THERE was once a sculptor1, named Alfred, who having won

　　the large gold medal and obtained a travelling scholarship,

　　went to Italy, and then came back to his native land. He was

　　young at that time- indeed, he is young still, although he is

　　ten years older than he was then. On his return, he went to

　　visit one of the little towns in the island of Zealand. The

　　whole town knew who the stranger was; and one of the richest

　　men in the place gave a party in his honor, and all who were

　　of any consequence, or who possessed2 some property, were

　　invited. It was quite an event, and all the town knew of it,

　　so that it was not necessary to announce it by beat of drum.

　　Apprentice-boys, children of the poor, and even the poor

　　people themselves, stood before the house, watching the

　　lighted windows; and the watchman might easily fancy he was

　　giving a party also, there were so many people in the streets.

　　There was quite an air of festivity about it, and the house

　　was full of it; for Mr. Alfred, the sculptor, was there. He

　　talked and told anecdotes3, and every one listened to him with

　　pleasure, not unmingled with awe4; but none felt so much

　　respect for him as did the elderly widow of a naval5 officer.

　　She seemed, so far as Mr. Alfred was concerned, to be like a

　　piece of fresh blotting-paper that absorbed all he said and

　　asked for more. She was very appreciative6, and incredibly

　　ignorant- a kind of female Gaspar Hauser.

　　"I should like to see Rome," she said; "it must be a

　　lovely city, or so many foreigners would not be constantly

　　arriving there. Now, do give me a description of Rome. How

　　does the city look when you enter in at the gate?"

　　"I cannot very well describe it," said the sculptor; "but

　　you enter on a large open space, in the centre of which stands

　　an obelisk7, which is a thousand years old."

　　"An organist!" exclaimed the lady, who had never heard the

　　word 'obelisk.' Several of the guests could scarcely forbear

　　laughing, and the sculptor would have had some difficulty in

　　keeping his countenance8, but the smile on his lips faded away;

　　for he caught sight of a pair of dark-blue eyes close by the

　　side of the inquisitive9 lady. They belonged to her daughter;

　　and surely no one who had such a daughter could be silly. The

　　mother was like a fountain of questions; and the daughter, who

　　listened but never spoke10, might have passed for the beautiful

　　maid of the fountain. How charming she was! She was a study

　　for the sculptor to contemplate11, but not to converse12 with; for

　　she did not speak, or, at least, very seldom.

　　"Has the pope a great family?" inquired the lady.

　　The young man answered considerately, as if the question

　　had been a different one, "No; he does not come from a great

　　family."

　　"That is not what I asked," persisted the widow; "I mean,

　　has he a wife and children?"

　　"The pope is not allowed to marry," replied the gentleman.

　　"I don't like that," was the lady's remark.

　　She certainly might have asked more sensible questions;

　　but if she had not been allowed to say just what she liked,

　　would her daughter have been there, leaning so gracefully13 on

　　her shoulder, and looking straight before her, with a smile

　　that was almost mournful on her face?

　　Mr. Alfred again spoke of Italy, and of the glorious

　　colors in Italian scenery; the purple hills, the deep blue of

　　the Mediterranean14, the azure15 of southern skies, whose

　　brightness and glory could only be surpassed in the north by

　　the deep-blue eyes of a maiden16; and he said this with a

　　peculiar intonation17; but she who should have understood his

　　meaning looked quite unconscious of it, which also was

　　charming.

　　"Beautiful Italy!" sighed some of the guests.

　　"Oh, to travel there!" exclaimed others.

　　"Charming! Charming!" echoed from every voice.

　　"I may perhaps win a hundred thousand dollars in the

　　lottery," said the naval officer's widow; "and if I do, we

　　will travel- I and my daughter; and you, Mr. Alfred, must be

　　our guide. We can all three travel together, with one or two

　　more of our good friends." And she nodded in such a friendly

　　way at the company, that each imagined himself to be the

　　favored person who was to accompany them to Italy. "Yes, we

　　must go," she continued; "but not to those parts where there

　　are robbers. We will keep to Rome. In the public roads one is

　　always safe."

　　The daughter sighed very gently; and how much there may be

　　in a sigh, or attributed to it! The young man attributed a

　　great deal of meaning to this sigh. Those deep-blue eyes,

　　which had been lit up this evening in honor of him, must

　　conceal treasures, treasures of heart and mind, richer than

　　all the glories of Rome; and so when he left the party that

　　night, he had lost it completely to the young lady. The house

　　of the naval officer's widow was the one most constantly

　　visited by Mr. Alfred, the sculptor. It was soon understood

　　that his visits were not intended for that lady, though they

　　were the persons who kept up the conversation. He came for the

　　sake of the daughter. They called her Kaela. Her name was

　　really Karen Malena, and these two names had been contracted

　　into the one name Kaela. She was really beautiful; but some

　　said she was rather dull, and slept late of a morning.

　　"She has been accustomed to that," her mother said. "She

　　is a beauty, and they are always easily tired. She does sleep

　　rather late; but that makes her eyes so clear."

　　What power seemed to lie in the depths of those dark eyes!

　　The young man felt the truth of the proverb, "Still waters run

　　deep:" and his heart had sunk into their depths. He often

　　talked of his adventures, and the mamma was as simple and

　　eager in her questions as on the first evening they met. It

　　was a pleasure to hear Alfred describe anything. He showed

　　them colored plates of Naples, and spoke of excursions to

　　Mount Vesuvius, and the eruptions19 of fire from it. The naval

　　officer's widow had never heard of them before.

　　"Good heavens!" she exclaimed. "So that is a burning

　　mountain; but is it not very dangerous to the people who live

　　near it?"

　　"Whole cities have been destroyed," he replied; "for

　　instance, Herculaneum and Pompeii."

　　"Oh, the poor people! And you saw all that with your own

　　eyes?"

　　"No; I did not see any of the eruptions which are

　　represented in those pictures; but I will show you a sketch20 of

　　my own, which represents an eruption18 I once saw."

　　He placed a pencil sketch on the table; and mamma, who had

　　been over-powered with the appearance of the colored plates,

　　threw a glance at the pale drawing and cried in astonishment,

　　"What, did you see it throw up white fire?"

　　For a moment, Alfred's respect for Kaela's mamma underwent

　　a sudden shock, and lessened21 considerably22; but, dazzled by the

　　light which surrounded Kaela, he soon found it quite natural

　　that the old lady should have no eye for color. After all, it

　　was of very little consequence; for Kaela's mamma had the best

　　of all possessions; namely, Kaela herself.

　　Alfred and Kaela were betrothed23, which was a very natural

　　result; and the betrothal24 was announced in the newspaper of

　　the little town. Mama purchased thirty copies of the paper,

　　that she might cut out the paragraph and send it to friends

　　and acquaintances. The betrothed pair were very happy, and the

　　mother was happy too. She said it seemed like connecting

　　herself with Thorwalsden.

　　"You are a true successor of Thorwalsden," she said to

　　Alfred; and it seemed to him as if, in this instance, mamma

　　had said a clever thing. Kaela was silent; but her eyes shone,

　　her lips smiled, every movement was graceful,- in fact, she

　　was beautiful; that cannot be repeated too often. Alfred

　　decided to take a bust25 of Kaela as well as of her mother. They

　　sat to him accordingly, and saw how he moulded and formed the

　　soft clay with his fingers.

　　"I suppose it is only on our account that you perform this

　　common-place work yourself, instead of leaving it to your

　　servant to do all that sticking together."

　　"It is really necessary that I should mould the clay

　　myself," he replied.

　　"Ah, yes, you are always so polite," said mamma, with a

　　smile; and Kaela silently pressed his hand, all soiled as it

　　was with the clay.

　　Then he unfolded to them both the beauties of Nature, in

　　all her works; he pointed26 out to them how, in the scale of

　　creation, inanimate matter was inferior to animate27 nature; the

　　plant above the mineral, the animal above the plant, and man

　　above them all. He strove to show them how the beauty of the

　　mind could be displayed in the outward form, and that it was

　　the sculptor's task to seize upon that beauty of expression,

　　and produce it in his works. Kaela stood silent, but nodded in

　　approbation of what he said, while mamma-in-law made the

　　following confession:-

　　"It is difficult to follow you; but I go hobbling along

　　after you with my thoughts, though what you say makes my head

　　whirl round and round. Still I contrive28 to lay hold on some of

　　it."

　　Kaela's beauty had a firm hold on Alfred; it filled his

　　soul, and held a mastery over him. Beauty beamed from Kaela's

　　every feature, glittered in her eyes, lurked29 in the corners of

　　her mouth, and pervaded30 every movement of her agile31 fingers.

　　Alfred, the sculptor, saw this. He spoke only to her, thought

　　only of her, and the two became one; and so it may be said she

　　spoke much, for he was always talking to her; and he and she

　　were one. Such was the betrothal, and then came the wedding,

　　with bride's-maids and wedding presents, all duly mentioned in

　　the wedding speech. Mamma-in-law had set up Thorwalsden's bust

　　at the end of the table, attired32 in a dressing-gown; it was

　　her fancy that he should be a guest. Songs were sung, and

　　cheers given; for it was a gay wedding, and they were a

　　handsome pair. "Pygmalion loved his Galatea," said one of the

　　songs.

　　"Ah, that is some of your mythologies," said mamma-in-law.

　　Next day the youthful pair started for Copenhagen, where

　　they were to live; mamma-in-law accompanied them, to attend to

　　the "coarse work," as she always called the domestic

　　arrangements. Kaela looked like a doll in a doll's house, for

　　everything was bright and new, and so fine. There they sat,

　　all three; and as for Alfred, a proverb may describe his

　　position- he looked like a swan amongst the geese. The magic

　　of form had enchanted33 him; he had looked at the casket without

　　caring to inquire what it contained, and that omission34 often

　　brings the greatest unhappiness into married life. The casket

　　may be injured, the gilding35 may fall off, and then the

　　purchaser regrets his bargain.

　　In a large party it is very disagreeable to find a button

　　giving way, with no studs at hand to fall back upon; but it is

　　worse still in a large company to be conscious that your wife

　　and mother-in-law are talking nonsense, and that you cannot

　　depend upon yourself to produce a little ready wit to carry

　　off the stupidity of the whole affair.

　　The young married pair often sat together hand in hand; he

　　would talk, but she could only now and then let fall a word in

　　the same melodious36 voice, the same bell-like tones. It was a

　　mental relief when Sophy, one of her friends, came to pay them

　　a visit. Sophy was not, pretty. She was, however, quite free

　　from any physical deformity, although Kaela used to say she

　　was a little crooked37; but no eye, save an intimate

　　acquaintance, would have noticed it. She was a very sensible

　　girl, yet it never occurred to her that she might be a

　　dangerous person in such a house. Her appearance created a new

　　atmosphere in the doll's house, and air was really required,

　　they all owned that. They felt the want of a change of air,

　　and consequently the young couple and their mother travelled

　　to Italy.

　　"Thank heaven we are at home again within our own four

　　walls," said mamma-in-law and daughter both, on their return

　　after a year's absence.

　　"There is no real pleasure in travelling," said mamma; "to

　　tell the truth, it's very wearisome; I beg pardon for saying

　　so. I was soon very tired of it, although I had my children

　　with me; and, besides, it's very expensive work travelling,

　　very expensive. And all those galleries one is expected to

　　see, and the quantity of things you are obliged to run after!

　　It must be done, for very shame; you are sure to be asked when

　　you come back if you have seen everything, and will most

　　likely be told that you've omitted to see what was best worth

　　seeing of all. I got tired at last of those endless Madonnas;

　　I began to think I was turning into a Madonna myself."

　　"And then the living, mamma," said Kaela.

　　"Yes, indeed," she replied, "no such a thing as a

　　respectable meat soup- their cookery is miserable38 stuff."

　　The journey had also tired Kaela; but she was always

　　fatigued, that was the worst of it. So they sent for Sophy,

　　and she was taken into the house to reside with them, and her

　　presence there was a great advantage. Mamma-in-law

　　acknowledged that Sophy was not only a clever housewife, but

　　well-informed and accomplished39, though that could hardly be

　　expected in a person of her limited means. She was also a

　　generous-hearted, faithful girl; she showed that thoroughly

　　while Kaela lay sick, fading away. When the casket is

　　everything, the casket should be strong, or else all is over.

　　And all was over with the casket, for Kaela died.

　　"She was beautiful," said her mother; "she was quite

　　different from the beauties they call 'antiques,' for they are

　　so damaged. A beauty ought to be perfect, and Kaela was a

　　perfect beauty."

　　Alfred wept, and mamma wept, and they both wore mourning.

　　The black dress suited mamma very well, and she wore mourning

　　the longest. She had also to experience another grief in

　　seeing Alfred marry again, marry Sophy, who was nothing at all

　　to look at. "He's gone to the very extreme," said

　　mamma-in-law; "he has gone from the most beautiful to the

　　ugliest, and he has forgotten his first wife. Men have no

　　constancy. My husband was a very different man,- but then he

　　died before me."

　　"'Pygmalion loved his Galatea,' was in the song they sung

　　at my first wedding," said Alfred; "I once fell in love with a

　　beautiful statue, which awoke to life in my arms; but the

　　kindred soul, which is a gift from heaven, the angel who can

　　feel and sympathize with and elevate us, I have not found and

　　won till now. You came, Sophy, not in the glory of outward

　　beauty, though you are even fairer than is necessary. The

　　chief thing still remains40. You came to teach the sculptor that

　　his work is but dust and clay only, an outward form made of a

　　material that decays, and that what we should seek to obtain

　　is the ethereal essence of mind and spirit. Poor Kaela! our

　　life was but as a meeting by the way-side; in yonder world,

　　where we shall know each other from a union of mind, we shall

　　be but mere41 acquaintances."

　　"That was not a loving speech," said Sophy, "nor spoken

　　like a Christian42. In a future state, where there is neither

　　marrying nor giving in marriage, but where, as you say, souls

　　are attracted to each other by sympathy; there everything

　　beautiful develops itself, and is raised to a higher state of

　　existence: her soul will acquire such completeness that it may

　　harmonize with yours, even more than mine, and you will then

　　once more utter your first rapturous exclamation43 of your love,

　　'Beautiful, most beautiful!'"

　　THE END