INDEX TO VOLUME CL. . . . 478 707 2 102 C . Ants, Intelligence of 640 703 292 209 227 345 359 377 • 753 256 506 In Trust, 332, 395, 463, 542, 593, 665, 719, 790 359 822 Islam, The Future of Illyrian Capital, An Ancient 85 JAPANESE Bride, A. 447 734 248 Lafayette Family, The : 749 259 285, 418 MATTIE: the History of an Evening, 41 159 232 707 NATURE, The Unity of 131 29 195 239 Overestimated, The Grievance of being: 756 323 445 PEPYS, Samuel of 639 682 752 757 768 637 345 67 643 Richelieu, Risano, 371 489 SHUT-UP Houses, The 95 571 Stratford, Lord, and the Crimean War, 170, 556 . . . . Small Squires, The, of a Century Since, 188 | Tunis, 308 319 424, 741 451 424, 741 Tourgenieff, Ivan, Sketches and Remi. 438 692 771 489 131 148 508 771 95 809 383 505 809 820 . . How She Told a Lie, 209 Mattie : the History of an Evening, Mere Chatter, . Shut-up Houses, The I. ON SOME NATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS OF II. THE FRERES. By Mrs. Alexander, author of IV. MATTIE: THE HISTORY OF AN EVENING, Blackwood's Magazine, . . 29 NORWEGIAN SONNETS. IV. THE CLIMB FROM VALLE. I. UP THE SKAGER RACK. rills; V. II. air; To Norroway, to Norroway, STEEP was the climb from Vallë : far below The sæter * we had left lay lost in mist, wist Beyond the ravings of the Otteraa.t And now a thin bleak air began to blow, And now the bispevei | to turn and twist, Far on the left, like a huge brown sea-beast Here round a tjern no summer ever kissed, That had been chased and was o'ertaken now, Stolen on by night, lay Norway. From the And there behind a hide of hoarded snow. The stars dissolved anon; and airy trills prow Of wavering music showed the day begun : A hissing of salt spray that still increased Rose plainly audible — for the gale had We toiled to meet the morn-o'er rocks, o'er ceased And, breathless but at last, our wish we And the keel cut the sea-plain like a plough. won — And so with only a ripple on the sea, And ne'er a storm-cloud o'er us muttering The top! and, lo, a countless herd of hills black, Tossing their shining muzzles in the sun! We voyaged with an easy course and free And — disappointing, now on looking back; For the old sagas make the surges flee “PAA HEJA :” Life on the Heights. Like riderless horses up the Skager Rack ! Is there a pleasure can with this compare ? To leap at sunrise from your mountain bed, Roused by a skylark revelling overhead, And drink great draughts of golden morning THE SCENERY -GO AND SEE IT! AND speak ye may of grandeur and of gloom plunge, and breakfast — simple rural fare ; And all the dread magnificence that lies Then forth with vigorous brain, elastic tread, Where through the dale the foam-flecked Hope singing at your heart o'er sorrow dead, torrent Aies, And strength for fifty miles, and still to spare ! Or gorgeous sunsets o'er the mountains bloom. That joy was ours! O memory! oft restore us But who shall in the sonnet's scanty room Those autumn runs, here in the smoky town, Set the majestic magnitude, the size, When through the woods our mad nomadic The mighty mountains and the widening chorus skies Rang freedom up and civilization down! And cannot know from others : nature still THE MOUNTAIN LAUREATE. MORNING is flashing from a glorious sun But, once received, it ne'er can cease to On the broad shoulders of the giant fells thrill. That outreach arms across the narrow dells And form a silent brotherhood of one Listening their skylark laureate! New begun He up the heavens in ever-rising swells A TERROR OF THE TWILIGHT. Carries their thanksgiving in song that wells Far in Norwegian solitudes we strayed : From his small breast as if 'twould ne'er be Behind us lay a long bright summer day, done. But evening now was stooping o'er our way, What life his music gives them! They are free When, at a sudden turn, alarmed we stayed. In the wild freedom of his daring wing; And in the cataract of his song, the sea Of poetry that fills all heaven, they sing ; Of sunset's one live liberated ray He is their poet-prophet in his glee, Piercing the horror of the pine-wood shade. And in his work and worth their priest and Stood, like a charred cross, or a huge sword. king! hilt, J. LOGIE ROBERTSON. Against the sky, above the cliff's black line, Blackwood's Magazine. That seemed a bastion by Harfager built, A solitary thunder-blasted pine ; * Mountain farm. On the dark flood below, the sunset spilt † Pronounced Ottero. What now was blood and now was wassail. I Bridle-path. wine. § Mountain lake, tarn. VI. III. |