e flowers exhale
perfume: it is as if incense again streamed through the aisles of the
church--it shines around the altar as if the consecrated tapers were
lighted--it is a sunbeam through the window.

The sky without has become clear: we drive again in under Cleven, the
barren side of Kinnakulla: it is a rocky wall, different from almost
all the others. The red stone blocks lie, strata on strata, forming
fortifications with embrasures, projecting wings and round towers; but
shaken, split and fallen in ruins--it is an architectural fantastic
freak of nature. A brook falls gushing down from one of the highest
points of the Cleven, and drives a little mill. It looks like a
plaything which the mountain sprite had placed there and forgotten.

Large masses of fallen stone blocks lie dispersed round about; nature
has spread them in the forms of carved cornices. The most significant
way of describing Kinnakulla's rocky wall is to call it the ruins of a
mile-long Hindostanee temple: these rocks might be easily transformed
by the hammer into sacred places like the Ghaut mountains at Ellara.
If a Brahmin were to come to Kinnakulla's rocky wall, he would
recognise the temple of Cailasa, and find in the clefts and crevices
whole representations from Ramagena and Mahabharata. If one should
then speak to him in a sort of gibberish--no matter what, only that,
by the help of Brockhaus's "Conversation-Lexicon" one might mingle
therein the names of some of the Indian spectacles:--Sakantala,
Vikramerivati, Uttaram Ramatscheritram, &c.--the Brahmin would be
completely mystified, and write in his note-book: "Kinnakulla is the
remains of a temple, like those we have in Ellara; and the inhabitants
themselves know the most considerable works in our oldest Sanscrit
literature, and speak in an extremely spiritual manner about them."
But no Brahmin comes to the high rocky walls--not to speak of the
company from the steam-boat, who are already far over the lake Venern.
They have seen wood-crowned Kinnakulla, Sweden's hanging gardens--and
we also have now seen them.

GRANDMOTHER.

* * * * *

Grandmother is so old, she has so many wrinkles, and her hair is quite
white; but her eyes! they shine like two stars, nay, they are much
finer--they are so mild, so blissful to look into. And then she knows
the most amusing stories, and she has a gown with large, large flowers
on it, and it is of such thick silk that