theRE was once a sculptor， named Alfred，who having won the large gold medal and obtained atravelling scholarship， went to Italy， and then cameback to his native land. He was young at that time-indeed， he is young still， although he is ten yearsolder than he was then. On his return， he went tovisit one of the little towns in the island of Zealand.The whole town knew who the stranger was; andone of the richest men in the place gave a party in his honor， and all who were of anyconsequence， or who possessed some property， were invited. It was quite an event， andall the town knew of it， so that it was not necessary to announce it by beat of drum.Apprentice-boys， children of the poor， and even the poor people themselves， stood beforethe house， watching the lighted windows; and the watchman might easily fancy he was givinga party also， there were so many people in the streets. There was quite an air of festivityabout it， and the house was full of it; for Mr. Alfred， the sculptor， was there. He talkedand told anecdotes， and every one listened to him with pleasure， not unmingled with awe;but none felt so much respect for him as did the elderly widow of a naval officer. She seemed，so far as Mr. Alfred was concerned， to be like a piece of fresh blotting-paper that absorbedall he said and asked for more. She was very appreciative， and incredibly ignorant—a kind offemale Gaspar Hauser.
“I should like to see Rome，” she said; “it must be a lovely city， or so many foreignerswould not be constantly arriving there. Now， do give me a description of Rome. How doesthe city look when you enter in at the gate?”
“I cannot very well describe it，” said the sculptor; “but you enter on a large openspace， in the centre of which stands an obelisk， which is a thousand years old.”
“An organist!” exclaimed the lady， who had never heard the word 'obelisk.' Several of theguests could scarcely forbear laughing， and the sculptor would have had some difficulty inkeeping his countenance， but the smile on his lips faded away; for he caught sight of a pairof dark-blue eyes close by the side of the inquisitive lady. They belonged to her daughter;and surely no one who had such a daughter could be silly. The mother was like a fountain ofquestions; and the daughter， who listened but never spoke， might have passed for thebeautiful maid of the fountain. How charming she was! She was a study for the sculptor tocontemplate， but not to converse with; for she did not speak， or， at least， very seldom.
“Has the pope a GREat family?” inquired the lady.
the young man answered considerately， as if the question had been a different one， “No; he does not come from a GREat family.”
“That is not what I asked，” persisted the widow; “I mean， has he a wife and children?”
“the pope is not allowed to marry，” replied the gentleman.
“I don't like that，” was the lady's remark.
She certainly might have asked more sensible questions; but if she had not been allowedto say just what she liked， would her daughter have been there， leaning so gracefully on hershoulder， and looking straight before her， with a smile that was almost mournful on herface?
Mr. Alfred again spoke of Italy， and of the glorious colors in Italian scenery; the purplehills， the deep blue of the Mediterranean， the azure of southern skies， whose brightness andglory could only be surpassed in the north by the deep-blue eyes of a maiden; and he saidthis with a peculiar intonation; but she who should have understood his meaning looked quiteunconscious of it， which also was charming.
“Beautiful Italy!” sighed some of the guests.
“Oh， to travel there!” exclaimed others.
“Charming! Charming!” echoed from every voice.
“I may perhaps win a hundred thousand dollars in the lottery，” said the naval officer'swidow; “and if I do， we will travel—I and my daughter; and you， Mr. Alfred， must be ourguide. We can all three travel together， with one or two more of our good friends.” And shenodded in such a friendly way at the company， that each imagined himself to be the favoredperson who was to accompany them to Italy. “Yes， we must go，” she continued; “but notto those parts where there are robbers. We will keep to Rome. In the public roads one is alwayssafe.”
the daughter sighed very gently; and how much there may be in a sigh， or attributed toit! The young man attributed a GREat deal of meaning to this sigh. Those deep-blue eyes，which had been lit up this evening in honor of him， must conceal treasures， treasures ofheart and mind， richer than all the glories of Rome; and so when he left the party that night，he had lost it completely to the young lady. The house of the naval officer's widow was the onemost constantly visited by Mr. Alfred， the sculptor. It was soon understood that his visitswere not intended for that lady， though they were the persons who kept up theconversation. He came for the sake of the daughter. They called her Kala. Her name was reallyKaren Malena， and these two names had been contracted into the one name Kala. She wasreally beautiful; but some said she was rather dull， and slept late of a morning.
“She has been accustomed to that，” her mother said. “She is a beauty， and they arealways easily tired. She does sleep rather late; but that makes her eyes so clear.”