onversation from herself--a subject which she least of all would speak
about, and that probably because she was in harmony with herself--but as
the Judge with his earnest cordiality united in the wish of his wife and
Mrs. Gunilla, that Evelina would relate to them some passages in the
history of her life, she acceded, remarking only that what she had to
relate was in no way extraordinary; and then, after she had bethought
herself for a moment, she began, addressing herself more especially to
Elise, and in the mean time Mrs. Gunilla hastily jotted down the
narrative, which we will here designate

EVELINA'S HISTORY.

Have you ever been conscious, while listening to a beautiful piece of
music, of a deep necessity, an indescribable longing, to find in your
own soul, in your own life, a harmony like that which you perceived in
the tune?--if so, you have then an idea of the suffering and the release
of my soul. I was yet a little child when, for the first time, I was
seized upon by this longing, without at that time comprehending it.
There was a little concert in the house of my parents; the harp, piano,
horn, and clarionette, were played by four distinguished artists. In one
part of the symphony the instruments united in an indescribably sweet
and joyous melody, in the feeling of which my childish soul was seized
upon by a strong delight, and at the same time by a deep melancholy. It
seemed to me as if I had then an understanding of heaven, and I burst
into tears. Ah! the meaning of these I have learned since then. Many
such, and many far more painful, tears of longing, have fallen upon the
dark web of my life.

To what shall I compare the picture of my youthful years? All that it,
and many other such family pictures exhibit, is unclear, indefinite, in
one word, blotted as it were in the formation. It resembled a dull
autumn sky, with its grey, shapeless, intermingling cloud-masses; full
of those features without precision, of those contours without meaning,
of those shadows without depth, of those lights without clearness, which
so essentially distinguish the work of a bungler from that of a true
master.

My family belonged to the middle class, and we were especially well
content to belong to this noble class; and as we lived from our rents,
and had no rank in the state, we called ourselves, not without some
self-satisfaction, people of condition. We exhibited a certain genteel
indifference towards the _haute volee_ i