towards literary endowments and literary people, but I, for my part, consider this quite amiable in her. She is about my own age, and might, from her appearance, be a Swede. The blue eyes, the round fresh countenance, the plump figure, as well as the charming good nature in speech and manner, are so like our Swedish ladies. She is indeed of Scandinavian descent; her father was Danish—by name, Monefelt. Of the other members of the family I saw three pretty girls; the eldest seventeen, the youngest nine years old, and a handsome lad of ten. Mr. W. H., two elder sons, and the eldest daughter of the family, are now from home.
I have seen also another agreeable family, that of Dr. G., whose wife, son-in-law, and daughters, have called on me, and offered to take me to the islands and the beautiful places in the neighbourhood.
I have likewise seen to-day Mrs. Harnmarsköld (Emilie Holmberg) and her mother. Tears of longing for Sweden filled the eyes of the old lady. The younger lady is a much esteemed teacher of music here.
I can now write no more, the post is leaving.
God bless my sweet Agatha!
LETTER XIII.
I see a feeble Southern beauty reposing upon a luxurious bed of flowers in a nectarine grove, surrounded by willing slaves, who at her nod bring to her the most precious fruits and ornaments in the world. But all her beauty, the splendour of her eye, the delicate crimson of her cheek, the pomp which surrounds her couch, cannot conceal the want of health and vigour, the worm which
