In the
villages I everywhere saw preparations for Sunday; and I passed by a
little car loaded with rye, that presented, for the pencil and
heart, the sweetest picture of a harvest home I had ever beheld. A
little girl was mounted a-straddle on a shaggy horse, brandishing a
stick over its head; the father was walking at the side of the car
with a child in his arms, who must have come to meet him with
tottering steps; the little creature was stretching out its arms to
cling round his neck; and a boy, just above petticoats, was
labouring hard with a fork behind to keep the sheaves from falling.
My eyes followed them to the cottage, and an involuntary sigh
whispered to my heart that I envied the mother, much as I dislike
cooking, who was preparing their pottage. I was returning to my
babe, who may never experience a father's care or tenderness. The
bosom that nurtured her heaved with a pang at the thought which only
an unhappy mother could feel.
Adieu!
LETTER XVII.
I was unwilling to leave Gothenburg without visiting Trolhaettae. I
wished not only to see the cascade, but to observe the progress of
the stupendous attempt to form a canal through the rocks, to the
extent of an English mile and a half.
