us sometime before. siderable pause in the movements of the royal suite, and their lingering before us drew all eyes upon us with a degree of curiosity.

From all this there arose a con

Scarcely had the royal family passed us, when Count Gyllenlöf's, as if suddenly struck by a flash of light, hastened up to us, and requested us "at last" to bear them company. They had no fear of procuring places for us on the platform, and we must at all events follow them to the upper part of the room!

My stepmother, easily conciliated, allowed herself to be prevailed upon. We went, we arrived;-the Silfverlings began to move closer together, and we obtained places. My stepmother had to answer a number of civilities and friendly congratulations on the pleasure of their meeting; Selma rejected three invitations from young Silfverling, and I now comprehended the full sense of her expression—" spasmodic acquaintances."

Shortly after the royal family left the Assembly, we did so likewise. The unfortunate "Philosopher" had forgotten Flora's galoshes, at which she became very angry and unhappy. Selma entreated her urgently to take hers, and Flora-after some hesitation-took them. Lennartson appeared to be confounded and displeased, and my stepmother grieved, at this. All my entreaties were unavailing to induce Selma to accept of mine. In the hall we were detained a considerable time by the crowd of people. Lennartson threw his cloak at Selma's feet, compelling her to stand upon it, that her feet might not get cold with standing on the cold stone floor. This mark of care and attention called forth the hideous trait of jealousy on Flora's countenance. St. Orme regarded her quietly, while at

the same time he paid every possible courtesy to her. He offered her his arm; Lennartson escorted my stepmother, and the Chamberlain myself.

We now came into collision with aunt Pendelfelt, who in a half-audible voice said to Flora:

"Well, my sweet friend,—if one may be allowed to ask such a question-when shall I have the pleasure to congratulate you?"

Flora's face expressed astonishment and vexation; but St. Orme answered smiling:

"Most assuredly before another new-year!"

At these words Lennartson looked at him with a sharp, inquiring glance; St. Orme turned his eyes in another direction, and Flora seemed to grind her teeth together.

Aunt Pendelfelt now made up to Selma and Felix, and, in fact, to all appearance, with a similar question, which Selma anxiously endeavoured to evade, while entreating Felix to go forward. At this moment the throng of people opened and we were liberated.

In the carriage, my stepmother vied with me in wrapping Selma's feet in our cloaks and shawls. At home, at a light supper, we all were in good-humour, and amused ourselves in projecting all sorts of improbable plans for the future. We laughed much; but at a whisper from St. Orme, Flora suddenly turned serious and gloomy. At the same time I perceived telegraphic signs between my stepmother and my uncle, which in some measure spoiled my humour; and on our separating this first day of the year, several of us were disconcerted. But Selma, good, gay, and sportful, prevented every fretful stiffness, and amid mutual agreeable wishes, we bade each other "good night!"

And so it is in our life-in our home here in the North. We live much with and through one another. are not unfrequently unpleasantly affected, troubled, and vexed, and must therefore seek for the remedy of it again at home and in ourselves, for without, things are not here as in the rich South. Hence it is found so charming when a tone of love and joy gives the keynote to general harmony at home. Then all dissonances gradually dissolve and we can then in peace say to each other-"good night!"

January 7th.

Good morning, Life! A beautiful bright day. Snow lies on the southern mountains glittering in dazzling whiteness against the clear, blue sky. It is not very cold yet, and the sun bathes palaces and huts, waves and banks, men and beasts, and statues, with streams of light. Sea-swallows soar with swan-like wings over the Norrstream, when the water of the lake with its three hundred islands breaks into the salt-sea, and mingles its waves with the foaming billows. This stream plays an important part in my life. Its roaring is my lullaby at night when I am in bed. In the morning it supplies me with water for my bath, and its wild, fresh odour, its bracing coolness awaken in me vivid recollections of the days past on the shores of the Cautua-fresh, youthful feelings replete with the enjoyment of life. In its rushing, waves I behold the reflection of the first rays of light, when from my window I greet the early morn.

*Tarna, a species of fish-mew, lasus canus, sterna

Light! Water!

These primeval bounties of the Creator for the enjoyment of all men to the present day-why do we no longer appreciate their abundantly blessed efficacy; why do we not allow ourselves to be baptized by them every day to a new life, renovation of spirit, and renewed gratitude!

I have stood at my open window, and with full inspiration drunk in the fresh air, which with the sunny light, at once streamed into my window. I have had cheerful thoughts.

I remembered some Polish nobles who, last summer, visited Sweden, and thought of the respectful sentiments they cherished for this our father-land. "A land never vanquished by a foreign power! A people that has ever maintained its independence by its strength and valour!" said they, with an expression of mingled joy and sadness. (The latter remark applied to their own ill-fated country.) And softly I sang a part of Malmström's beautifully affecting song "The Fatherlund,"-words which have frequently touched the tender chords of my heart—I sang with sympathetic love:

"Bemourn'd, unhappy Sweden !
Thou battle-plain of misery!

Thou richly honoured Father-land,
Whose bosom bear'st our fathers' graves,
Thou steep and hill-crown'd Strand,
Which faithful Ocean loves,

Thou Home of Joy! thou peaceful Land!
God shield thee with a fostering hand,
When weal abounds, or woe enslaves!"

I thought at the same time of my own happy state of independence. Oh, Liberty, how sweet to my taste art thou after long years of thraldom!

I also thought of something dear to me and of evergrowing interest. I feel that I am entering into an ever-improving and continually more harmonious relation with my fellow-creatures. Since my mind has become enlightened, since-at peace with myself—I am no longer excessively desirous to please others, nor zealously studious to gain their love and applause; since then I do in fact please them far more, and find far more pleasure in them also. Since in man, as in woman, I have chiefly looked and addressed myself to the essential man, I have had for mankind and they for me a sort of relationship, a kind of kindred feeling of confidence which opens heart to heart and enhances the charms of life; in short I feel with ever increasing distinctness that "philanthropy is precisely my casus.'

Accordingly two beings advance nearer and nearer to my heart, viz. Selma and William Brenner, my young sister, and my friend. Selma renders me happy by her amiable disposition and cheerful, cordial deportment. She has at once laid aside the mark of mimicry, which disfigured the purity of her features and her natural wit, since then she seems to me only the more interesting. Satire may also play upon the lips of an angel, and Mirth and Wit be our servants in the mansion of our Lord. Does He not exhibit this to us in nature? Does He not disseminate over sea and land, amid clouds and stars, millions of cheerful inspirations and sunny smiles, which flash forth in bright as well as cloudy moments, and cheer the hearts of His creatures?

William Brenner, the Viking-why do I at the