Norrland, there to contemplate both light and shade. LIGHT AND SHADE. " Christmas is come 1 Christmas is come 1"— Thb Children. How it freezes, how dark it is ! Ice-tracery covers the window-panes, the gloomy morning twilight blends with that of evening, and night soon raises her funeral dirge over both. In Norr- land, however, there are some bright hours at noon, when the faint beams of the sun are still visible ; but they vanish again, and then all is dark. Farther up to the north day is not known, night continues for months in succession. " Nature sleeps," they say, in the north ; but it resembles the sleep of death, is cold and horrible as this, and would make gloomy the heart of man, did not another light rise at the same time, did not another bosom open itself and animate him with its life. This is a well-known fact in Sweden, where, when all nature is torpid and dark, and declining in death, in every house the heads and hands of all are active in devising and preparing a festivity. This, you know, ye skilful daughters of home, who with night-watching and pleasantry, weary your fingers and eyes, and spirits, sitting up by long-wicked lights, to get your presents in readiness. This you know, ye sons of home, who bite your nails to the quick, to spur your invention of things adapted for Christmas presents. This, thou knowest, little joyous one, that hast no care beyond the little serious one, lest the Christmas- goat* should fail to reach thy biding-place. This you know, ye papas and mammas with empty purses and full hearts. Aunts and cousins, of the undying race of knitters and embroiderers; ye * The Yulegoat is a popular sport in Sweden about Christmas time. The antics of the goat, generally per- sonated by a boy of the poorer class, dressed in the skin of that animal, are a rich source of amusement to the little ones of the more fortunate portion of the commu- nity — Tr. uncles, at once perverted and perverters, this you know well, and are acquainted with this time of mysterious looks, traitorous tittering, and happy cares. In the house of the rich man they dress the fat joints and the notable * lutfisk^ (lye-Jish) ; sausage-meat fumes savoury, and tarts puff them- selves up ; and there is not the poorest hut but, about this season, has capering and squeaking within it a young pig, which, in most instances, has to fatten itself on its own good humour. Quite a different aspect do the elements wear about this time. The Spirit of winter has usurped despotic sway, and, in the wantonness of authority, puts his icy chains on the little life which Nature exhibits, represses every swell of the sea's bosom, stifles even the minutest sprouting bud, forbids the birds to carol, and the air-flies to sport ; and none but his minister, the mighty North Wind, thunders freely in hoary space, and takes heed that every- thing is maintained in mute torpor. Only the sparrows, those little optimists of the air, preserve their gaiety of heart, and seem by their twittering to give tidings of the coming of better days. Now comes the most gloomy time of the year — the midnight hour of nature — and all at once lights beam forth from every dwelling-place in emulation of the stars of the firmament. The Church opens her bosom, in which serenity and thanksgiving are enfolded, and the children every- where raise their joyous shouts ; " Christmas is come ! Christmas is come !" The earth sends her Hallelujah on high. And wherefore those lights, that joy, those songs of thanksgiving ? " Unto us a child is born !" A child ? In the hour of night, in a lowly manger He was born, and there were an- gels to sing, " Peace on earth." Therein lies the reason of the present festivity. And well may you, little children, then raise your voices in glad- ness ; hail— unconsciously though it be— hail the hour in which He was born to you — the friend, the brother, who will conduct you through your life on earth, and make you look with a light heart on death ; who will once give reality to all the beautiful visions of your childhood ; who will ex- plain to you the reason and end of want, obscurity and cai*e, and help you to unravel the most intri- cate questions of existence. Exult, ye happy little ones, for such He blessed ! Exult and follow Him ! He is come to guide you and all of us to God. There are boundless, sweet, marvellous, en- trancing thoughts, into which we are never weary of plunging. In such the sickly soul bathes, as in a Bethesda, and is made whole ; while the healthful spirit is thereby made conscious of an enhanced existence. Of this kind are the thoughts on that child— his poverty, his lowliness, and glory. It is a beautiful and wise appointment that the Church unfolds her life most luxuriantly at the time when nature lies dead. For this provision, too, accept thanks, kind Father of all ! Such were the quiet Clara's thoughts, while in company with her friends she slowly ascended the hill which led through dark pine-woods to the height where lights were gleaming from the then residence of the Countess Natalia. We will call this residence Umenas. Clara looked out on the cold, gray mist, which enveloped every object. In this obscurity the light on the hill appeared doubly cheering, and her eyes fixed themselves 74 NINA. involuntarily upon it, while feelings of good-will animated her bosom. She was rejoiced at the prospect of again seeing Nina, for whom she had ever felt cordial sympathy ; and within herself she asked involuntarily — *' On thy life, has there not dawned a light which shall both illumine and warm it ? Thou pale, beautiful, good, rich-en- dowed maiden, why shouldst thou be less happy than insignificant Clara V' " Coffee !" cried Baron H., in his sleep. "Immediately," answered the Baroness, who did not sleep. ** What ?" asked the Baron, waking. " We shall be there directly." ** Impossible 1" « Certainly." " Impossible." " But, dear, I assure you it is so." « But, dear, I don't believe it." " We can discern the lights already." " I see no Hghts." " Yes, that I believe, when people are asleep " It is not that people are asleep, but they are no visionaries. People have eyes as keen as those of others." " It is inconceivable," said the Baroness, a little warm, ** that you, still drowsy with sleep, will dis- pute what the eyes of two waking people see ; this drowsiness and the vapour on the window deprive you of vision. Look, now !" Baroness H. stretched out her hand to let down the win- dow, but it was arrested by the Baron, who caught fast hold of it, kissed it heartily, held it close to his eyes, and protested that he, too, now saw light which was concealed from every one else. Ba- roness H. disputed no more, and in affectionate peace or strife — for, it should be observed, that the two opposites are sometimes one and the same thing — our travellers shortly after stopped before the gate of the edifice, which the Baroness called "the house," and the Countess Natalia "the chateau." We had proposed giving some account of the state of things there ; but, having seen a pen in the hand of Baroness H., we thought it would be more acceptable to furnish the reader with an extract of the letter which, a few days after her arrival at Umenas, she wrote to a confidential friend. " . . . . But let that suffice for the journey and its dull adventures. Our arrival was to great comfort. It did not look at all ' Laplandish ' at Natalia's ; a beautiful saloon, well lighted ; new furniture, carpets,