The Argosy — page 153: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

138 Under Northern Skies. “You are a born lover of the country,” returned T., ‘and delight in all her moods and variations: and that they are de- lightful I quite admit. But can you imagine what it is to be shut up here for a whole winter ; no neighbours with whom to exchange ideas ; nature all dead around you; no singing birds or flowers ; snow and ice and a searching cold that never lifts, day after day, and week after week ? You would not lke that.” “One can only imagine what is seen a ‘You only wish to imagine it,” interrupted T. with a laugh. ‘“ But I think your reason goes with me.” “Let the truth of your argument be proved before it is admitted.” “Then it will never be admitted, for you will never try it,” said T. ‘You could never stand it. At the end of a month you would fly back to the world, vowing that country life, and forest solitudes, and the whole catalogue of country charms were mere phantoms of the brain; delusions to be kept for short honeymoons, or referred back to Adam and Eve in Paradise.” ‘“ Impossible,” I persisted. ‘‘ This is one of the greatest pleasures _ anyone could experience. ‘To be driving, as we are now, through all these forest beauties ; mile after mile, passing through forest after forest, and feel that it is all your own; that you are free to destroy or to build up, and no one can let or hinder you; that all this solitude is yours to enjoy for ever, and cannot be intruded upon or broken without permission—this ought to make you feel happy as kings.” ‘Perhaps more so,” laughed T. “If we are to believe our school-books, ‘ Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’ My head is never uneasy.” “Nor your heart,” I returned, ‘‘ or that laugh belies itself. You are rejoicing in the freshness and freedom of your twenty summers.— Have you ever walked from one end to the other of your property ?” ‘Never at one time,” answered T. “It is very large. But then,” he modestly added, ‘‘Sweden is not England.” Fir cones crunched beneath our wheels, squirrels ran from tree to tree, great birds flew over our heads, wondering who thus disturbed their solitude ; trees took fantastic forms and shapes. Now an old trunk with withered branches looked like some forest gnome crouch- ing from unseen evil, and now another uprose like a tall spectre with outstretched arms working spells and incantations. At length a long, low house covering a great extent of ground came into view. <A house peculiar to Sweden, almost peculiar to itself. It was only one storey high. A portico many yards wide, was sup- ported by pillars. Round the doorway many English faces were assembled ; English voices gave welcome. It was a lonely spot, yet, like the rest of the drive, wild and solitary. One felt perfectly out of the world ; as much so as anyone could fee? in mid-ocean. ‘There was no daily postman, and all letters had to be taken to and from the train. Flowers and trees surrounded the ECOMMIECLMOOOLKS (Eve)