THE YOUNG SOLDIER 
converse about anythin#-. At home it was so 
easy to talk, and the Student talked about so 
many thinks that I understood and that I liked; 
but they never talk here of those things. They 
ask mellow many times a week the post comes 
to us In the country; how long I have worn ray 
dresses; they tell me that Oixia Lindstrqm'S 
headdress was oil one side, and that Lieutenant- 
Karlson danced five dances with Hklink wks- 
tkn, and followed her to her currluge. And all 
these things I never notice or tliitik about, so 
that I sit still and answer yes or no, and get red 
and white. I don’t know bowlt is, butthegentle¬ 
men here are no*, at all like t hose at homo. I 
remember when the Student mol me he used to 
nod and take his hat off; but here they bow and 
scrape, say Miss If 0 KM ANN every rnmutc, and 
stroke their mustaches; uutl If I try to say any¬ 
thing my heart begins to beat and the blood 
rushes to my l ace, and then I fool just as t hough 
I should iilce 10 cry ; nod then they laugh at nte 
and tell mo I should not answer so another lime. 
But MAxutLDK Is kind, for she dors not laugh so 
much as the others, and helps me a little. But 
the worst of all is t lait they have made me wear 
a crinoline, and done my nail* up into a icrrihle 
fashion behind, like a great bubble, they call it 
a‘chignonmid they tell me to turn my toes 
out. No, I must really come home ngnin ; ldo 
so long toaee you again ami Mujrosnnd Bluman. 
I asked them to lei me send for Blam.ui for they 
have a stable mid plenty of hay : but when they 
heard that it was a goat, they laughed and told 
me on no account to talk of goats mid cows, for 
it was not »'t all genteel—just as If GOD hail not 
made thorn too. I must Indeed come home, 
Papa; then 1 shall be so Imppy. and make you so 
comfortable. Let iuo come, Yours, 
Agnes.” 
The Student sat with the letter in his 
hand; the Pastor waited for him to say 
Something. 
“ Well, what do you think of it ?” he asked 
at length. 
“ I see that the game has already begun ; | 
they play the music and heal the drum, hut 
the dog will not dance.” 
“ Ha^ ha, ha I” laughed the Pastor. “ It 
seems as if you were right. But she will 
soon get used to it.” 
“ Site will soon get used to it,” repeated 
the Student, smiling bitterly. “ Should vou > 
say so to a drowning man, who, having 
taken hold of the edge of a boat, cries aloud 
for help; would you answer him ‘ Lie where 
you are; you will soon gel used to itY’ Do 
you really mean noL to fetch your daughter 
home idler such a letter. Do you really 
wish her to learn all these dog tricks?” 
“ Fetch her home ? why, do you suppose 
I would sent her to town if it were not my 
intention flint she should remain there?” 
“ Yes, indeed; why did you send her 
there ?” 
“ How can you ask me such a question, 
knowing as you do both her and town life? 
She cannot always stay at home here. She 
needs to go to town to go into society, and 
learn a little town manners. 1 .’ 
“She. certainly did not require that; her 
manners needed no polish, and if you had 
let her grow up here she needed nothing 
more. A woman with a cultivated heart 
always knows how to behave properly—” 
“Oh, I know tliia sort of reasoning loo 
well. It looks very well on paper, bill in 
reality it does m 1 <.lo. 1 have the greatest 
respect for your fuming, hut J do not con¬ 
sider you practiJIl. I do not wish my 
daughter to become an original; she is not 
any better than other girls, and, therefore, 
You cannot think how many friends I have made 
here, especially Ax klina Aj-EnWIG aud Hilkna 
G j KH8TAD. Oh, I am so i end of H ilkna 1 She ask¬ 
ed mo, the other day. If 1 would net. come and 
stay with her. Only now and then I am home¬ 
sick, und then I do not know what to do. For 
instance, we wore at a boating party the other 
fused a light over all my thoughts and actions. 
And you can Imagine that another woman could 
hare the power to fascinate me? No. I can 
safely say that he who has once loved as 1 have 
done, can never do so a second time. 
“You mention the Pastor's daughter here, of 
whom I wrote you. I will certainly not deny 
that 1 fell a certain degree ot sympathy and in- 
lurt-st in tier: she was so young and childish, 
and sometimes reminded me hi an ext raordinary 
manner of my first love—as she once was. But 
she resembled her also in more than appearance, 
and Went to town to Jem a bon ton, us they call 
it, and now she is just like all the rest of her 
sex; a fashion dolt, who must hide alj her feel¬ 
ings, if she chance to have any, under a mantle, 
for it would be improper to let them be seen. 
No. woman is the same all the world over- 
weak, not worth spending many words upon. 
And how are most marriages? She either ruins 
her husband by her extravagance, or else slio is 
simply a muchlno that can sew. wash, or cook a 
dinner And you praise the Italian women as 
though 1 1 icy were hotter. Oh. no, I know them. 
1 have seen I he same woman in the street with a 
training dress-jewels, &c., and at home dressed 
in a dirty jacket and night-cup, quarreling with 
her husband. Oh no,‘all is not gold that glit¬ 
ters?’ Woman is like a worm-eaten nut—she 
looks promising, but open the shell, mid within 
you will ibid but decay or emptiness." 
The Student had resolved to trouble him¬ 
self BO more about Agnes, but since lie had 
heard that she had come home he was curi¬ 
ous to know how she looked. There could 
he no harm in Hint; perhaps Marik - had ex¬ 
aggerated. Ho one day he went to the Par¬ 
sonage. The Pastor was in the dining-room, 
lie was told, and so he knocked at the door. 
“ Come in,” resounded from within. The 
Student opened the door, but he was so 
astonished that he stood still on the thresh- 
hold, for he did not recognize the room. In 
the middle of the floor stood a round table, 
covered with a crimson cloth, upon which 
lay a quantity of albums, photographs, &c. 
Tim was surrounded by chairs of all de¬ 
scriptions, placed, us if by chance, one here, 
one there. The Pastor sal alone on the 
sofa; he did not look at his case. When he 
perceived the Student he became smiling 
and friendly as usual. 
“ Good morning ” he said, rising and go¬ 
ing towards hiua. “ You arc come, doubt¬ 
less, to sec my daughter. Unfortunately, 
she has just gone out, She generally takes 
her morning walk at this lime of the day.” 
“ Oh, does she take morning walks now ?” 
“ Yes, the doctors have ordered it." 
Is she ill?” 
“No, thank goodness,” answered ihe Pas¬ 
tor, laughing; “ but young ladies of the pres¬ 
ent day are so delicate; her (fiend in town, 
Mathildk, used to walk every day for her 
health, so that she became accustomed to it 
there." 
“ I see you have made many changes since 
I was here last," said the Student, looking 
round, 
“ Yes, my daughter wishes it,” said the 
Pastor, slightly shrugging his shoulders. 
“ They had it so in town, and that is why she 
likes it. But it is strange for one—I, who 
have always seen it the same, my whole life.” 
"Oh, you will soon get used to if,” said 
the Student, remembering the Pastor’s form¬ 
er words. “ You must be very glad to have 
your daughter at home again.” 
“ Oil, yes,” answered the Pastor; but bis 
face betrayed him, and one might see that 
his heart was not in Ids answer. 
“ 1 suppose she began to want to come 
home again ?’’ 
“No, 1 can’t say that she did; indeed, I 
was Obliged to iu-ist upon her coming. She 
would have stayed if she could have bad her 
own way. Between ourselves,” he added, 
lowering his voice, “ 1 am afruid she lias been 
loo lung in (own, and she is so determined 
upon having - everything here as she had it 
there, that it is not so pleasant for an old 
man like uie. Besides, 1 cannot afford to 
buy all kinds of new-fashioned things; 1 pre¬ 
fer my old furniture.” 
“ But 1 suppose she has learnt a great 
many useful things?” 
" Yes, that site has,” answered the Pastor, 
as if he were afraid that he had disparaged 
his daughter. “ You should hear her sing 
now; she sings ‘ Lucia di Lammermoor,’ ‘ 11 
Trovalore,’ and all Frik. Boon’s songs.” 
“That I do not doubt at all,” replied the 
Student, coolly. 
lie met Agnes on his way home. She 
was walking towards home, but when she 
recognized him in the distance, she preten¬ 
ded to drop something, and turned hack. 
The Student noticed it, and quickening his 
steps, soon overtook her. It amused him to 
watch how she would manage, lie kept 
pace with her for a few moments, although 
on the other side of the road, without saying 
a word. Agnes pretended not to see him, 
and held her parasol between her own lace 
and him. At last lie bowed. She made a 
courtesy w hich the most fashionable lady 
might have envied. 
“ And so you iiave come home again," he 
said, crossing the road. “ I suppose you 
know' me again ?" 
“ Yes, certainly,” answered Agnes, again 
courtesyiug. 
" I suppose you were glad to come home 
again V he said. 
“ Yes, oil yes,” answered Agnes, as she 
half swallowed the “yes.” 
“ To see. Maiue, Helvar, Majros and Bla- 
man again; and first of all, your father." 
1 Yes, I was glad to see papa again,” she 
answered, and the Student thought lie re¬ 
marked more warmth in her tone when she 
spoke of her father. 
“ But, excuse me, I am no longer dairy- 
moiil nr Dhrinlirnuloou 
“ Indeed, but it used to be your greatest 
pleasure to make tire hills echo.” 
“ Yes, before, but not now.” 
“ Oh, I had forgotten that it is a year since 
then—a whole year!—only think what an 
eternity,” aud he looked at her seriously but 
serchingly. “ Do you not remember my say¬ 
ing that in a few years you would no longer 
do so?—did I not predict rightly ?” 
“ I have all possible respect for your power 
of foretelling, but you would surely not have 
me climb the mountains in the middle of 
winter.” 
“ In the winter?—oh, dfear, no.” 
"But can you lell me what I am to do 
through the whole winter? There are no 
balls, no concerts, no theater;—there’s really 
nothing at all, here”—aud Agnes looked 
quite miserable. 
“ You can, perhaps, find more time to read 
now than before, and then you can dress 
and undress, sleep and eat; all that takes 
time.” 
Agnes pretended not to hear the Stu¬ 
dent’s last words. 
“ Oh, I could, of course, read, if I only had 
books, but here is not even a lending library.” 
“ My library is at your disposal,” lie said, 
bowing, 
“ Thank vou, but 1 suppose it contains 
dull books.”* 
“That depends on what you call dull 
books; I have Walter Scott’s works.” 
" Walter Scott?— hut lie writes such 
long, tedious descriptions. Have you any of 
E.uruK Car leu’s* works?” The Student 
looked at her a few seconds. 
“ Do you really read Emilie Carleu ?” 
he asked at best. 
“Yes; why not? Mathilde says she 
writes very well.” 
“ Yes, and I suppose you think Paul de 
Koch writes very well,*’too; does not Ma- 
trii.dk think so? But I am astonished that 
you can thus follow with the current, and 
take for granted all that others tell you.” 
There was a pause. A ones said nothing, 
and pretended not to hear. The Student 
waited to see how long she would continue 
so, but she was obstinate, and lie at last re¬ 
sumed : 
“I suppose you will go and see all your 
old friends; you will then find something to 
interest you.” 
“ Can you name anyone with whom I can 
associate?” asked Agnes. 
“Oh, I don’t know; you have me for 
one;” and he looked at her mischievously. 
“ Yes—yon- hut-” Agnes looked quite 
embarrassed. 
“ ‘ But-’ ” continued the Student, in a 
jesting tone. 
“ Yes,” she said, trying in vain to find an 
answer. “ I see you so seldom,” she said at 
last, without looking at him. 
“ That depends on you,” he answered. 
“You know where to find me; I continue 
my daily walks as before; und ] have heard 
from your father that you do the same, lor 
y our health.” Agnes said nothing. “And 
you can talk a little to the win king people 
wound about here, aud that is sometimes 
amusing.” 
“The peasants? No, thank you. I have 
quite enough of the peasants at home.” 
“ Indeed ! Have you heard that the great 
IIoi.RERG said lie never spoke to a peasant 
without learning something of him?” 
“ It was, perhaps, there that he learnt to 
be coarse,” answered Agnes. 
“Do you think him coarse, too? I sup¬ 
pose MatITILDE thinks that, does she not ? 
But‘La Belle Helene,’ and other French 
comedies—that make fun of the holiest tics, 
und scoff at religion—they are not course. 
Have you already become so thoroughly in¬ 
itiated in town life and manners V And lrow 
do they employ their time, these slaves of 
fashion ? In eating, drinking, sleeping; they 
hide and stifle every serious thought by jest¬ 
ing; they substitute the glare of the theater 
and ball-room for the mi lilies of life—rival¬ 
ing each other in all sorts of luxury. They 
puss their time in lickiug the c|ust from under 
the feet of the great and powerful of this 
world, and they would sell their souls and 
tongues in order to better ingratiate them¬ 
selves in their l’avor. Oh, I know them 
well; but where is their God ? where is con¬ 
science in all ibis ?” 
Agnes stopped; she bit her lip. It was 
evident that stie was very angry. 
" II you have nothing to say to me except 
to insult my friends and me, then-" and 
she turned round to hide her tears. 
The Studout continued:—“Excuse me, 
Miss Agnes —I did not mean to do that. 
Aud if I have hurt you-” 
“ 1 am going this way,” answered Agnes, 
as they came to a lane leading to the par¬ 
sonage. “Good byel" she courtesicd, and 
went. 
“ H’m 1" said he, as he followed her out of 
sight; “ she is augry. I am sorry for that. 
I addressed her as I should a child, and she 
is no longer the child I thought her. Is she 
worth wasting more time upon V Next lime 
I will try hex from another side. She was 
not so bad as I thought; not so foolish as 
Marie made her out to be.” 
“ The impertinent Student!’’ thought Ag¬ 
nes, as she walked iiome, “so conceited. 
But this shall be the last time I go this way, 
and I shall write io Mathilde this even¬ 
ing."—[To be continued. 
*A well known Swedish novelist. 
BY FANNY M. BARTON. 
O, mother, with thy bosom bare, 
Thy yearning eyes and drooping hair! 
O, baby boy. who?e sweet lips sup 
Such nectar from such dainty cup | 
Backward I turn through changeful years, 
With tender and regretful tears. 
To that old picture ever blest, 
Since Christ lay on ihe Virgin’s breast. 
day; the weather was flue, the water wus clear 
as glass, arid the sun sliuile. At sunset I went 
down to the beach alone, set down alone, and 
looked out over the sea. I saw nothing but the 
wide expanse of water, with flip rays of the sei - 
ting suu reflected in it. The air tvae so still, no 
sound except that of the ripple of the waves, 
nod a light sea breeze fanned my cheek; and 
then. I do not know how it was, but 1 could 
think ot nothing but home, and you. I felt 
then as though I should cry. Just then I felt 
two arms round my neck, and some one kissed 
my cheek. It wits Mathimje, who told me, 
laughing, not to be sentimental. She took me 
bacic with her to the rest ot the party, and then 
this feeling went u«ay. Oh, 1 had utmost for¬ 
gotten to tell you about the Student, IIilkna 
told me. Him nt her day, that fle had been engaged 
to a young Indy, who la now ..... rled to a Lieut. 
K vAlsos, but that she broke tiff the engage¬ 
ment because she became tired of Ins continual¬ 
ly preaching to ber as to how slm should behave* 
She was, Jjke me, a country girl; but Site came 
to town aud made Lieut Ka icrsON'S acquaint- 
anoe. It was very foolish of me to be sorry 
about film, as I wasnl llrst. They tormented inn 
so milch about him and laughed m him: but t 
pitied him, for he was always kind to me. But 
now I am sure, (and JUathii.de says so tool that 
he only made luu of me; and aim says that- I 
should never listen to people like hi in. for they 
only pretend to be much better than others. 
Hlf.CN a says that, he has vowed never to marry, 
and I aui sure no one wishes him to. I know 
Lieut. Kahlson very well now, and lie is ro 
agreeable. I am no longer timid and afraid to 
O, woman, with white brow serene! 
O, prattling boy of angel mien, 
Sitting beside thy mother’s knee! 
I hear thy pure tonns, bold and free, 
Kingtog along the lapse of time 
Like some sweet fragment of old rhyme. 
O, noble youth, with earnest soul, 
PuiHlug to gala life’s grandest goal! 
Fired with the purpose of brave deeds, 
Needing with every brother’s needs! 
I see thee anxious for the right 
To win or die In freedom’s light, 
Like heroes In the stories told 
By singers in the days of old. 
O, soldier fainting on the ground. 
Blood ebbing from a deadly wound! 
Thy life has burst In sudden Bower, 
And fruitage crowns thy blooming hour. 
Most men must longer circuits run. 
And miss tho guerdon thou hast won; 
For fate gives rarely the great prize 
lie gains who for )>1 b country dies. 
I am no longer timid and afraid u> 
speak ns Iwasnt ttrst, und I may UuinJC Mathilde 
lor that; she does her very host to teach mo. You 
should see us when we conic up to her room! 
Mathii,dr pretends to be a tine indy, ami I urn 
her visitor. 8he sits down tin Ihe sofa find 
spreads out lmr dress; 1 come towards her, cour- 
lesyitig very low. She teaches me to equrtesy as 
you begged ber to, and how to walk, und speak 
properly. Weluiigh so mooli that her mother 
knocks nt the wall for ns to bo quiet. You eun 
not think how well Mathilde keeps the serv¬ 
ants in order; they are all so much afraid of 
( bur I They never dm c say a word when she tells 
them to do anything. But wait, only till I come 
home, and you shall gee, dear papa, that l can 
do as Bhe does. It is never a good plan to let 
servants iiave their own way, lor then they neg¬ 
lect their work and aveimpertinent.. Yes, pupa; 
you shall yet see Shat I can beau honor to you. 
Goodbye. Your own dear Agnes." 
After reading, for Mu: second time, this let¬ 
ter, Uie Pastor rubbed his bands and put it 
on one side. 
The Student went no more to the Parson¬ 
age; lie walked as usual, thoughtful and 
alone, on ihe highway. His lamp burned as 
usual, half through the night, aud he sat 
with weary eyes at his studies. Aones was 
now to him like a forgotten song, If lie 
sometimes remembered her, lie opened bis 
book, aud she was again forgotten. 
In this manner more than a year passed, 
when One morning as the Student was walk¬ 
ing out, he saw a group of laborers surround¬ 
ing a woman to whom they were listening - . 
When be came nearer he recognized Marie 
from the Parsonage. She was talking and 
the others were laughing. 
“ "What is the Blatter?” asked the Student, 
“ Oh, master, it is only Marie, who is tell¬ 
ing us about her young kuly,” answered 
Ygns, as he took Off bis cap. 
“Is she come home?" 
“ Yes, indeed she is; she came a week ago,” 
added Marie. 
“ And are you as good friends as before, 
Marie?” asked the Student. 
“No, indeed!—do you think so? I only 
considered her as a child, and was going to . 
shake hands with her and wish her welcome 
home. But. she was as proud as a princess! 
She called me t,o her room Ihe first evening, 
and told me to call her Miss, and not to say 
Agnes any more." 
“ llow are they at tho Parsonage V” asked 
the Student, who pretended not to wish to 
hear more. 
“Oh, now it is not easy to say how they 
are, for Miss Agnes has turned the house up¬ 
side down. Everything is to be changed 
now, and there’s nothing but running and 
moving about, from morning to night. It is 
just as though we had nothing to do but 
to wait upon her. She is always dressing 
her hair, arranging her gown, or one thing 
or another, that we never heard her mention 
before she went to town.” 
“And this is the wonder that, crept out of 
the egg-shell," murmured the Student to 
himself. “Front multosdecipit! — but that her 
face should have so deceived me!” 
When he came home, ha found a letter on 
his writing table. It was from an old friend, 
who, during many years, had been traveling. 
A part of his letter was as follows: 
“ Hnxv are you getting on, my rflil friend ? Arc 
you still living like a mole, burying yourself in 
book dust, and looking like the shadow of your 
former seif. I cannot understood howyoq, a 
free man, do not stiake off your book dust, 
travel, see life, andenjoy it. You seemed tome, 
in your last letter, to be a little livelier. You 
wrote of a young girl iti vour neighborhood. 
Who knows - / She may, perhaps-. I am sure 
nothing would give me greater pleasure than to 
hoar that you Imd become your former self. 
When I think whut you were lu your young 
days, nt Upsala,—fiery, clever, gay, mui now, u 
prematurely old, gloomy book-worm. I cannot 
believe you to be the same. Why do you alwa.v s 
let that weigh upon your mind ? Kan y ou not 
shake off tnfeaoe of life.’s numerous troubles? 
Come to Italy! Here is life 1 here is Are! You 
see how I have brightened up under the influ¬ 
ence of its skies, and I thunk GOD that Heft that 
dry, harsh climate, for this warm, sunny land. 
You wilt And women here who are lively, and 
have warm feelings, ami yet they are simple aud 
unaffected. They ore like untamed birds, they 
play and sing, bin they have sharp boalcs when 
they like to use them. Now, make an effort, 
shake oil your book dust, and write to ine in 
your next letter that you have begun to pack 
your portmanteau.” * * * . * 
The Student held the letter in his hand a 
long time, aud a strange smile played upon 
his lips. He sat dowu aud began to write 
as follows: 
“I have received your letter, and if anyone 
could make me young again, it would be you. 
You are the same wild fellow Hint you were at 
Upsala, when we were always getting into 
scrapes. 1 remember that time as though it, 
were yesterday. But,—‘ die scboncti. Tage in 
Amujuez und nun zu Guide!’ I am old now, 
and Iiave no longer to gam a name I I prefer to 
stay where I am — to wander alone and pursue 
silently my way, aud one day T shall be buried 
and forgotten. And you think I might be 
tempted again to form a link between t lie world 
and me! You do not know me if you think so; 
I feel more than ever that I am separated from 
the world. I look back on my past life, on litr, 
on myself, and on all my former feelings and 
passions as on a picture, aud us though! were 
entirely unconnected with it. Yes, I often con¬ 
template this picture, fur she wus fair and cLTf- 
fonts for iiimtlists 
AGNES BURMANN 
Translated from the Norwegian of Chrislof Jansen 
for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHAPTER III. 
Away and Returned Returned, but yet Away. 
[Continued from page 34, last No.j 
The. Student had not seen Agnes for a 
long time. He could not understand what 
had become of her. She was, perhaps, ill. 
lie would have gone to the parsonage to in¬ 
quire after her, but lie thought it would 
look at range. He could not deny that, ha 
missed her, often; she bad been like a sun- 
bentn amidst, the dust of his books,—like a 
lark in spring-time. He rejoiced, too, that, 
her soul ripened and budded out in thought, 
from day to day, just as one rejoices to see 
the leaves and flowers in spring. He could 
not keep away longer; lie must go and 
ask after her. On bis way he met Marie, 
the servant at the Parsonage, going down to 
the lake with her washing.* He asked if 
her young mistress were ill ? 
“III!” exclaimed Marie, in wide-mouth¬ 
ed astonishment. “No, Gun preserve her 
from it. !—she went to town the other day, 
aud-” 
"To town!” repeated Ihe Student, who 
seemed to have fallen from the clouds. 
“Yes; is there anything so wonderful in 
that?” said Marie; "she is gone to town, 
ami she cried when she went. She is to 
stay there a whole year.” 
The Student had regained his composure. 
" Farewell 1 my compliments to Pastor 
Bukuann he said, as he turned round and 
walked homo, He went slowly back to the 
bouse, walked up. to his room, took out bis 
book, and began vending. But it was in 
vain ; he could not read ; lie could not con¬ 
trol his thoughts. “And she, too, gone to 
town! That is to be the end of all I And 
1, who thought to see her become a gifted, 
warm-hearted woman, with a soul,—away 
with the flowers. “ It. may awaken admira¬ 
tion, one ball night, and then—the next day 
lie withered, broken iu a corner. IIow 
strange the world is, although it destroys so 
in any, yet it continues to possess as much 
attractions for others ! So this story is end¬ 
ed—this precious slonc is sold ! Yet she 
was amiable, and would look one in the 
eyes so openly ; aud she had power, for she 
was, indeed, a child I She may, perhaps, 
resist the world, and come buck again the 
same, though strengthened. But no, she 
was too weak, too young; she will be as all 
the rest of her sex.” 
One day, as the Pastor sat alone in his 
study some one knocked at the door, aud 
the Student entered. 
" Well, your’s is a rare visit,” said the Pas¬ 
tor, as he turned and perceived the Student. 
“ Good morning; I am glad to see you, and 
hope you are well?’ Jie said, as he shook 
him heartily by the hand. 
“ Yes, I thank you. 1 heard that your 
daughter was not at home, and thought I 
would come and see how you were.” 
“That is very kind of you; sit down. 
Yc.s, she’ is in town, but she does not seem 
to like it. " The little thing is so difficult to 
please,” and the Pastor laughed and crossed 
his hands over liis stomach. 
“ Does she not like town ?” asked the Stu¬ 
dent, inquisitively. 
“ No, not at all. But one may easily im¬ 
agine that, as it is the first time she has been 
away—and then so many people—so many 
new laces.” 
“But how can you explain that? I 
thought new things would only astonish 
“ Y r ou may judge for yourself” said the 
Pastor, opening a letter which lay folded on 
the table. “You may read it if you like; 
it contains no secret; the writing is had, 
but you must excuse that.” 
“Thank you,” said the Student, as he 
took tne letter and read as follows: 
“ Da a it Father; —You must, let me emno 
home again, for 1 am so unhappy here. I cry 
no !Y. '" ev L:1 T bay, and I really do not know wliat 
wjII become of me, If I do one, thing it is wrong, 
aim it I du another It is wrong too. They make 
me courtesy quite down to the ground, and when 
I meet a gentleman in the street whom I know 
I am to smile, they tell me. And then I am so 
stupid iu every way, I know nothing and cannot 
i*. 1 ? Sweden and Norway they always rinse the 
clothes in the lake. 
maid or shepherdess,” 
“Hem!” answered the student, smiling. 
"You say, perhaps, with the proverb, ‘the 
freshest fish taste best,’ and you wish your¬ 
self back in town again.” 
" Can you say what I am to do here ?” 
asked Agnes. 
“ I asked you precisely the same question 
when I last saw you, and then you thought 
it a very unnecessary one. 1 can answer 
you now in your own words. You can em¬ 
ploy your time as you did then, in your 
household, your garden, at your piano.” 
“Then you think the kitchen and dairy 
our right place. I think it a pity to leave 
the servants no employment.” 
" Well, then, you can climb the mountains 
as you used.” 
^ ... _ , - 
Au Aurora in Bugilad. 
We become acquainted with the observa¬ 
tions of the Aurora Borealis, at Bagdad, by 
the strange but not unaccountable circum¬ 
stance that it deranged the transmission of 
our despatches over the Indo-European 
telegraph, and upset the telegraphic arrange¬ 
ments in the Ottoman dominions, where its 
appearance was very general. This circum¬ 
stance not only prepares us for au extension 
of the phenomenon not generally expected, 
but also for its occurence in the past, when 
the rare display of the Aurora in the South 
must have furnished prodigies for the histo¬ 
rian. The examination of these, as of re¬ 
corded comets, is worthy of being pushed.— 
Atkemum. 
