grossed Pallardos, when called upon to assist Lady Angelica || ballad, with a voice whose compass and flexibility was truly from her carriage, and milord's groom and miladi's footman wonderful. Her tones, full of charms and richness, plunged having no sovereign reasons for securing him. Lord Frede- his soul into a revery bordering on ecstasy, and brought tears rick laughed till the count accepted the offer of Lady Aymar to his eyes. to take him home, bodkin-wise, between herself and her daughter; and for the happiness of being close pressed to the loving side of the Lady Angelica for one hour more, Pallardos would willingly have lost a thousand horses-his own or the Honourable Mr. Dallinger's. And, by the way, of Mr. Dallinger and his wrath and his horseless groom, Spiridion began now to have a thought or two of an uncomfortable pertinacity of intrusion.

Third and last scene in our next.

Madame Riedsand passed her life in forming a thousand projects for the future happiness of her daughter; the present was happy and the future certain. Surrounded with comfort, the little fortune she had brought as a marriageportion to her husband, and which had increased under the good management of the professor, left her no possible cause for solicitude. When a husband worthy of Ebba should present himself, she could say to her: "If you love him, become his wife!" And she already saw Ebba, according to the custom of their country, dressed in her bridal robes, seated in the saloon, and visited by all the city, rejoicing in her happiness.

One evening, when she had been indulging in these sweet thoughts, and when her eyes filled with tears of happiness, she contemplated her daughter; the latter, who for some moments had been looking by turns at the clock and the avenue to the house, gave a cry of joy and sprang out to meet her father. But before she reached him she discovered, on the ordinarily serene brow of the professor, traces of profound grief. She questioned him with anxiety, and Madame Riedsand joined in her entreaties. At first he re

THE PROFESSOR'S DAUGHTER. THE most charming quarter of Stockholm is its northern suburb; the handsomest house it contained in 1820 was that of Professor Riedsand. Nothing but the imagination of a poet could have dreamed and formed this delightful nest. Before the simple and elegant facade arose the beautiful and ever-green trees of a garden, watered by a rivulet. To reach the main body of the mansion it was necessary to traverse a green-house, filled with the rich perfume of exotic plants that were growing there in all their beauty. The interiour of this habitation discovered the refined taste of its possessor; the comfortable furniture, the library, the pic.sisted by denying his grief, but at last unable to contain tures; and, to preserve all these agreeable objects in all their virgin freshness, was the employment of three women, one of whom was a Fleming. Stina had been in the service of M. Reidsand's mother a long time, and, since the old lady's death, had come to live with him.

Fifty years had taken away none of the agility of this active servant. She ran here and there, washing, rubbing, and waxing from morn till night. Repose made her sick. || When the cares of the house or the important occupations of dinner did not claim her attention, she would carry her spinning-wheel into the room with Madame Riedsand and her daughter Ebba. There she spun while looking at the young girl she had carried in her arms when an infant, and from whom, since that time, she had never been separated a single day. Ebba was the happiness and the life of Stina; her least words, her most indifferent gestures, excited her admi. ration. Nothing seemed impossible to her if it was to gra. tify any wish of Ebba; she would have given her soul, she, a devoted and holy catholic! had it been necessary for the happiness of the fair angel. The passionate tenderness with which Ebba had inspired the old servant was felt still more by her parents. Nobody, however, not even a stranger, could remain indifferent before the unconscious beauty and celestial sweetness of the pretty Swede. When leaning thoughtfully against the window, her rosy cheeks half-veiled by her luxuriant hair, she might have been taken for one of those beautiful fairies about whom the Swedish poet Frauzen sings in his ballads. Ebba repaid the parental cares with unaffected grace, which had in it nothing prosaic. In the morning she looked after her flowers in the green-house and garden, and aided her mother and Stina to prepare breakfast. When the professor had gone to the university she spent a few moments at her toilette, then seated herself at the window, where, while working with her needle, she could watch for his return. As soon as she perceived him at a distance, Ebba would utter a cry of joy, and run to meet him, followed by her mother; the happy father wound his arms in those of his two loved ones, and entered his house, where the kind smile of Stina always awaited him. Then was the time when Ebba, to refresh her father after the fatigues of his class, went to the piano and sung some

himself, he stammered the fatal words" We are ruined!"

Madame Riedsand flung her arms round her daughter, and clasped her to her bosom with the phrensy of despair.

"My brother," resumed the unfortunate man," my brother, with whom our whole fortune was deposited, has just fled from Stockholm. He leaves behind him for his family only misery and dishonour. The rumour of his shameful bankruptcy fills and desolates the city!"

"Ebba! my poor Ebba!" exclaimed the unhappy mother, who, even in this fearful crisis, had thoughts and suffering only for her daughter.

Stina hastened to take her share in the misfortunes of the family, clasped her hands in anguish, and the first malediction that ever escaped her lips was uttered then against the miserable being who had been the cause of so much despair. Ebba caressed her father and mother alternately, covering them with kisses, and seeking to give them a little courage and consolation, but nothing could diminish their grief. "Misery!" repeated Madame Riedsand.

"Dishonour!" murmured the man of probity, who had received from his father an unblemished name, and who saw this name henceforth sullied.

Then a thousand poignant thoughts assailed him. He condemned himself for entrusting his brother with his fortune. He bitterly reproached himself for giving way to the mercenary motives which had led him to expose and lose his daughter's patrimony.

All that day and night sobs and despair never left the house, where lately they had been unknown. Alas! the next day they only established their fatal dominion more firmly, for M. Riedsand was seized with a burning fever. Delirium succeeded reason, and the physicians who were called in looked with anguish on the sick man, and turned away their eyes from the three women, because they dared not give them the least hope. Neither the prayers of Ebba and her mother, nor the nine days' devotions, which old Stina promised the Holy Virgin, could obtain from heaven the alteration of his destiny. Three days from that time black draperies shrouded the facade of the building. Unhappiness had taken possession of these sad places for ever.

Soon after, the first assaults of poverty came, to mingle their hideous trials with the mourning of the widow and the orphan. Modest as was their mode of living, it was necessary to retrench at first, and to strip it of those naive conveniences. The plants of the green-house were sold, the pictures disappeared from the saloon, and one evening Madame Riedsand returned with some work to sew for a lingerie in the city. The poor mother and her daughter were compelled to rise at break of day. Notwithstanding their courage and the perseverance they showed in this obdurate struggle, they could not shield themselves from the misery that fell, drop after drop, on their heads. By degrees they found themselves encumbered with debts, which multiplied like the heads of the hydra-feeble at first, but soon formidable. One evening the three women, weeping, left the house to take refuge in a poor chamber in the Mosebacke, the quarter in Stockholm inhabited by the poor, and whose muddy and unhealthy streets have not their equal in horrour in the most deplorable faubourgs in Paris.

Until then a cruel thought had not entered the mind of the widow, but misery suggested it; it was this: to dismiss Stina, and thus to reduce to two mouths only the number for whom to procure food. When, with downcast eyes, pale, trembling and convulsive lips, she stammered something of this design, Ebba fainted, and the countenance of the old servant reddened with indignation.

"Ab, fie! Madame," said she; "ah, fie! Madame." And, without adding another word, she turned to restore her favourite to animation. The cruel project of separation was never mentioned again.

us no choice. This morning my husband's brother has sent me a sum sufficient for you and Ebba to live upon a year. As soon as I am dead, in a few days you must set out with her for Dresden. Here is a letter I have written to one who was formerly a friend of our family. He lives in Dresden; his name is Ernest Theodore Hoffman. You will give him this letter. If he gives an encouraging reply to the plans I have submitted to him, you will tell Ebba to pursue the studies the Counsellor Hoffman approves, and to follow his advice in everything. If my last hope fails, may God protect my daughter, for his mercy alone will be left her."

At this moment Ebba entered, and her mother tried to smile.

Some weeks rolled on, during which Ebba, in spite of the entreaties of her mother, used a little of the money her uncle had sent them to lessen the privations of her suffering parent, who grew uneasy at these light expenses, and forbid them.

"This money is the only resource left you," said she. "To use it is to augment my anxieties about your future welfare."

She then took Stina aside and said to her:

"I wish to be buried without any expense, as they bury the poor. Reflect that one week, one day, the longer this money lasted, might decide the fate of my daughter."

"To-morrow you will start for Dresden; here is a letter for Ebba, recommending this journey. Stina, you are now the mother of my daughter."

One morning, after a night during which fatal symptoms had increased, Madame Riedsand took the hand of her daughter, who had been watching with her, and drew her gently towards the bed. She passed her fingers through the Stina only, after having, with her usual promptness, dis- || fair hair of Ebba, feigned more calmness, until at length the charged the duties towards her mistresses, she was accustom-young girl, overwhelmed with fatigue, fell asleep. When ed to render them, usually went out every day and returned she saw the long lashes of her child close, she motioned to only in time to prepare their evening repast. Besides, Ma- Stina, drew the letter from her bosom and said: dame Riedsand observed that the old woman, who would never consent to seat herself at table with her companions in misfortune, never touched the dessert, and served it again the next day. When she interrogated Stina, she at first denied it; but, pressed with questions, she owned that she prepared the meals of some labourers in the neighbourhood, too poor to pay her in money, and gave her, therefore, a part of their meagre food! Ebba and her mother endeavoured to persuade Stina to desist from this hard work, but she remained firm, and declared, with an independence almost disrespectful, that she had a right to do as she pleased.

The old servant knelt before her mistress.

"Stina, you are her mother!" resumed the voice of the dying. "I shall watch from heaven over both of you! My daughter! Ebba! My child!"

She reached out her hand towards the poor orphan, but that hand could no longer smooth the fair hair of the young girl; it fell back again, chilled by death.

When Ebba awoke, a veil, thrown by Stina, covered her mother's face. The servant was sobbing and praying.

Meanwhile, poverty and grief slowly undermined the health of Ebba's mother; she could not bear much longer The day following this mournful one, two women, dressed the agony of seeing her poor child reduced to so much in black, left Stockholm for Dresden. During the fatigues misery. A mortal languor soon obliged her to leave off and difficulties of the voyage, Stina had ceased to be the work and keep her bed. Without deceiving herself about humble servant, who, for fifty years, had only known how her approaching death, one day, while Ebba had gone to to obey. She showed sagacity so full of good nature that pray in the church of Saint Claire, she profited by the occa- she conciliated all with whom she had anything to do. The sion to confide her sad presentiments to Stina. respect she paid her young mistress equalled those which "Listen to me," said she. "Ebba will soon have no her modest deportment and profound grief obtained for her mother but you!" from others. Arrived at Dresden, Stina and her mistress

Stina in vain tried to give Madame the confidence which took care to procure cheap and comfortable lodgings. Once she did not feel herself.

Madame shook her head sadly.

"I know my situation," she resumed. "I have but a few days to live, so listen to me, Stina. My poor child is going to be an orphan, an orphan in abject misery. Perils of all kinds are going to surround the poor defenceless creature. Young, beautiful, at seventeen, poverty sometimes is a bad counsellor. The purest angel in such circumstances can hardly fail to soil the hem of her celestial tunic. Stina, God has inspired me with a bold project; desperate, without doubt, but the situation in which we are placed leaves

established, their next care was to find Counsellor Hoffman. When they spoke of him to their hostess the latter raised her eyes in astonishment.

"Have you business with that man?" said she. "God help you, then, for Dresden has not a greater original than he. He is nou the manager of the theatre. His house is not far off. You can see it from this. Stop, look, it is easy to recognize; he has stopped up sonic windows, and opened others by the side of them."

The young girl and her governess, although little encouraged by this information, did not delay paying their visit to

the guardian to whom her mother's last wishes were addressed. An old servant opened the door, and led them to a room in which the strangest disorder reigned. A piano stood in the middle of the oor, flanked on all sides with books, empty bottles, rough-hewn statuary, half-painted pictures, and papers which strewed the floor. A large black cat was the only living thing in the apartment. At sight || of the two visiters it uttered a low mew, and took refuge behind a half-opened door, which instantly afforded entrance to a small man, of fantastic appearance, enveloped in a large riding-coat. He took from Ebba's trembling hands the letter which she presented him.

"The worthy Professor Riedsand is dead!" he exclaimed,|| "and his wife, his poor widow, has followed him to heaven! God in his mercy receive them. Welcome here, young woman. Your mother asks my assistance; she is right, you ought to look to me as a real father. I have not forgotten what generous friends I found in your family in those severe days of trial. Come, let us sing!"

Ebba regarded him with stupefaction.

"Since you are an excellent musician, you may try to sing, at first sight, this air of my friend Weber," said he. "Come here, do not look surprised at me, and let us sing." Ebba, troubled and confounded at the singular demand, hesitated, and then mechanically obeyed him. She had hardly finished a few lines of a recitative, when Hoffman interrupted her with a cry of joy. Then, with the eccentricity which always characterized his movements, he sprang towards the door of an adjoining room, and called out:

"Jean Paul Richter, Carle Weber, come, come, come!" The two friends appeared. Hoffman seated himself again at the piano, and Ebba went on singing. Marks of surprise and admiration were soon manifested by the grand maestro and the illustrious writer.

"Oh!" said Jean Paul, clasping his hands, "a purer voice never charmed human ears. Young girl, are you sure you are not an angel?"

Weber advanced towards her, and, with the melancholy solemnity peculiar to him, said:

"You are a great cantatrice."

And as Ebba affected, looked at them in doubt, Hoffman cried :

nearly took up the other. Here Ebba had devoted all her time to study, receiving no visits but those of Hoffman and Weber. The first came seldom; the second, notwithstanding his enfeebled health, gave her lessons every day, in or der to prepare her for her début. Nature had organized || Ebba so happily, and left so little for art to perform, that at the end of three months she was ready to come out, as Hoffman had promised. Unfortunately, Weber, most always sick, had not been able to finish writing the Oberon, and days and weeks passed in waiting for it.

One evening, when Ebba returned from a short walk with her housekeeper, they met, on the staircase of their humble dwelling, a woman who, like them, was obliged to go up to the last story, and who opened the door next to their own. By degrees a vague kind of good feeling was established between Stina and this stranger. Stina took a great liking to this young woman, who hardly ever went from home, rose at break of day, worked steadily at her sewing until late at night, and knew how to perform her duties of housekeeping with a sort of elegance. One day, after hesitating a long while, the stranger asked her old neighbour, her countenance red with shame, if she had any sewing for her to do.

"I will be content with what you may be willing to pay me; and, for want of money, a little bread would suffice."

Stina was touched; she led her into Ebba's room, and did the honours of the breakfast, which was just ready, with such good grace that their poor neighbour forgot for some moments her sufferings and poverty. She was a woman of about thirty years of age, cruelly disfigured by marks of the smallpox. She expressed herself in German, with elegant facility, although her accent revealed her to be Italian. Her manners showed education and acquaintance with the customs of society; indigence had struck her, but had not broken nor withered her character. When she arose to de. part, Ebba kindly said:

"We dine at six; be punctual."

Therese, it was the stranger's name, took her hand, and would have raised it to her lips. Ebba embraced her tenderly.

"I have known poverty too!" said she. "Now better days are coming! Hope as I hope." Therese smiled bitterly.

66

"A great cantatrice, the greatest cantatrice Germany has ever had! Three months of study will be sufficient to enable you to make your début. Weber shall be your professor of singing, and I will be your master in declamation." "And after that?" demanded Stina, who did not under- flowing down the checks of her new friend. stand what this was to lead to.

Happy days have already come for me," she replied; "they have preceded days of misfortune."

"After that, my old friend? Fortune and glory! You do not comprehend! Oh! soon the transports of the public and the gold of the director will make you understand it all."

Then, as if to free herself from painful thoughts, she rose abruptly and went to the window, where Ebba saw tears

In the meantime, notwithstanding the touching marks of affection given by the two neighbours to Therese, the latter evinced the greatest reserve in visiting them, and never came to see them unless at their pressing solicitations. "We must insist upon it," said Ebba; "she is poor and unhappy."

And she lavished all the graces of her naif mind to decide Therese to seat herself at their little table. When she saw her smile she was rejoiced. Stina could not sufficient. ly admire the good heart of her child.

"God will make her happy," she thought with delight, "or else happiness is not made for angels."

It is a good thing to have neighbours. Brilliant as were the hopes given by Hoffman to Ebba, Hoffman, impatient to bring out his protégé, resolved not and notwithstanding the short term he had fixed for their re- to wait for Weber's new work, and selected a role for her alization, the young Swede, following Stina's good counsels, from the ancient repertory. Zerlina, in Don Giovanni, apmanaged prudently with the little sum that was all her for-peared to him wonderfully suitable for the blonde and tune. She dwelt in a modest room, joining the little closet where the old servant lodged.

charming Swede. He went himself to teach Ebba this part, from the magnificent work of Mozart. She learned to sing.

A piano occupied one half the room, and a little couch it in a few lessons.

"Pardon me," resumed Therese, "pardon me, beloved child. Yes, I will go with you," said she, with firmness; Ebba was seized with fear and joy when she heard this and, after a moment's silence, during which she armed hergreat news. What! in two days her whole destiny would self with resolution, "I will go with Ebba; God, to whom be decided! As Hoffman had promised her, glory and for- I have just prayed, as I have not prayed in a long time, tune, or shame and poverty! Not resigned, but fatal pover-will give me strength to do so. No, Ebba, I will not leave ty! Agitated, feverish, she seated herself at the piano, left|| it precipitately, and went back to it again only to leave it anew. Her trembling hands could not strike the keys. Therese entered.

At last the great day for the debut arrived. Early in the on her neck. "Success and glory is ours! God inspired morning, Ebba rapped softly at the door of Therese.

Therese came to the door; her red eyes looked as if she on the stage." had wept all night.

"Will you not come and pray with us, that I may suc. ceed to-night?" said Ebba. "Stina and I are going to the

"Yes," replied Therese, "I am going to pray with you, Ebba; to pray for your happiness. One has need of prayers on entering the perilous career into which you so gaily pre-man, after it was ended; Hoffman, always the friend of the cipitate yourself without foreseeing the dangers, or dreading its despair. But do not heed my words; I am suffering this morning, and know not what I say. Let us go to pray."

her get into a handsome carriage, and conducted her to a || devour it all! Ebba! dear Ebba, God has sent me to save magnificent apartment.

"Yes, this all belongs to you, and I only ask you one I will tell you what makes him pale, what makes him trem

And, half by gentle violence, half by consent, she took owing, she, with a sigh, repeats the words of Therese:— the billet Ebba had tried to hide from her notice.