or grace for you? Where is
that air trembling with harmony, which bears the soul up to God's
space?

Oh help Esrom, help Soro, and you big bells of Lund!

***

What a .gloomy story that picture told! It seemed curious and
strange to come out into the park, in glowing sunshine, among
living human beings.

MAMSELL FREDRIKA

It was Christmas night, a real Christmas night.

The goblins raised the mountain roofs on lofty gold pillars and
celebrated the midwinter festival. The brownies danced around the
Christmas porridge in new red caps. Old gods wandered about the
heavens in gray storm cloaks, and in the Oesterhaninge graveyard
stood the horse of Hel [Note: The goddess of death]. He pawed with
his hoof on the frozen ground; he was marking out the place for a
new grave.

Not very far away, at the old manor of Arsta, Mamsell Fredrika was
lying asleep. Arsta is, as every one knows, an old haunted castle,
but Mamsell Fredrika slept a calm, quiet sleep. She was old now and
tired out after many weary days of work and many long journeys,--
she had almost traveled round the world,--therefore she had
returned to the home of her childhood to find rest.

Outside the castle sounded in the night a bold fanfare. Death
mounted on a gray charger had ridden up to the castle gate. His
wide scarlet cloak and his hat's proud plumes fluttered in the
night wind. The stern knight sought to win an adoring heart,
therefore he appeared in unusual magnificence. It is of no avail,
Sir Knight, of no avail! The gate is closed, and the lady of your
heart asleep. You must seek a better occasion and a more suitable
hour. Watch for her when she goes to early mass, stern Sir Knight,
watch for her on the church-road!

***

Old Mamsell Fredrika sleeps quietly in her beloved home. No one
deserves more than she the sweetness of rest. Like a Christmas
angel she sat but now in a circle of children, and told them of
Jesus and the shepherds, told until her eyes shone, and her
withered face became transfigured. Now in her old age no one
noticed what Mamsell Fredrika looked like. Those who saw the
little, slender figure, the tiny, delicate hands and the kind,
clever face, instantly longed to be able to preserve that sight in
remembrance as the most beautiful of memories.

In Mamsell Fredrika's big room, among many relics and souvenirs,
there was a little, dry bush. It was a Jericho rose, brought back
by Mamsell Fredrika from the far East. Now in