Esaias Tegner stored his mind during these journeys with that wealth of
imagery, drawn from the scenery of his native land, which constitutes
the most national element in his verse. He also contracted, during his
residence in Branting's house, an inordinate love of books. Once during
the harvest-time he was placed on guard at an open gate, so as to
prevent the cattle from breaking into the adjoining field. To the great
chagrin of his patron, however, the cows made their way unhindered and
unnoticed into the forbidden territory, while their watchman was lying
on his belly in the grass, deeply absorbed in a book. Wherever he
happened to be, his idea of happiness was to hide himself away with a
cherished volume. Sometimes he was found sitting on the top rung of a
ladder, sometimes on the roof of a turf-thatched cottage, oblivious of
the world about him, plunged up to his ears in some historic or
mythological tale. He was voracious, nay, omnivorous, in his reading. A
book was a book to him; no matter what was its subject, whether it were
poetry, history, heraldry, or horticulture, he was always likely to find
something in it to interest him. But his favorite reading was the old
Norse sagas, with their tremendous recitals of war and song and fabulous
prowess.

It was not, however, his delight in books which made the change in his
destiny. Professor C. W. Boettiger, Tegner's son-in-law, quotes, in his
life of the poet, the following incident in the latter's own words:

"One evening, as I was travelling homeward with Assessor Branting, from
Carlstad to Hoegvalta, the stars were bright and my religious
foster-father seized this opportunity to talk with me about God's
omnipotence, and its visible traces throughout nature. I had just been
reading Bastholm's 'Philosophy for Laymen,' and I began to give an
account of what I had there learned concerning the movements of the
heavenly bodies. This made an impression upon the old man, who, a few
days later, informed me that he had determined to give me a scholarly
education. This had long been my secret desire, though I had never dared
to express it. 'You can learn nothing more with me,' he said, 'and I
believe you were born for something better. If that is the case,' he
added, 'do not forget to thank the Giver of all good things.'"

The boy, who was now fourteen years old, was sent to the house of a
neighbor, where his elder brother, Lars Gustaf, was tutor, and was
initiated by h