tions of Count Lauvenheilm guided him on the novel tract.

He foresaw that, in the exercise of this duty, and the privilege of sharing in the communications of such varied and distinguished correspondents, he should rapidly acquire that knowledge of other countries and characters which he knew to be so necessary for the accomplishment of his mind.

Having finished his gentle task, and left the packet of answers for the approbation or disapproval of the Count, he went to breathe the refreshing sea breeze in the open air, and afterwards returned to lose himself in the eloquence of Cicero.

He was sitting in the library absorbed by his book, when Countess Anastasia entered. She retreated a few steps at sight of a stranger; then gracefully recovering herself, bowed courteously, and proceeded to take the book she sought. Without speaking, and again bending her fair head, she left the apartment.

Theodore remained standing by the seat

he had risen from on her entrance in a trance of admiration he had thought her beautiful the night before; to-day she was something beyond what that term can express. Whether it were the clearer light of day making her charms more visible, or the simpler taste of her dress, or the benignant expression of her countenance, he knew not, but certainly she appeared more charming in his eyes than when he first saw her.

So bright a vision put sober study to flight he closed his book, and again imagination roved over the scenes of the preceding evening.

The dinner hour arrived, and Count Lauvenheilm did not return. A servant came to inform Theodore that Madame Sauveur expected him in the drawing-room.

Polished female society was something quite new to him; he had lived chiefly amongst literary men during his first visit to Copenhagen, and from their parties women were generally excluded. At Aardal he saw only the daughters of herdsmen and

fishers, and he was now going into the pre sence of the most accomplished women in Denmark.

A slight agitation, a sort of fear lest he should display any gross ignorance of the forms of elegant life, for the first time quickened the motion of his blood. He was relieved by finding Madame Sauveur alone: her voluble good spirits set him directly at ease; and by the time his disturbed countenance had resumed its usual gentle seriousness, the sisters alternately entered.

Without considering the absurdity of the expectation, he expected to see Ellesif appear such as he had last beheld her, in the midst of agitation and tears: what was his surprize to behold her advance with the gaiety and the step of a nymph, her face all smiles, and her eyes all sunshine!

For the first few minutes he was disappointed, and thought she pleased him less than the night before; but the playful expressions of her face had so much variety and beauty, and so poetical an imagination

was shewn in the sportiveness of her conversation, that he was insensibly won to think her liveliness as delightful as her, timidity had been touching.

The fair Anastasia preserved the cha racter he had mentally assigned to her; a calm, unvaried union of dignity and suavity. She spoke well, but her discourse was neither embellished by wit nor imagination: there was nothing in it to find fault with; nothing to admire. Ere the evening closed, Theodore began to wonder how the world had been so mistaken as to imagine Ana. stasia more charming than her sister. More beautiful she certainly was, but not so lovely.

In one feature he thought the pre-eminence of Ellesif indisputable-the eyes. In this, however, he was mistaken: in shape and brightness each were equally admirable, but sensibility added intellectual charms to those of Ellesif. Though her hair was black, her eyes were blue (not the light azure of sunny day, but the deep blue of

starry night); and the shade of their long lashes, without diminishing that expression, of sweetness and candour peculiar to the light eye, frequently gave to them the force and splendour of black.

Her complexion had the transparency of water lilies; and if the colour on her cheek were rather delicate than brilliant, whenever she moved, spoke, or even thought with strong emotion, it heightened to the liveliest carnation.

The rest of her features were not so critically beautiful as her sister's, but they were in harmony with the youthful character of her countenance; and it was impossible to see her figure without being immediately interested by its singular air of timidity and animation.

To her father's grace and softness, El lesif added a glow of character and a sin cerity that just touched the verge of impru dence; yet both these qualities were less visible in her appearance than in her conduct. Her manner was timid when her counte