an so much the more safely indulge in these amatory diversions
as one runs no risk of being disturbed either by vigilant fathers or
pugnacious brothers; and, finally, since one can as easily get out of
as get into our peculiarly Norwegian form of betrothal--a half-way
house between marriage and free board in a good family--all these things
considered I say, it was not wonderful that Cousin Hans felt profoundly
unhappy. For he was not in the least in love.

He had long lived in expectation of being seized by a kind of delirious
ecstasy, which, if experienced people are to be trusted, is the
infallible symptom of true love. But as nothing of the sort had
happened, although he was already in his second year at college, he said
to himself: "After all, love is a lottery if you want to win, you must
at least table your stake. 'Lend Fortune a helping hand,' as they say in
the lottery advertisements."

He looked about him diligently, and closely observed his own heart.

Like a fisher who sits with his line around his forefinger, watching for
the least jerk, and wondering when the bite will come, so Cousin Hans
held his breath whenever he saw a young lady, wondering whether he was
now to feel that peculiar jerk which is well known to be inseparable
from true love--that jerk which suddenly makes all the blood rush to the
heart, and then sends it just as suddenly up into the head, and makes
your face flush red to the very roots of your hair.

But never a bite came. His hair had long ago flushed red to the roots,
for Cousin Hans's hair could not be called brown; but his face remained
as pale and as long as ever.

The poor fisherman was growing quite weary, when he one day strolled
down to the esplanade. He seated himself on a bench and observed, with
a contemptuous air, a squad of soldiers engaged in the invigorating
exercise of standing on one leg in the full sunshine, and wriggling
their bodies so as to be roasted on both sides.

"Nonsense!" [Note: The English word is used in the original] said Cousin
Hans, indignantly; "it's certainly too dear a joke for a little country
like ours to maintain acrobats of that sort. Didn't I see the other
day that this so-called army requires 1500 boxes of shoe-blacking, 600
curry-combs, 3000 yards of gold-lace and 8640 brass buttons?--It would
be better if we saved what we spend in gold-lace and brass buttons, and
devoted our half-pence to popular enlightenment," said Cousin Hans.

For he