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we will now leave Madame Folette, home-baked bread, the family
breakfast, and the morning sun, and seat ourselves at the evening lamp,
by the light of which Elise is writing.
TO CECILIA.
I must give you portraits of all my little flock of children; who now,
having enjoyed their evening meal, are laid to rest upon their soft
pillows. Ah! if I had only a really good portrait--I mean a painted
one--of my Henrik, my first-born, my summer child, as I call
him--because he was born on a Midsummer-day, in the summer hours
both of my life and my fortune; but only the pencil of a Correggio
could represent those beautiful, kind, blue eyes, those golden locks, that
loving mouth, and that countenance all so perfectly pure and beautiful!
Goodness and joyfulness beam out from his whole being; even
although his buoyant animal life, which seldom allows his arms or legs
to be quiet, often expresses itself in not the most graceful manner. My
eleven-years-old boy is, alas! very--his father says--very unmanageable.
Still, notwithstanding all this wildness, he is possessed of a deep and
restless fund of sentiment, which makes me often tremble for his future
happiness. God defend my darling, my summer child, my only son! Oh,
how dear he is to me! Ernst warns me often of too partial an affection
for this child; and on that very account will I now pass on from portrait
No. 1 to
No. 2.--Behold then the little Queen-bee, our eldest daughter, just
turned ten years; and you will see a grave, fair girl, not handsome, but
with a round, sensible face; from which I hope, by degrees, to remove a

certain ill-tempered expression. She is uncommonly industrious, silent
and orderly, and kind towards her younger sisters, although very much
disposed to lecture them; nor will she allow any opportunity to pass in
which her importance as "eldest sister" is not observed; on which
account the little ones give her the titles of "Your Majesty" and "Mrs.
Judge." The little Louise appears to me one of those who will always be
still and sure; and who, on this account, will go fortunately though the
world.
No. 3.--People say that my little nine-years-old Eva will be very like
her mother. I hope it will prove a really splendid fac-simile. See, then, a
little, soft, round-about figure, which, amid laughter and merriment,
rolls hither and thither lightly and nimbly, with an ever-varying
physiognomy, which is rather plain than handsome, although lit up by a
pair of beautiful, kind, dark-blue eyes. Quickly moved to sorrow,
quickly excited to joy; good-hearted, flattering, confection-loving,
pleased with new and handsome clothes, and with dolls and play;
greatly beloved too by brothers and sisters, as well as by all the
servants; the best friend and playfellow, too, of her brother. Such is
little Eva.
No. 4.--Nos. 3 and 4 ought not properly to come together. Poor
Leonore had a sickly childhood, and this rather, I believe, than nature,
has given to her an unsteady and violent temper, and has unhappily
sown the seeds of envy towards her more fortunate sisters. She is not
deficient in deep feeling, but the understanding is sluggish, and it is
extremely difficult for her to learn anything. All this promises no
pleasure; rather the very opposite. The expression of her mouth, even in
the uncomfortable time of teething, seemed to speak, "Let me be
quiet!" It is hardly possible that she can be other than plain, but, with
God's help, I hope to make her good and happy.
"My beloved, plain child!" say I sometimes to her as I clasp her
tenderly in my arms, for I would willingly reconcile her early to her
fate.
No. 5.--But whatever will fate do with the nose of my Petrea? This
nose is at present the most remarkable thing about her little person; and

if it were not so large, she really would be a pretty child. We hope,
however, that it will moderate itself in her growth.
Petrea is a little lively girl, with a turn for almost everything, whether
good or bad; curious and restless is she, and beyond measure full of
failings; she has a dangerous desire to make herself observed, and to
excite an interest. Her activity shows itself in destructiveness; yet she is
good-hearted and most generous. In every kind of foolery she is a most
willing ally with Henrik and Eva, whenever they will grant her so much
favour; and if these three be heard whispering together, one may be
quite sure that some roguery or other is on foot. There exists already,
however, so much unquiet in her, that I fear her whole life will be such;
but I will early teach her to turn herself to that which can change unrest