e; and
from constantly hearing this, we at last came to believe it. We were
compared to the carriage-horses of the family; and we were in the habit,
almost of our own accord, of seating ourselves every day after dinner on
each side of our good father, who caressed us, and called us his
carriage-horses. Yet, in fact, we did not pull together. My sister was
more richly endowed by nature than I, and won favour more easily. Never
did I envy a human being as I envied her, until in later years, and
under altered circumstances, I learned to love her rightly, and to
rejoice over her advantages.

We were not very rich, and we cast a philosophically compassionate
glance upon all who were richer than we, who lived in a more liberal
manner, had more splendid equipages, or who dressed themselves more
elegantly. "What folly--what pitiable vanity!" said we: "poor people,
who know nothing better!" We never thought that our philosophy was
somewhat akin to the fox and the grapes.

If we looked in this manner upon the advantages of the great, we
despised still more the pleasures of the crowd. (We ought to be so
all-sufficient for ourselves. Ah, alas!) And if ever a theatrical piece
was much talked of and visited, we had a kind of pride in saying, with
perfect indifference, that we never had seen it; and whenever there was
a popular festival, and the crowd went towards Haga or the Park, it was
quite as certain that our calesche--if it went out at all--would drive
on the road to Sabbatsberg, or in some other direction equally deserted
at the time; for all which, we prided ourselves on our philosophy. Yet
with all this in our hearts we really never were happy.

The daughters came out into society. The parents wished to see them
loved and wooed; the daughters wished it no less--but they were not
handsome--were dressed without any pretension. The parents saw very
little company; and the daughters remained sitting at balls, and were
nearly unobserved at suppers. Yet from year to year they slid on with
the stream.

The daughters approached to ripened youth. The parents evidently wished
them married; they wished it likewise, which was only natural,
especially as at home they were not happy; and it must be confessed that
neither did they themselves do much to make it pleasant there. They were
peevish and discontented--no one knew exactly what to do or what she
wanted; they groped about as if in a mist.

It is customary to hear unmarried ladi