International Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science, Vol. 1,: No. 3, Oct. 1, 1850Various
Science
International Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science, Vol. 1,: No. 3, Oct. 1, 1850
Various
Art -- Periodicals; Literature -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
"How pleasant is it." said Ireneus, "to suffer my mind to repose in the
asylum you have opened for it. Since my coming hither I have met with
none but pure hearts, and have beheld only the mild pictures of a pure
and peaceable existence. How different is it from the agitation of all
parties in my own land! Yet, however, even amid the calm and repose I
here enjoy, how I regret it. I saw it so great and prosperous, and
thought its destiny so certain!"
"Console yourself, cousin," said Ebba, "you will see that country again,
which it is both a necessity and a duty for you to love. You will see it
in that normal condition from which it has by a great crisis been thrown.
Moral diseases, like physical ones, sometimes attack men, and God, to
punish the errors of a people, to abase its pride, strikes it with one of
these mental contagions, yields it up to the effervescence of its bad
thoughts, until the people humiliates and corrects itself, bending before
the arm of the Avenger in penitence, and returns to the path from which
it has wandered."
Ireneus was amazed to hear her speak thus. The timid young girl seemed
like a prophetess animated with a mighty inspiration. A flush was on her
pale face, and in her glance was the light of enthusiasm.
"You are a noble creature," said Ireneus, taking her by the hand. The
hand of Ebba lay motionless and pale in his, her blush passed away, and
the dark shadows of her habitual melancholy returned.
Just then the sleigh of M. de Vermondans arrived at its destination. Eric
was waiting for them at the threshold, clasped the hand of his
father-in-law, and helped Alete out, as Ireneus did as much for Ebba. The
servants took care of the foaming horses.
The little party, as soon as they entered the house, could see that the
faithful Eric had sought to avoid the reproaches of his betrothed. The
entrance of the corridor was so completely washed and dried that one
might fancy the joiner had just finished the floor. Through the open
kitchen door a large brazier was seen in a glow, and the ringing of
plates and dishes was heard. The antechamber was covered with a woolen
carpet, and the Christmas pine brought on the day before from the
neighboring forest, decked with garland and moss, rose proudly from a
large box, as if it knew how proud a part it played in the festival.
As she passed from the antechamber to the drawing-room, Alete paused to
look at the arrangement of the table. Seeing a false plait in one of the
napkins, she was probably about to give vent to her epigrams. The door of
the other room however was opened, and a handsome old man dressed in a
long frock appeared. His head was covered with a cap of black velvet,
from beneath which his white hair escaped. This was Eric's father, and
Alete paid much respect to him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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