April 21st.

Another night, full of unspeakable disquiet and anguish. Dr. L** does not think that she can survive four and twenty hours, unless the crisis takes a favourable turn.

Jernnätter, (i. e. Iron-nights,) is the name applied in Sweden to certain nights about Midsummer time, in which frost appears and breathes upon the blooming fields. Often it is fatal in its effects, destroying in a few hours the hopes of a whole year. Then the sky is

clear and the air serene, and when the sun rises the corn-fields glisten in their most beautiful silver garb, but it is the garb of death,- -an icy garment, beneath whose folds the blooming life of the ear lies blighted.

In human life also such Jernnätter appears, blasting the young, the gay, the blooming; and fortunate are they, if when in heart they die, they are not doomed to linger on earth, like the withered ears on the field, without sap and without vital power. Selma, thou good young creature, I can hardly wish that thou mayest live, for clearer and more distinctly I can hear from the wanderings of thy imagination the secret of thy heart, the sorrows of thy soul. But when thou departest, how desolate .

Later.

There appears to be a change going forward in Selma; she still continues in a state of delirium, but her wandering imagination assumes a more quiet character. She is now deeply impressed with the persuasion of her approaching dissolution, and has called me several times, merely to say:

"When I am dead, remain in my place with my mother. Love her. She is so good!"

Flora is but a momentary visitor here; she cannot bear to hear and see Selma. She is for the most part with her sister

In the Evening.

Oh, now there is an hour of hope! May it not disappoint us! In the afternoon Selma called me, and said:

I

"Now I am dead, Sophia! You perceive, no doubt, that I am lying in my grave; and it is good to be there, if I only could rest and could but sleep. suppose they sleep in the grave, do not they?-sleep and forget-till they awake to meet their God. I wonder why I cannot sleep like other people;-ah, yes, I know, I know the reason-it is his look. Have you seen him?"

"Seen whom, my sweet Selma ?"

"St. Michael. It is his flaming look which burns me and keeps me awake in the grave. But I feel persuaded that when I shall one day see him in light beyond the clouds, he will look upon me quite differently. I know that all evils here below are only owing to the great darkness upon earth, which prevents our seeing every thing in their real form and character."

At these words, a thought quickly flashed across my mind, and, endeavouring to fall in with her ideas, I told her that I had seen him or whom she spoke, and that he looked upon her without suspicion, but was anxiously desirous to behold her in the realms of ligh and love.

"If I could believe that," said Selma, with a melancholy joy, "I should soon be more at rest. If he would deign to cast a look of blessing on my grave, it would penetrate through the earth into my coffin, pain would then cease, and I could sleep in peace. But do not tell it to any one creature in the world," continued she, warmly, "do not let anybody know that I have loved him. Say to all, 'She loved nobody except her father and mother, her friend Flora, and her sister Sophia!' And do not tell Flora that Selma died for her. Say that I was stung by an Orm, and from that became so sick -mortally sick."

While Selma was thus speaking in a loud, full-toned voice, and with feverish glowing cheeks, a faint rustling noise was heard in the room, and on looking round I beheld Lennartson and Flora, standing at the head of Selma's bed. They appeared to have heard all; he held his hand, pressed to his breast, and seemed to breathe with difficulty.

According to the orders of the physician, Selma was pillowed high, in a half-sitting position; her beautiful hair fell down in waves, and upon her head she had placed the half-finished wreath which she had twined for Flora. It was a lovely victim which gloomy death strove to embrace; it was the Sylphide who had lost her wings, but could not lose her beauty, even while sinking and paling into death.

Gloomy imaginations seemed again to rise in her mind.

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No, no!" she exclaimed, with outstretched hands

* Orm, serpent or viper, another pun like the former one with the name of St. Orme.

folded in supplication. "Do not hurl me down intɔ the dark abyss. I have no intention whatever to do evil. Help, Lennartson!"

She had no sooner uttered the last word, than Lennartson stood before her, took her outstretched hands between his, and said, with an expression of unutterable affection:

Look

"What fears assail Selma? Lennartson is here. He will defend thee with his life, even unto death! at me, Selma, and believe what I say."

She looked at him, at first with a glance of timid amazement, which, however, was soon changed by the powerful expression of Lennartson's glorious beaming eyes. He seated himself on the edge of her bed, and continued to gaze on her with quiet and uninterrupted attention. And strange, during this process, the strained expression of her eyes vanished, and their clear, lovely look returned. They spoke never a word; but it seemed, as if the fettered harmony of their nature, hitherto unexpressed, now effused itself in calm streams, uniting and filling them with happiness. Over the countenance of the poor patient an expression of infinite peace diffused itself more and more, her wearied eyelids sank, and she fell into a calm slumber.

For a long time after this Lennartson sat there with his eyes fixed on the countenance of the slumberer, till a mute sign from my stepmother at length prevailed upon him to withdraw. Silently she extended her arms towards him; he clasped them in his, and reclined upon her shoulder, and deep sighs struggled forth from his breast.

Flora had disappeared, but none of us had observed when she went.

All is still, so very still at home; for all are aware that the beloved daughter of the house now sleeps a most critical sleep.

The Philosopher looks gloomy in the highest degree. In his unearthly voice he said, yesterday:

"If Fräulein Selma dies, there will be very little left worth living for. Then sunshine will have vanished from the world."

April 22d.

Our home it seems is not to be bereaved of its cheerful sunshine. The crisis is past, and Selma out of danger. Our hearts ascend in grateful acknowledgment to heaven; we congratulated each other, and yet we cannot yet perfectly rejoice. The aspect of the life now opening again to Selma is not a cheerful one. Recently, while Selma was yet asleep, I met my stepmother with an open letter in her hand, and with an expression of deep dejection in her countenance. She appeared to me as if she had suddenly grown several years older.

"She is still asleep!" said I, in a tone of encouragement, "and I fancy she begins to breathe more freely.

"God's will be done!" answered my stepmother, quietly and dejectedly. "I hardly venture to wish her life may be spared. There is so much that may render her future life gloomy-I see that now. Flora will marry the man who of all men is best suited for my Selma, the only one she truly loves, the only one I could sincerely wish to call my son. St. Orme has taken his departure and sent me a letter which confirms all that I apprehended for some time past. During the whole