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into rest.
No. 6.--And now to the pet child of the house--to the youngest, the
loveliest, the so-called "little one"--to her who with her white hands
puts the sugar into her father's and mother's cup--the coffee without that
would not taste good--to her whose little bed is not yet removed from
the chamber of the parents, and who, every morning, creeping out of
her own bed, lays her bright curly little head on her father's shoulder
and sleeps again.
Could you only see the little two-years-old Gabriele, with her large,
serious brown eyes; her refined, somewhat pale, but indescribably
lovely countenance; her bewitching little gestures; you would be just as
much taken with her as the rest are,--you would find it difficult, as we
all do, not to spoil her. She is a quiet little child, but very unlike her
eldest sister. A predominating characteristic of Gabriele is love of the
beautiful; she shows a decided aversion to what is ugly and
inconvenient, and as decided a love for what is attractive. A most
winning little gentility in appearance and manners, has occasioned the
brother and sisters to call her in sport "the little young lady," or "the
little princess." Henrik is really in love with his little sister, kisses her
small white hands with devotion, and in return she loves him with her
whole heart. Towards the others she is very often somewhat ungracious;
and our good friend the Assessor calls her frequently "the little gracious

one," and frequently also "the little ungracious one," but then he has for
her especially so many names; my wish is that in the end she may
deserve the surname of "the amiable."
Peace be with my young ones! There is not one of them which is not
possessed of the material of peculiar virtue and excellence, and yet not
also at the same time of the seed of some dangerous vice, which may
ruin the good growth of God in them. May the endeavours both of their
father and me be blessed in training these plants of heaven aright! But
ah! the education of children is no easy thing, and all the many works
on that subject which I have studied appear to me, whether the fault be
in me or in them I cannot tell, but small helps. Ah! I often find no other
means than to clasp the child tenderly in my arms, and to weep bitterly
over it, or else to kiss it in the fulness of my joy; and it often has
appeared to me that such moments are not without their influence.
I endeavour as much as possible not to scold. I know how perpetually
scolding crushes the free spirit and the innocent joyousness of
childhood; and I sincerely believe that if one will only sedulously
cultivate what is good in character, and make in all instances what is
good visible and attractive, the bad will by degrees fall away of itself.
I sing a great deal to my children. They are brought up with songs; for I
wished early, as it were, to bathe their souls in harmony. Several of
them, especially my first-born and Eva, are regular little enthusiasts in
music; and every evening, as soon as twilight comes on, the children
throng about me, and then I sit down to the piano, and either
accompany myself, or play to little songs which they themselves sing.
It is my Henrik's reward, when he has been very good for the whole
day, that I should sit by his bed, and sing to him till he sleeps. He says
that he then has such beautiful dreams. We often sit and talk for an hour
instead, and I delight myself sincerely in his active and pure soul.
When he lays out his great plans for his future life, he ends thus:--"And
when I am grown up a man, and have my own house, then, mother,
thou shalt come and live with me, and I will keep so many maids to
wait on thee, and thou shalt have so many flowers, and everything that
thou art fond of, and shalt live just like a queen; only of an evening,

when I go to bed, thou shalt sit beside me and sing me to sleep; wilt
thou not?" Often too, when in the midst of his plans for the future and
my songs, he has dropped asleep, I remain sitting still by the bed with
my heart full to overflowing with joy and pride in this angel. Ernst
declares that I spoil him. Ah, perhaps I do, but nevertheless it is a fact
that I earnestly endeavour not to do so. After all, I can say of every one
of my children what a friend of mine said of hers, that they