AN OLD SONG.

IF he came, if he came again,

He my oldest friend,

He my only friend !

Oh, I would fly with bliss

His dear mouth to kiss,

Though wolf's blood it stained;

And I would seize hold

Of his hand, though the fold

Of a viper that hand contained.

Hears he me, hears he me there,

How I sit singing here,

Sit alone, singing here!

Wind which blows here and there

Over the tree-tops bear,

Over high mountain and sea,

Oh, bear from his breast

A word to give me rest,

And my answer take back with thee.

Tell him, oh tell him my breast

Never, never has rest,

Day and night has no rest!

Wed me before the priest,

Let me in silk be dressed,

R

Or why took I the ring from my friend!

Haste, faithless one, haste

I will hold thee fast

And keep thee till winter again!

This old song of a young Finlandic peasant girl, which we have given from the SwedishFinlandic of the poet Runeberg, Cora had sung to Axel during his last visit to Östervi, and again and again he made her sing it, both in the Swedish and Gothlandic dialect,-so much was he pleased with it. From that time Cora often sang it.

And now the seventh midsummer approached since the removal of the Norrby family to Östervi. The groves murmured as deliciously as ever; the starlings sang; the hops twined luxuriantly their rich foliage around their poles and garlanded the porch of Rosa's house; the fields were covered with brilliant Orchises. The family at Östervi prepared for midsummer festivities and midsummer games; they expected Axel, but Axel did not come.

"He was not able to come," he wrote, " because

of the serious illness of his mother."

This midsummer was not cheerful at Östervi. Neither was the summer. The Professor was more silent than usual, and Cora grew paler every day. Her mother thought she was going off in a consumption, and poor Cora was obliged every morning to take a large table-spoonful of Mrs. Carlander's "physic," which was, we believe, a decoction of seven kinds of bitter herbs, of which wormwood was the chief. But Cora did not become rosy for all that, nay, rather seemed to become ever paler.

Rosa's glance rested with penetrating, sympathising tenderness upon the young girl, whom she loved as a sister, and Cora attached herself to her at this time as to a maternal friend; she loved to sit at her feet, and, resting her head upon her knee, look up to her with her large, clear, blue eyes, as if she would seek there for light and strength. Thus would she gaze till they filled with tears; her eyelids dropped, and the tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Then Rosa would lay her hand upon the young girl's head, with its abundant masses of rich light hair, and call her tender names. Frequently, however, not a word would pass

between them, yet each perfectly understood the

other.

The summer went on; the meadows were mowed, the songs of the birds became silent, the hops were covered with rich clusters; it was now August. A thunder-cloud, as it were, seemed brooding over that pleasant home; Dora alone laughed, and sometimes more gaily than before, and then it would be at young Adolph Wester's gambols with Moppe and Misse, and at his grimaces to amuse her. But the laughter and the merriment seemed to irritate Algott, and he was less happy than formerly in-doors with his family. True it is that Algott had become a regular husbandman, and had a great deal to attend to out of the house.

One day towards the close of August, Cora was sitting in the summer-parlour, which opened into the garden. She had a number of wild flowers in her lap, and was plucking the petals, as young girls often do, from a wishing-flower, whilst she sang half aloud:

"If he came, if he came again,

He my oldest friend,

He my only friend !

Oh, I would fly with bliss

His dear mouth to kiss,

Though wolf's blood it stained;

And I would seize hold

Of his hand, though the fold
Of a viper"

Here Cora suddenly stopped, and the words died, as it were, upon her lips. She rose up, seated herself, and again rose, blushed, and then turned pale with her eyes rivetted on a form which entered by the garden door. It was Axel Norrby.

Cora made two steps forward to meet him, but her knees trembled; her sight grew dim; the colour left her cheeks, and she sank half fainting to the ground.

Axel rushed forward, raised her from the floor, carried her to a sofa, and remained on his knees beside her, whilst he held her hand between his, and addressed the tenderest epithets to her.

Cora slowly opened her eyes and fixed them upon Axel, as she seemed to waken out of a dream.

"Is it Axel?" said she; "is it really Axel? I thought that you would never come again!"