And bidden all with magic wand,
Assume fantastic shapes; there grew
Great pines, from which long hoary beards
Hung down, as I have seen them hang
At home from old men's faces, when
The rich warm flush of youthful strength,
And steadier heat of manhood's prime,
Have fled; and the blood chilled by the
Touch of time's winter, thickens and
Grows sluggish towards its final stop;
Long-bearded thus they grew; their stems
Ablaze with yellow light, where flamed
The brightest lichens, such as ne'er
I saw before, in any land:

While all the earth was pure and white,

In garments of new fallen snow;

And on the rocks and old gnarled trunks, Were strange weird faces, peeping out And grinning as we passed, as if

Indeed they wished 'twere night, and they

Could punish us by fear and fright

For ever coming there; then on

Till in a narrow defile, where

Both right and left the rocks still rose,
We gained our topmost point; and then
I looked and looked, then turned away,
Then looked again; while in my heart
The old sharp pain woke up, and lived
And moved and held its sway awhile :
A moment's halt we had, (driver

Busy with his horses, or some

Small, petty, yet engrossing care.)

While I gazed down the golden length

Of a great sunlit picture; drawn

By the same hand which framed, and still With an Almighty strength upholds

All nature; passing fair it was.

There reared her fifteen thousand feet

The great mount Shasta, into air,

Clear, blue, transparent; till I thought

Her snowy peaks had gone so far

That they were walls and gates of heaven;

And that the weary round of sin
And strife and struggle here below,
That daily task which ever comes

To all men, might by one upward
Climb be ended; that as I rose,
Some sweetest note of endless song
Might thrill down rugged Shasta's side
And rouse the lagging footsteps; if
Gross flesh weighed lighter spirit down;
That rising thus, from off the eye
All earthly scales must fall, and it
With clear far-reaching glance would see
Deep into the great mystery

Of heaven, and never more to earth
Would look then as I turned, I saw
A death before me; one so glad,
So bright, so happy; telling me
Of th' all embracing care that leaves
No single spot on earth unloved;
And here in brightest warmest light
Had so enwrapped the leaves and shrubs
That dying as they were, they smiled
For very gladness; and they fell
All-glorious, glowing, brilliant,
Into an euthanasia

Such as an angel might befit,
If immortality could die ;

A death as some pure maiden dies,

When GOD has called her soon in life;

And in the last few moments, ere
The spirit floats away, there comes

A gladsome look upon her face;

When weeping mourners see shine forth

The righteousness within, lit up

By a reflection from on high;

And awestruck, wondering, cease their tears.

Why is the purest joy like grief?

Why does it hold the heart, and bid

The eyes rain tears? is it that joy
When altogether pure, and by

No single touch of earth defiled,
Comes straight from GOD, is heavenly?

And by its very purity

Inflicts some wound on sinful flesh

Which still surrounds the flesh, nor bears

Unharmed, polluted as it is,

Close contact with the things of GOD,

But in rebellion rises quick,

O'erclouding all? I cannot tell,
But in my heart great sadness rose ;
I thought, well never mind my thoughts,
They matter only now to me;

A harsh voice grated on my ear,
Our driver spoke; he was a man
Of rude exterior, rough and wild
As any mountain bear, yet kind
Deep down below; a man whose cheek
The sun had tried to kiss ofttimes,
And in despair and wrath had left
A stain deep printed, ruddy brown
As acorn is, when on the oak
It quivers to its headlong fall :
I should not care to anger him,
For he was strong and free of hand,
And on that hand was blood; (he said
'Twas shed in self-defence ;) in speech
He was audacious, for himself
Alone he lived; and none he feared
In heaven above, or earth below,
Except his wife; of her he spoke,
And at that distance speaking, dared
Full jokingly to tell, he was
Impulsive, born, bred, fostered in
Scenes of great and desperate hazard,
And on that mountain side our fate
Seemed that day gathered in his hand;
In western tongue he spoke, and said,
"Hullo, old hoss, what's this? by gum!
Why, bet your boots, your crying, sure.'
«Εκὼν ἀέκοντί γε θυμῷ.”

SCANDINAVIAN SKETCHES.

HAVING travelled much in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark, I think an occasional note from the record of my wanderings in those countries may be acceptable to the readers of this periodical, but I can only give them in somewhat fragmentary form, as a busy man has little time to keep a regular journal-from the excursions of one summer I however glean the following.

Desiring to see a Swedish Farm, I took the opportunity of a holiday-Whitsun Monday, called here the second Pentecost day-to visit a large farm about a dozen miles from Malmö; I was personally unknown to the proprietor Herr Inspector Jönsson, (i.e. steward or bailiff,) and took the liberty of paying the visit only on account of being acquainted with one of his daughters, one of the most amiable and gentle girls I have ever met. I was, however, received with the utmost possible hospitality, one after another the numerous members of the family came with frankness and cordiality to salute the stranger. And although the fact of my being a foreigner was a matter of great curiosity, to the younger members especially, native politeness caused them to conceal any appearance of wonder at my manners or language. Fru Jönsson, having come to bid me welcome, slipped out of the room after a minute or two, for, as I was unexpected, their early dinner was over, but without saying a word an excellent meal was served in a few minutes. The most remarkable point in a genuine Swedish dinner is, that soup is the last instead of the first dish. When, however, as is often the case, it is made of prunes, cherries, plums or other fruit, it has somewhat the appearance of a dessert. Very general, also, is the custom of drinking a small brandy glass of Bränvin before dinner and supper; Bränvin is whiskey, but far more palatable than either Scotch or Irish whiskey. Immediately after dinner, we drank a cup of coffee. After walking awhile in the garden or rather pleasure grounds, I was taken to see the cow houses, stables, and other arrangements of the farm. Good order and cleanliness prevailed everywhere; the cows stood face to face in two long rows, separated by a raised platform on which was a railway for the waggon that carried a supply of food for the herd. The farm house was but one story high, but very long, looking like a row of cottages in a country village, except that there were but two doors. There were two rooms in the width of the house; the ceiling was low, but the rooms were by no means small; one indeed, being the whole width of the house, was really large. As passages are here almost unknown, every room communicates literally with every other, there is also another door between every back and front room. The young ladies and their governess vied with each other, in their anxiety to amuse the foreigner by their performances on the piano and otherwise. The shyness of Peter, the youngest child, and at the same time his wish to see the outlandish Englishman, was very amusing; for some time he would not venture into the room, only peeping in

when he thought I was talking, and would not perceive him. I was urged to pass the night with them, but other engagements prevented my doing so. Supper, therefore, was made ready about 7 o'clock, I thought the table extremely neatly laid, with its home-made, very white tablecloth and napkins. On the farm, flax is grown, spun, woven and bleached for the family use, both for napery and for dress. In the centre of the table stood the decanter of Bränvin with glasses round it, then plates shaped as segments of a circle, so that they could be laid close to each other as a circle round the decanter. These contained the various supper dishes, cut in slices where necessary. Grace was said (or almost sung) by the youngest child capable of doing it, all standing. Only myself and my host sat at table, the rest sat or stood anywhere about the room. Every one helped himself without ceremony to what he chose. The meal was finished with tea which is seldom used in Sweden, though coffee is very largely consumed. Late in the evening, the hospitality of this amiable Swedish family was completed by one of the young gentlemen driving me home in their phaeton. Hospitality towards strangers seems indeed to be a very general and pleasing trait in the character of the Swedes.

Soon after this visit I was obliged to go to Copenhagen, and while there I devoted myself to a special survey of the churches in Copenhagen.

Not reckoning the chapel of an order of nuns, there is but one church which, as one learns from the sign above the door, is sacred to CHRIST the Redeemer, unless one adds the chapel of the English Embassy. The Church of the Redeemer is a quasi classical building of no pretensions whatever, unless one should except the west front, or what is as nearly west as the direction of the street has permitted. The most, however, is made of the inside. The chancel is a semicircular apse; in the centre, above the high altar, is painted the Redeemer sitting on a throne in Judgment, and bearing His cross, the sign of redemption; on either side sit the twelve Apostles, His coassessors, "judging the twelve tribes of Israel." Above Him is "the Ancient of Days," the Eternal FATHER, and between these the HOLY GHOST in the form of a Dove. In a lower row are seven saints, viz., the Blessed Virgin Mary on a throne; on her right hand stand SS. Ansgarius, Canute Duke and Martyr, and Ketillus Provost of Viborg; on her left SS. Canute King and Martyr, William Abbat of Eskilda, and Birgitta, widow. All these figures are larger than life, the glorias (which are all correctly painted) of the Apostles have the names of each