THE PEASANTKY. 165 



poor old boy should forget his loneliness, and I took care 

 that he had his share of the bottle, which in Sweden is never 

 empty at this festive season. On bidding the old fellow 

 good night, I slipped a rix-dollar into his hand, and his joy 

 was unbounded. I asked him what he meant to do with it, 

 a*nd hardly cared to hear his answer, as I felt pretty con- 

 vinced in my own mind that a roll of tobacco, or a bottle of 

 finkel, was all he would think of. But no such thing. 

 " Now," he said, " I can buy a new psalm-book," and, 

 fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a little book of hymns, 

 which was so dilapidated as to be fairly dropping to pieces. 

 This little book, probably all his earthly riches, had 

 been this poor man's sole companion in his cheerless wan- 

 derings, his solace in many a bitter trial. There was no 

 cant here ; no vain display for the sake of exciting compas- 

 sion. It was evident that this book had been well studied, 

 for he pressed me to hear him read a simple little hymn, 

 which as he said was the most beautiful in it. When I 

 went upstairs into my own room, and looked at my library 

 of many volumes, I wondered which of us had derived the 

 most real pleasure from our studies myself with a library 

 worth many pounds, or this poor old wanderer with a 

 single volume worth perhaps a shilling, but which single 

 volume told him hourly, in language which cannot err, that 

 if all his friends in this world forsake him, the poor man 

 has still one true Friend left, who will never desert him, let 

 the world frown on him as it may. 



