But let us proceed in the narrative of my exploring expedition. I am constantly interrupting myself with reflections; yet I know, dear Mathias, that you cannot bear reflections-that you think I ought to leave reflections to the reader; and I have no doubt you are right, and I may therefore very properly leave you to reflect upon the reason of my breaking off at this point. Can you guess? No. Nevertheless, the subject demands separate treatment: so full stop.

Have you ever seen a young, very young girl, just at the age when she loves everything living, but knows not yet what name to give to her feelings? Can you form a conception of the world in

["I BEHELD A YOUNG GIRL SEATED ON THE EDGE OF A LITTLE POOL."]

which she lives a world of dreams, a mythic world, in which everything in nature lives, speaks, enjoys, and feels like herself?

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Life is still new to her; she has not yet felt its sorrows, and only knows its joys. Her thoughts are not centred in any one particular point, and cannot, therefore, be darkened; she lives in an atmosphere of light, peace, and happiness, and in her world there is no shadow. But when she grows older, then begins her heart's creation; the atmosphere of light gathers round the object of her love, and light and darkness are separated, and in her soul there is day and night.

I believed myself as much alone as any one can be who in every breath feels the presence of God, when, finding my footsteps arrested by one of the innumerable windings of the brooklet, I looked up, and to my astonishment, opposite to me, partly concealed by some overhanging bushes, I beheld a young girl seated on the edge of a little pool, which lay like a mirror among the trees.

She had no doubt been bathing her little feet in the glassy waters, and was now seated on the turf apparently in a reverie.

I threw myself quietly on the grass, and gazed long and wistfully at the young creature, whose eyes were turned in the direction from which I came. It was then that I said to myself, "What may be the thoughts now stirring within that snowy forehead? What may be the feelings that lend such lustre to those clear, blue eyes?"

She was resting, but she was also thinking and feeling, for a smile hovered round her lips, and every now and then a brighter colour mounted to her cheek; and I thought—never mind what. But I endeavoured to penetrate into the feelings in which she appeared absorbed.

It has always been my delight to penetrate into the thoughts of others; to endeavour, with my round, rather well-constructed head (as a phrenologist once told me, who detected a favourite bump of his on my skull), to find out what might be the contents of a square, a triangular, or a polygonous head. It has amused me to endeavour to see the world from the point of view of my laundress, of my alarum, before mentioned, or of the inspector of our college; for there can be no doubt that these individuals see all things in a very different light, that, as regards mental life, they are as different from each other as a sheep, a sparrow, and a bream are as to material construction. But enough of this: suffice it to say that on all these occasions I have felt myself very much at home; but now-now I felt my head turn; for I had ventured to enter in thought into a realm of infinite light, into the wide circle in which a young girl's thoughts move with a rapidity greater than that of the lightning.

It is long since I was a child—it is long since the routine of school exercises materialised my atmosphere of light, and forced the winged

spirit to creep like a hermit-crab into the empty shell of dead science; it is long since my wings disappeared, and now I am only an ant, while she is a butterfly.

The young girl (she might be about sixteen years of age) sat so still that not a movement betrayed that she was a living being; and thus she presented a beautiful picture-classically beautiful. A spirit of peace and gentleness was shed around her; she looked to me like a virgin saint, and I had a feeling as if the rays of an invisible halo that surrounded her head were shining into my very heart. Never before have I felt thus. I was as if chained to the spot by some powerful spell, and seemed afraid to breathe, lest the sound might break the charm. At length she rose, took her simple straw hat from the little mound on which it was lying, and placed it on her head in a manner that gave evidence of a certain childish coquetry. As yet it was with the birds, the alders, the birches, and the oak trees only that she coquetted-but the desire to please was there. She advanced in the direction where I was; with a light bound she was over on my side of the brook; and now ensued a scene of much embarrassment. On seeing me, she started with surprise, stood still, cast down her eyes, and I—yes, I, your good friend, coloured up to my very ears.

Had there not been something holy in her simplicity, the situation would have been ludicrous. A student of the age of twenty-a youth who knew his grammar from beginning to end-a young man who had reason to hope that he might in time be able to sport quite a patriarchal beard, blushing so deeply that he cannot but have borne a strong resemblance to a doll, such as are sold at the fairs, with cheeks painted with cinnabar and lac-varnish. Had I but been possessed of some little presence of mind.—But it is no easy matter on such occasions to find at once some subject of conversation, and I could not, for the life of me, think of any.

I could not possibly begin with the weather, or with the last concert, or with Professor M.'s peculiarities, or present the compliments of mamma or papa, or aunt Stina Brita, or cousin Emerentia, &c. We stood amidst God's free nature; the weather was so beautiful, the concert of the birds in the trees was so sweet, that nothing could be said about either. We had each of us our peculiarities; and were I to have brought her greetings from any relative, I must first have been in heaven, for there only has she sisters like herself.

It cannot be possible (can it?) that I am in love with a child of sixteen years of age? I myself have much difficulty in believing such a thing. There is no saying how long we would have stood thus, had not the girl made a step backward, as if about to turn off in

another direction, whereby she came too close to the margin of the brook. On seeing this, my well-known philanthropy got the better of my bashfulness; I caught hold of her hand, and the fetters that bound my tongue were loosened. "Will you show me the way?" I said. The girl smiled, and nodded as familiarly, as if she knew me. "Show me the way ?" I repeated, and took both her hands into mine. I do not know why, but it was as if I had a presentiment that she was indeed to show me the way in the future, and she only.

By degrees we got into conversation. The girl was lively, chatty, interested in everything, and smiled so good-naturedly to me, just as if I had been a leaf or a cowslip. I followed her faithfully; but after a little while she pointed to a path on our right, and told me that was the way to the church; and, nodding to me, she continued her path to the left.

No. I could not leave her yet. I had come out on an exploring expedition. Therefore it was not enough that I should know the topography of the valley-I ought also to know something about its products; and this young girl-where did she grow up? A rare plant she was; and now, as Liljeblad expresses it, the important matter was to ascertain where the plant grew.

I will follow her, thought I; and I likewise turned into the path on the left. I now ventured to ask what was her name; and received the unexpected answer, "Olga.”

"Olga! Olga! Why, that is Russian ? Can she be a Russian? But how, in the name of wonder, did you get that name?"

"Olga! why? Is it not pretty ?"

"Oh, very pretty; but it is a Russian name."

"Yes; my father is a Russian."

Many a time had I sung in Lundagaard,* “No, Poland is not dead!" and also, "Stand back, Muscovite."+ My young soul had often burnt with heroic ardour, with an almost irresistible desire to fight with the black eagle that had seized Finland with one of its claws. Yes, brother, you know that on this subject I do not listen to reason; and now came that ultra-barbarous name of Olga, and wormed itself into my heart.

"Russian, consequently," I said; "indeed-oh, no-Russian ?” It was impossible for me to look into those blue eyes, and, at the same time, think with angry feelings of the Russian eagle. Wherever

* An open space, planted with trees, in front of the University building in Lund, where the students assemble in their leisure hours for amusement.-Trans.

+ Songs written after the fall of Poland in 1831, and very popular throughout Scandinavia, where the sympathies for Poland were very strong.-Trans.

their mild light was shed, there nationalities, strife, hate, and fear vanished; and it seemed to me as if the whole earth were transformed into one great meadow, in which humanity grew, blossomed, and bore fruit without a struggle.

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'Well, Olga, shall I see your father?"

"Yes, yes; he makes wooden shoes, and lives yonder in a little cabin."

"Is your father old ?"

"Yes: he is old."

"And you ?"

"I have no mother. But my father is so good, although he is not so learned as Master Heissler."