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rendered unnatural. And the ultimate object of the action? Ever merely partial, circumscribed motives ever merely selfishness—private, isolated happiness! Never a striving, an exertion that embraces the greater interests of mankind!" All these deficiencies he thought existed in the entire compass of modern French literature.

Lennartson coincided warmly.

"And this tendency of literature," said he, "is not only false in itself; it is untrue according to the standard of the times, and contrary to the noblest, and-we may well say the best spirit, that spirit which places individual exertions and private welfare in the most intimate connection with the weal of the community at large. In reference to this universal, comprehensive spirit, young France in the present age might go to school with old Rousseau. With all their faults, his romances are still models for this kind of portraiture of society. We see how the various characters represent the chief tendencies in social life; and how, if they combine in love, this spirit does not issue in selfishness but expands to embrace the most sacred institutions of society, the spirit of humanity and of nature in its divine essence; and the home of the individual isas, indeed, it ought to be—the point from which felicity and blessing flow for the common home-the world." St. Orme shrugged his shoulders.

"Poor Rousseau! with all his ideal romances he was after all but a visionary," said he, and went to join Baron Alexander in the large room adjoining.

"I feel that you are right," said I to Lennartson; "but yet I should so very much like to see a genuine result, a step forwards on the path of advancement of

the education and best interests of mankind; and this French literature-it cannot be denied-knows how to represent characters and situations in a manifoldness and depth as they have never been seen before. It penetrates into all the recesses of our existence, and there lays hold of the moments of all suffering, darkness, and dissonances. True, it is only a 'descent into hell,' but must not an 'ascent to heaven' be at handa transformation by which the deepest night of life becomes brightened into its most glorious morning? Is it possible, indeed, that the highest aim of this literature should consist in a retrogression to Rousseau ?”

"Yes," replied Lennartson, smiling at my warmth; "yes, but only, as I just observed, as far as the universal, comprehensive spirit is concerned. I see, as you do, in this literature a decidedly new classical development; and it is not the first time that the nation, producing the same, has paved new ways to the world. But it is as yet fragmentary-it contains but the studies for a good composition; and there is no fear that some day or other a master will step forth, who will combine these chaotic elements into a new world. the model must first arise in real life."

But perhaps

"How so?" inquired I, with fixed attention. "Allow me," continued Lennartson, "to direct your attention to a leading feature in the polite literature of our time to the tendency of representing woman as the point in life from which animating and quickening powers proceed. And I confess that I am one of those who hold this view. In this epoch of the world I raise high expectations from-WOMAN."

That the female part of his auditory, before whom the Baron made these remarks, looked up to him with

profound respect and gratitude, was only natural. A humble joy sparkled in Selma's beautiful eyes, while in Flora's fiery look there shone forth a something that I should call grand.

My stepmother now proposed that we should go into the saloon and engage in musical performances.

Flora called Lennartson to the pianoforte, and played and sang so as to enchant him, while now and then she turned round to speak to him in an under tone.

I kept to Hellfrid Rittersvärd and Lieutenant Sparrsköld, who with his honest countenance and frank way of expressing and deporting himself pleased me particularly. We were joined by "the Beauty," who seemed to have resolved to make an undying impression on Ake Sparrsköld; but the latter, like me, appeared then to be more interested in Fräulein Rittersvärd.

When I see a young maiden so plain as Hellfrid Rittersvärd, and at the same time with a mind so calm, and demeanour so gay and cheerful, I generally form a high opinion of her. I feel that a consciousness of moral dignity raises her above all the foibles of life; she possesses full confidence in the spirit of nobility within her own breast and in her fellow-men, and thereby also calls forth their respect and that vigorous feeling which breaks down every merely external barrier to the maintenance of inward peace. I found Hellfrid's conversation quite a treat, and such I believe was it to Sparrsköld, though "the Beauty" doubtless had her peculiar power of attraction for him.

My stepmother played at piquette with her good friend Madame Rittersvärd. The amiable old lady was suffering from a nervous affection in the head, and had come to Stockholm for the purpose of consulting the physicians here. Her daughter, by dint of labour in trans

lating works from foreign languages, provided her with the means for it, and at the same time assisted her in providing for two younger brothers. Well does she deserve to be called "Honourable Miss," a name which Flora gave her partly in derision.

Selma was now here, now there, and took a friendly part in every thing that was going forward.

St. Orme played at cards with Baron Alexander and Felix Delphin, but while thus engaged he did not fail frequently to dart a sharp look at Flora and Lennartson, who, still sitting at the piano, had exchanged music for a low-toned but interesting conversation, which St. Orme, however, suddenly interrupted, by exclaiming :

"Flora, my dearest Flora! Pray let me share but one-fourth of your thoughts. I have played quite unfortunately this evening; come and aid me with your good counsel. Tell me what colour shall I play, black or red?"

"Black!"

"Black!" repeated St. Orme. "Why do you not rather advise red? Red, you know, is your favourite Or am I wrong ?

colour, purple-is it not?

"I do not remember," said Flora, with apparent indifference, while she rose, and a dark purple flush mounted to her cheeks.

"But I do," continued St. Orme. "Purple is your colour, and therefore . . Gentlemen! Six points in coeur! This game I hope to win!" added he, nodding to Flora, who walked out hastily. Soon after she returned, but her cheerful humour was gone, and her gaiety for the rest of the evening only forced.

When St. Orme was going away, I heard him say to Flora, in a half sneering tone:

"Thanks for your advice, dear cousin! I won my game by it, and with your colour on my heart I hope to win in future."

"Do not calculate so securely upon it," replied Flora, peevishly.

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Defy me not," said St. Orme, in a low tone, partly in warning earnestness. And he seized her resisting hand, kissed it, and bowed to her with a smile. What, I wonder, does all this denote?

November 16th.

To-day I took a long and solitary walk, occupied with my own thoughts; on coming home I found visitors, among whom was the Court Chamberlain. I saw certain telegraphic signals between my stepmother and him. Flora is solely occupied with her costume and the thought of the ball to be given at the house of the State's Minister What an ado for one

evening!

A number of projects for balls and other entertainments. I, for my part, say no" to all. My general apology is, "I am too old to dance."

"Hem-hem-hem!" was the courteous chanting opposition of my stepmother. I do, however, intend to be present on the occasion of the new year's assembly, when I shall be able to get a near view of the royal family.

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