son! But I have been, as it were, bewitched-I too will go. The tenderness of my husband and have loved him beyond measure. Ah, I love of my children-the peace of home; the many him still-nay! do not weep, mother-you shall pleasures within it; the relief of tears; the eternever again shed a tear of grief over me-younal consolations of the Eternal Word-all these have wept already enough on my account. have refreshed and strengthened my soul. It is Since Henrik's death everything in me is chan- now much, much better. And then-he died ged-fear not for me, I will conquer this, and will pure and spotless, the youth with the clear glance become your obedient, your happy child; only and the warm heart! He stood, as his father require not from me that I should give my hand said, ready to go into the higher world. Oh! to another-never will I marry, never belong to more than ever have I acknowledged, in the midst another! But for you, my parents, will I live, of my deep pain, that there is pain more bitter and with you be happy! Here, my father, take than this; for many a living son is greater grief this, and send it back to him whom I will no to his mother than mine-the good one there, more see! And-oh, love me! love me!' under the green mound! "Tears bedewed the face which she bowed down to her father's knee. Never had she looked so lovely, so attractive! Ernst was greatly affected; he raised his hand as if in blessing upon her head, which he raised, and said— "When you were born, Eva, you lay as if dead; in my arms you first opened your eyes to the light, and I thanked God-but thank him manifold more for you in this moment, in which | I see in you the joy and blessing of our age-in which you have been able to combat with your own heart, and to do that which is right! God bless you! God reward you!' "He held her for a long time to his bosom, and his tears wetted her forehead. I also clasped her in my arms, and let her feel my love and my gratitude, and then, with a look which beamed through tears, she left us. "We have planted fir-trees and poplars around the grave, and often will it be decorated with fresh flowers. No dark grief abides by the grave of the friendly youth. Henrik's sisters mourn for him deep and still-perhaps Gabriele mourns him most of all. One sees it not by day, for she is generally gay as formerly; a little song, a gay jest, a little adornment of the house, all goes on just as before to enliven the spirits of her sisters. But in the night, when all rest in their beds, she is heard weeping, often so painfully-it is a dew of love on the grave of her brother; but then every morning is the eye again bright and smiling. "On the first tidings of our loss Jacobi hastened to us, and took from Ernst and me in this time of heavy grief all care upon himself, and was to us as the tenderest of sons. Alas! he was obliged very soon to leave us, but the occasion for this was the most joyful. He is about to be nominated for the living of T-; and this "We called her 'our blessed child' at that time, for she had blessed us with a great consolation. She had raised again our sunken hearts. "Ernst went to the window and looked silent-promotion, which puts him in the condition soon ly into the star-lighted night; I followed him, and my glance accompanied his, which in this moment was so beautiful and bright, and laying his arm around me he spoke thus: "It is good-it is so intended-and that is the essential thing! He is gone! What more? We must all go; all, sooner or later! He might not perfect his work; hut he stood ready, ready in will and ability when he was called to the higher work-place! Lord and Master, thou hast taken the disciple to thyself-well for him that he was ready! That is the most important for us all!' "Ernst's words and state of mind produced great effect upon me. Peace returned to my spirit. In the stillness of the night I did not sleep, but I rested on his bosom. It was calm around me and in me, and in the secret of my soul I wished that it might ever remain so, that no more day might dawn upon me, and no more sun shine upon my weary, painful eyes. "How the days creep on! On occasions of great grief it always appears as if time stood still. All things appear to stand still, or slowly and painfully to roll on, in dark circles; but it is not so! Hours and days go on in an interminable chain; they rise and sink like the waves of the sea; and carry along with them the vessel of our life: carry it from the islands of joy it is true, but carry it also away from the rocky shores of grief. Hours came for me in which no consolation could appease my heart, in which I in vain combated with myself, and said; 'Now I will read, and then pray, and then sleep!' but yet anguish would not leave me, but followed me still, when I read, prevented me from prayer, and chased away sleep; yes, many such hours have been, but they too are gone; some such may perhaps come yet but I know also that they to marry, affords him also a respectable income, and a sphere of action agreeable to his wishes and accordant with his abilities, and altogether makes him unspeakably happy. Louise Iso looks forward towards this union and establishment for life with quiet satisfaction, and that, I believe, as much on account of her family as for herself. "The family affection appears, through the late misfortune, to have received a new accession: my daughters are more amiable than ever in their quiet care to sweeten the lives of their parents. Mrs. Gunilla has been like a mother to me and mine during this time; and many dear evidences of sympathy, from several of the best and noblest in Sweden, have been given to Henrik's parents; the young poet's pure glory has brightened his house of mourning. 'It is beautiful to have died as he has died,' says our good Assessor, who does not very readily find any thing beautiful in this world. "And I, Cecilia, should I shut my heart against so many occasions for joy and gratitude, and sit with my sorrow in darkness? O no! I will gladden the human circle in which I live; I will open my heart to the gospel of life and of nature; I will seize hold on the moments, and the good which they bring. No friendly glance, no spring-breeze, shall pass over me unenjoyed or unacknowledged; out of every flower will I suck a drop of honey, and out of every passing hour a drop of eternal life. "And then-I know it truly-be my life long or short, bear it a joyful or a gloomy colour, The day will never endure so long But at length the evening cometh. The evening in which I may go home-home t my son, my summer-child! And then-O then, shall I perhaps acknowledge the truth of that and its pulsations ceased. At the same moment a wonderful inspiration animated the mother; her eyes beamed brightly, and never before had her voice so beautiful, so clear a tone as while she sang, Thou callest O Father! with glad accord Now the paug is past! now be hold I the Lord- Judge Frank was awoke out of his uneasy sleep by the song, whose tone seemed to have a something supernatural in it. A few moments passed before he could convince himself that the voice which he heard was really that of his wife. He hastened with indescribable anxiety to the sick room; Elise yet sung the last verse as he entered, and, casting his eyes on her countenance, he exclaimed, "My God!" and clasped his hands together. The song ceased: a dreadful consciousness thrust itself like a sword through the heart of the mother. She saw before her the corpse of her son, and with a faint cry of horror she sank, as if lifeless, upon the bed of death. CRAPTER VIII. ELISE TO CECILIA. sufferings had reconciled me to his death; they abated as death approached, and he besought of me, as he had often done in the years of his childhood, to sing him to sleep. I sang-I was was able to sing. He received pleasure from the song and strength also, and with a heavenly smile, while heavenly pictures seemed to float before his eyes, he said, 'Ah, it is divine!' and I sang better and ever clearer. I saw his eyes change themselves, his breath became suspended, and I knew that then was the moment of separation between soul and body-between me and him! but I did not then feel it, and I sang on. It seemed to me as if the song sustained the spirit and raised it to heaven. In that moment I was happy; for even I, as well as he, was exalted above every earthly pain. "The exclamation of my name awoke me from my blessed dream, and I saw the dead body of my son-after this I saw nothing more. "There was a long, deep stupor, from which when I recovered I felt a heart beating against my temples. I raised my eyes and saw my husband; my head was resting on his breast, and with the tenderest words he was calling me back to life; my daughters stood around me weeping, and kissing my hands and my clothes; I also wept, and then I felt better; it was then morning, and the dawn came into my chamber I threw my arms round my husband's neck, an said, 'Ernst, love me! I will endeavour-' "I could say no more, but he understood me thanked me warmly, and pressed me close to his bosom. "I did endeavour to be calm, and with God's help I succeeded. For several hours of the day I lay still on my bed, while Eva, whose voice is remarkably sweet, read aloud to me. I go up for tea, and endeavoured to be as usual; m husband and my daughters supported me, an all was peace and love. "But when the day was ended, and Ernst an I were alone in our chamber, a fear of the nigh of bed, and a sleepless pillow, seized hold c me; I therefore seated myself on the sofa, an prayed Ernst to read to me, for I longed for t consolations of the Gospel. He seated himse by me and read; but the words, although spok by his manly, firm voice, passed at this time i pressionless over my inward sense. I unde stood nothing, and all within me was dark a vacant. All at once, some one knocked sof at the door, and Ernst, not a little astonish said, 'Come in;' the door was opened, and E entered. She was very pale, and appeared ex ted, but yet, at the same time, firm and det mined. She approached us softly, and, sinki down on her knees between us, took our ha between hers. I would have raised her, Ernst held me back, and said, mildly but gra Two months later. "WHEN I last wrote to you, my Cecilia, it was winter. Winter, severe and icy, had also gathered itself about my heart-my life's joy was wrapped in his winding-sheet, and it seemed to me as if no more spring could bloom, no more life could exist; and that I should never again have the heart to write a cheerful or hopeful word. And now-now it is spring! The lark sings again the ascension-song of the earth; the May-sun diffuses his warming beam through my chamber, and the grass becomes already green upon the grave of my first-born, my favourite! And I-O Lord! thou who smitest, thou also healest, and I will praise thee! for every affliction which thou sendest becomest good if it be only received with patience. And if thou concealest thyself for a season, thou revealest thyself yet soon again, kinder and more glorious than before! For a little while and we see thee not, and again for a little while and we see thee, and our hearts rejoice and drink strength and enjoyment out of the cup which thou, Almighty One, hast filled. Yes, everything in life becomes good, if that life be only spent in God! "But in those dark winter hours it was often gloomy and tumultuous within me. Ah, Cecilia, I was not willing that he should die! He was my only son, my first-born child. I suffered most at his birth; I sang most beside his cra-ly, 'Let her alone!' dle; my heart leaped up first and highest with maternal joy at his childish play. He was my summer-child, born in the midsummer of nature and of my life, and my strength, and, then, he was so f of life, so beautiful, so good! No, I was not willing that he should have died; and as the time drew nearer and nearer, and I saw that it must be-then it was dark in me. But the last night-Oh, it was a most wonderful night! then it was quite otherwise. Do you know, Cecilia, that I sung gayly, triumphantly, by the deathbed of my first-born! Now I cannot comprehend it. But this nighthe had the foregoing day suffered much, and his "My father, my mother!' said Eva, with hu bling voice, I have given you uneasiness-p don me! I have grieved you-I will not do again. Ah! I will not now lay a stone on y burden. See, how disobedient I have beenring, and these letters, I have received aga your will and against my promises, from M R. I will now send them back. See here!! what I have written to him; our acquainta is for ever broken! Pardon me, that I h chosen these hours to busy you with my aff but I feared my own weakness when the fore this hour shall have passed. Oh, my parents feel, I know that he is not worthy to be y prophetic word which has so often animated my | should be more or less reproved by her. She soul: For behold I create new heavens and a would encourage all, to the very best of her new earth; and the former shall not be remem-power, to read, to be industrious, to go to bered nor come into mind. But be ye glad and rejoice forever in that which I create.' "I have wept much whilst I have written this, but my heart has peace. It is now late. I will creep in to my Ernst, and I feel that I shall sleep calmly by his side. ་་ Good night, my Cecilia." CHAPTER IX. NEW ADVERSITIES. church, and to plant trees. Every Sunday several worthy peasants should be invited to dine at the parsonage with their wives. If the ladies of the Captain and the Steward came to visit her, the tea-kettle should be immediately set on and the card-table prepared. Every young peasant girl should live in service a whole year at the parsonage before she was married, in order to learn how to work and how to behave herself.-N.B. This would be wages enough for her. At all marriages the Pastor and his wife would always be present, the same at christenIr was afternoon. The sisters were busily ings; they would extend their hand in sponsorquilting Louise's bridal bed-cover; because, at ship over the youth, that all might grow up in the end of May, as was determined in the fam-good-breeding and the fear of God. At Midsummer and in harvest-time there should be a ily council, she was to be married. The coverlet was of green silk, and a broad wreath of dance and great merry-making at the parsonleafy branches formed its border. This pattern age for the people-but without brandy; for the had occasioned a great deal of care and deliber-rest, nothing should be wanting: ation; but now, also, what joy did it not give rise to, and what ever-enduring admiration of the tasteful, the distinguished, the indescribably good effect which it produced, especially when seen from one side! Gabriele, to be sure, would have made sundry little objections relative to the connexion of the leaves, but Louise would not allow that there was any weight in them: "The border," said she, "is altogether charming!" Gabriele had placed a full-blown monthly rose in the light locks of the bride, and had arranged with peculiar grace, around the platted hair at the back of her head, the green rose-leaves like a garland. The effect was lovely, as at this time the sunlight fell upon her head, and her countenance had more than ordinary charm; the cheeks a higher colour; the eyes a clearer blue, as they were often raised from the green rose-wreath and directed towards the window: Jacobi, the new pastor, was expected that evening. Gabriele went up to her mother, and besought her to notice how well Louise looked, and the rose, how becoming it was to her! The mother kissed her, but forgot to notice Louise in looking on the peculiarly lovely face of "the little lady." The industrious up-and-down picking of the needles accompanied the joyful conversation of the sisters. None she forgets, the mistress of the feast, Ah! ruin to the golden plans and to the golden age which she planned! Two letters which were delivered to Louise put a sudden end to them all! One of the letters from Jacobi, was very short, and said only that the parsonage was quite gone from him; but that Louise would not blame him on that account, as soon as she understood the whole affair. "I long for you inexpressibly," continued Jacobi, "but I must postpone my arrival in H. in order to pay my respects to his Excellence D., who is detained in P. from an attack of gout, which seized him on his journey from Copenhagen to Stockholm. But by the 6th of May I hope certainly to be with you. I have new plans, and I long to lay down all my feelings and all my thoughts on your true breast, my Louise! I will no longer wait and seek. Since fortune perpetually runs out of my way, I will now take a leap and catch it, and in so doing trust in Heaven, in you, and lastly also-on myself. But you must give me your hand. If you will do that, beloved, I shall soon be yours, much happier than now, and eternally, "Your tenderly devoted, "J. JACOBI." The other letter was from an unknown hand Now they talked about the management of the living; now about the school; now about milk, and now about cheese. They settled about household matters; about meal-times; the arrangement of the table, and such like. In many things, Louise intended to follow the ex-evidently a woman's hand, and was as folample of home; in others, she should do differ- lows: ently. "People must advance with the age;" she meant there to be great hospitality in the parsonage-house-that was Jacobi's pleasure. Some one of her own family she hoped to have always with her; an especial wing should be built for beloved guests. She would go every Sunday to church, to hear her husband preach or sing the service. If the old wives came to the parsonage with eggs or other little presents, they should always be well entertained and encouraged to come again. All sick-people should be regaled with her elixir, and all misdoers "Do not hate me, although I have stood in the way of your happiness. Do not hate me— for I bless you and the noble man with whom you have united your fate. He is my benefactor, and the benefactor of my husband and my children. Oh, these children whose future he has made sure, they will now call on heaven to give a double measure of happiness to him and you for that which he has so nobly renounced. The object of my writing is to obtain your forgiveness, and to pour forth the feelings of a grateful heart to those who can best reward my benefactor. Will you be pleased on this account to listen to the short, but uninteresting relation of a condition, which, at the same time, is as common as it is mournful? "Perhaps Mr. Jacobi may at some time or other have mentioned my husband to you, for he was for several years his teacher, and both were much attached to each other. My husband held the office of schoolmaster in W., with honour, for twenty years. His small income, misfortunes which befell us, a quick succession of children, made our condition more oppressive from year to year, and increased the debt which from the very time when we settled down first, we were obliged to incur. My husband sought after a pastoral cure, but he could have recourse to none of those arts which are now so almost universally helpful, and which often conduct the hunter after fortune, and the mean-spirited, rather than the deserving, to the goal of their wishes; he was too simple for that, too modest, and perhaps too proud. 66 how he might save us from misery, and besought him to do it. "My prayer at first was almost wild, and in the beginning Jacobi seemed almost to think it so, but he heard me out; he let me conduct him to the house of his former teacher, saw the consuming anxiety depicted on his pale emaciated countenance-saw that I had exaggerated nothing he wept, pressed my hand with a word of consolation, and went out hastily. "The day of nomination came. Jacobi renounced all claims. My husband was elected to the living in T Good God! how it sounded in our ears and in our hearts! For a long time we could not believe it. After fifteen years of deceived hopes we hardly dared to be lieve in such happiness. I longed to embrace the knees of my benefactor, but he was already far distant from us. A few friendly lines came from him, which reconciled my husband to his happiness and Jacobi's renunciation, and which made the measure of his noble behaviour full. I have not yet been able to thank him; but you, his amiable bride, say to him—” We omit the outpourings which closed this letter; they proceeded from a warm, noble heart, overflowing with happiness and gratitude. this letter aloud, and astonishment, sympathy, and a kind of admiring pleasure might be read in their looks. They all gazed one on the other with silent and tearful eyes. Gabriele was the first who broke silence: "So then, we shall keep our Louise with us yet longer," said she, gaily, while she embraced her; and all united cordially in the idea. During the long course of years he had seen! his just hopes deceived, and from year to year the condition of his family became more and more melancholy. Sickness had diminished his ability to work, and the fear of not being able to pay his debts gnawed into his health, which was rot strong, and the prospect-of his nine The needles fell from the fingers of the sisunprovided-for children! I know I should deep-ters, as the mother, at Louise's request, read ly affect your heart, if I were to paint to you the picture of this family contending with want; but my tears would blot my writing. Jacobi can do it he has seen it, he has understood it -for this picture which I had so carefully concealed from every other eye-this pale, family nisery I revealed to him, for I was in despair! "The name of my husband stood on the list of candidates for the living of T—— He had threefold the legally-demanded requisites of Jacobi, and was, over and above, known and beloved by the parish; all the peasants capable of voting, openly declared their intention of choosing him. Two great landed proprietors, however, had the ultimate decision: Count D. and Mr. B. the proprietor of the mines, could, if they two were agreed, they two alone, elect the pastor. They also acknowledged the esteem in which they held my husband, and declared themselves willing to unite in the general choice. "For the first time in many years did we venture to look up to a brighter future. Presently, however, we learned that a powerful patron of Mr. Jacobi had turned the whole scale in his favour, and that it would be soon decided-the two great proprietors had promised their votes to him, and our condition was more hopeless than ever. "But," sighed Leonore, "it is rather a pity, on account of our wedding and parsonage; we had got all so beautifully arranged." Louise shed a few quiet tears, but evidently not merely over the disappointed,expectation. Later in the evening, the mother talked with her, and endeavoured to discover what were her feelings under these adverse circumstances. But Louise replied with all her customary candour, that at first it had fallen very heavily upon her. "I had now," continued she, "fixed my thoughts so much on an early union with Jacobi, I saw so much in my new condition which would be good and joyful for us all. though this is now-and perhaps for ever, at an end, yet I do not exactly know if I wish it otherwise; Jacobi has behaved so properly, so nobly, I feel that I now prize him higher, and love him more than ever!" It was difficult to the Judge not to be more cheerful than common this evening. He was inexpressibly affectionate towards his eldest daughter; he was charmed with the way in which she bore her fate, and it seemed to him as if she had grown considerably. "The day of nomination approached. I did not venture to speak with my strictly conscientious husband of the design which I cherished. I had heard much said of Jacobi's excellent character. I was a distracted wife and mother. I sought out Jacobi, and spoke to him On the following day they quietly went on out of the depths of my heart, spoke to his again with the quilting of the bed-cover while sense of right-to his sense of honour; I show- Gabriele read aloud; and thus "the childhood ed him how the affair stood for us before he of Eric Meuved" diverted with its refreshing disturbed it, by means which could not be just-magic power all thoughts from the parsonage ly called honourable. I feared that my words and its lost paradise to the rich middle age of were bitter, but all the more angel-like was it Denmark, and to its young king Eric. in Jacobi to hear me with calmness. I pictured to him our adverse circumstances; told him |