'Certainly, I never saw a better ordered | the very best dish upon earth! a dish that I store-room.' Susanna would allow no gleam of the pleasure which this commendation gave her, to appear. 'But,' continued Harold, 'you must allow that it requires no great skill to keep store-room and cellar well provided in a country so rich in all the goods of life as our Norway, 'Beloved land! with thy sky-reaching hills, Thy fertile vales and fish-abounding shores!' might call a truly Christian dish!' 'And I should call it a heathenish dish, that no true Christian could eat.' It has been eaten, from time immemorial, by the free Norwegians, in the beautiful valleys of Norway.' 'That proves that your free Norwegians are still heathens.' 'I can prove to you that the Norwegians were a Christian people before the Swedes. 'You may prove it as much as you will, 'We have fish in Sweden, too, thank God,' but I shall not believe it.' answered Susanna. 'Oh, but not to be compared to ours. Or will you seriously think of putting your perch and carp in comparison with our mackerel, herrings, haddocks, flounders, and all the innumerable host of our fishes?' 'I would give all your Norwegian fishes for one good Swedish pike.' 'Pike? Are there really nothing but pike in Sweden!' 'In Sweden there are all kinds of fish that there are in Norway, and much larger and fatter.' 1 'Well, then, they are caught on your coasts. We take what we want of them, and let the rest swim down to Sweden, so that they may have some there too. But I forget that I am going out myself to fish, and will catch large fishes, and small fishes, and all sorts of fishes. Adieu, Miss Susanna, I will soon come back with fish.' 'You had better stay with your Norwegian fishes,' called Susanna after him. But Harold did not stay with the fishes, for the next morning we find him accompanying Susanna into the DAIRY. 'I see we are to have onion-milk for dinner to-day, one of our choicest national dishes.' 'Uh! It is enough to make one stupid and sleepy only to think of your national dishes. And still more horrible than your onion-milk is that shocking dish, barley soup, with little herrings.' 'Barley soup with little herrings! What! 'But I will show it to you in print.' 'Then I am certain it must be a misprint.' Harold laughed, and said something about the impossibility of arguing with a Swedish woman. Should any one wish to know how it happens that Harold is so continually found in Susanna's company, in the brew-house, in the garret, in the milk-room, we can only say, that he must be a great lover of beer, flour and milk, or of a certain seasoning, in the every-day soup of life, called teazing. Fru Astrid breakfasted always in her own room, but dined with Susanna and Harold, and saw them also for a short time in the evening. At dinner the strife between Norway and Sweden often broke out, for the smallest occasion was sufficient to make the Burgomaster's daughter throw herself blindly into the contest for her father-land; and, strangely enough, it seemed at times to give Fru Astrid herself pleasure to animate the strife by such questions as, 'I should like to know whether the cauliflower is best in Norway or in Sweden?' or 'I should like to know whether wheat grows best in Norway or in Sweden?' 'Certainly in Norway,' would Harold say. 'Most decidedly in Sweden,' would Susanna exclaim; and vegetables and fish, and coins and weights and measures, were in this manner talked of and disputed about. Of the wheat in Norway, Susanna said, 'I have not seen upon the whole estate a single sheaf to compare with those I have seen in shine would steal into the room, rest upon Sweden?' 'That is because,' said Harold, 'you never saw good wheat before you came here.' Of the Norwegian weights Susanna said, 'I never know what I am about, with your puzzling, troublesome Norwegian weights.' 'They are heavier than the Swedish,' said Harold. When Susanna was most zealous and most angry-then-shocking to relateHarold would laugh right heartily, and even the pale countenance of the lady Astrid was lighted for a moment by a faint smile, but it was like a beam of sunshine in a dark November sky, which breaks forth only to hide itself again behind the clouds. the pillow, and kiss her little curly head. How roguish was the little one, when Susanna came in, late in the evening, and her first look fell on the bed of her darling! She saw her not-for Hulda drew her little head under the covering, to conceal herself from her sister. Susanna would pretend to look for her, but she had only to say, in an anx ious voice, 'Where, oh where, is my little Hulda,' to lure out the head of the little one, to see her outstretched arms, and hear her call, 'Here I am, Sanna, here is your little Hulda!' In thinking of these hours, Susanna's tears would often flow, and hindered her from seeing the moistened eyes with which Harold often listened to her relations. Harold, too, had his stories; truly not of so tender a nature, but still interesting enough to command Susanna's whole attention, and to merit that we should devote to them a new chapter. EVENING HOURS. AND on the height still stands the ancient stone, VELHAVEN. It never once occurred to Susanna, on these occasions, to curb the Barbara-spirit. She considered it a holy duty thus to defend her father-land. But not always did the spirit of discord rule over Harold and Susanna. At times that of peace alighted near them, but always as a timid dove, ever ready to take flight. When Susanna spoke of that which lay nearest to her heart, of her love for her little sister, of her recollections of their former companionship, of the longing she felt to see her again, and to devote herself to her, as a mother to her child; then would Harold listen quietly and attentively. No mocking word or look disturbed these pure images in Susanna's soul. And how glowingly would Susanna describe the beauty of the little Hulda. the sweet, white delicate child-her soft blue eyes, her little white teeth, the clear sunshine which, when she laughed, beamed over her whole face, and the golden locks which curled so beautifully round her forehead and neck; the little delicate hands; and then her disposition, her heart, so gay, so good, so loving. Oh, she was, in truth, an angel of God! She describ-ghosts and transformations. The 'great chauled to Harold the little room in which she had dwelt with her Hulda, and which she had transformed from an old lumber-room into a pretty chamber. She described to him the carpet the work of her own hands- the bed of the little Hulda, hung with blue muslin curtains; and how, in the morning, a ray of sun HAROLD related willingly, and related well; a happy gift, which is met with among all classes in Norway, women as well as men; and which they appear to have inherited from their forefathers the Scalds ;-he was besides well versed in the wonders and legends of the mountain regions. And it is from these mountain regions that the fairest flowers of poetry in Norway have sprung, as if from her heart. The times of the Sagas and of hea thenism have left here their giant traces. River and mountain have their traditions of drons * rise over the graves of champions who have here met in combat and have fall *The name given in many parts of Norway and Sweden to large stones, hollowed out, as some believe, by the hand of man, and used by the ancient Scandinavians in their sacrifices. Geologists, however, are of opinion, that they have been shaped by the action of the waters, which must once have covered the greater part of Scandinavia. en. From Hallingdale went forth the national dance, the Hallinger, and only the Hardanger-Fela (Hardanger violin) can rightly give out its wild, strange rhythm. Most beautiful are the flowers that have come down to us as mementos of the early Christian times; and the eternal snow, on the summit of the loftiest mountain, is not more imperishable han these tender roses at its foot. So long as Gausta stands, and the Riukan sends forth its thunder-song, will the memory of MariStien live, and its tales of joy and sorrow be related. So long as the ice sea guards its dark secrets, so long will the little island be green, whose turf has been watered by the tears of faithful love. When the work of the day was over, and Fru Astrid had retired to her chamber, it was a great pleasure to Harold to read or relate stories to Susanna, while she sat knitting, or her spinning-wheel hummed in gay rivalry with those of Larina and Karina; while the flame of the fire danced on the hearth, and threw its warm, cheerful gleams over the group. It delighted Harold to have Susanna for a listener, to hear her exclamations of childish terror and astonishment, or her hearty laugh, or to see her tears as she listened to his now merry, now sorrowful recitals. Susanna's feelings were deeply moved by the story of Mari-Stien, this path over the mountain on the brink of the precipice of the Riukan, which even at this day the traveller treads with fear, and which was discovered by a young maiden, strong in the courage of love. It was by this path that the beautiful Mary of Westfiordale went with light, fearless step to meet the friend of her childhood, Ejstein Halfoordsen. But the avarice of her father separated them, and Mary's tears and prayers prevailed upon her lover to fly, to escape the plot formed by a treacherous rival against his life. Years passed, and Mary was firm in her constancy. Her father died; Ejstein had by his valor and nobleness made his former enemy his friend; and after their long separation the lovers were to meet again, never more to be parted. Ejstein hastened by the shortest way, over the Mari Stien to meet his beloved. Long had she watched for him. She saw him coming, and his name burst from her with a joyful cry. He saw her-stretched his arms eagerly towards her, as his soul rushed to meet her, and forgot that he had not wings - he fell and the Riukan whirled him into its foaming depths. For many years after this, a pale form, in whose beautiful eyes a quiet madness spoke, wandered daily on the Mari-Stien, and seemed to talk with some one in the abyss below. She ever returned from her wanderings with a mournful pleasure in her eyes, and said, 'I have spoken with him, and he begged me to come every day and tell him that I live. It were wrong to deny him this, he is so good, and loves me so truly.' Thus she went till silver hair floated round her wrinkled cheeks; thus she went till a merciful voice summoned her to joy and rest in the arms of her beloved. Less mournful, but not less charming to Susanna, was the old Saga of Halgrim. Stormannadauen (the Black Death) had raged through Norway, and swept away more than two thirds of its inhabitants, desolating wide tracts of country and populous districts. In the valley of Ulwig, in Hardanger, a young peasant, named Halgrim, alone remained alive. He rose from the sick bed on which he lay, surrounded by the dead, and went forth to seek for living men. It was spring-the larks sang loudly in the clear, blue air-the birch trees had clothed themselves in fresh green; the river, with its melting snow-reefs, wandered singing down the mountain no plough furrowed the now loosened soil. No horn, calling the cattle home, was to be heard from the heights. All was still and dead in the dwellings of men. Halgrim went from valley to valley, from hut to hut. Death met him every where ; every where he recognized the bodies of his former friends. Then he began to believe that he was alone upon earth; despair seized his soul, and he resolved that he too would die. But as he was in the act of throwing himself from a rock, his faithful dog sprang up the cliff to his side, caressed him and ex pressed his anguish by the most plaintive moans. Halgrim drew back from the brink of the precipice; he embraced his dog, his tears flowed, and despair dwelt no longer in his heart. He began his wanderings anew. The memory of love led him to the parish of Gravers, where he had first seen Hildegunda and won her love. It was evening, and the sun was going down, when Halgrim descended into the valley, where all was still, and dead, as in those through which he had already passed. Dark stood the pine trees in the black shadow of the wall of rock, and silently the river glided by its deserted banks. On the other side of the river a little wooded point of land ran out into the blue waves, and the last rays of the sun rested on the green tops of the birch trees. Suddenly it seemed to Halgrim that a faint wreath of smoke rose over the thicket. But he dared not trust his eyes. He stood fixed and breathless it was only for a moment a blue pillar of smoke rose slowly in the calm evening air. With a cry of joy Halgrim rushed forward, waded through the stream, and soon stood on the opposite bank. Barking and whining, the dog ran before him to the hut from which the smoke was rising. On the hearth burned a clear fire, and at the door stood a young maiden- one cry of inexpressible joy, and Halgrim and Hildegunda were in each other's arms. Hildegunda too was the only one alive in her valley after the fearful visit of the Black Death. On the following day they went to the church to be united, but there was no priest to marry them, no one to witness the plighting of their faith; they stood together before the altar of God, and gave one another their hands, while Halgrim said, in a solemn voice, 'In the name of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!' And God blessed the union entered upon in his name. From this fortunate pair sprang a race who repeopled the desolated region, and to this day, the names of Halgrim and Hildegunda are in use among the inhabitants of these valleys. By Harold was Susanna also made acquainted with the ancient kings of Norway; with the deeds of Olof Haraldsen,4 the Bloodbaptizer, with those of the herioc Olof Tryggvason, and heard with admiration of king Sverre, with the little body, and the great, kingly soul. It gratified also her womanly pride to see women acting so distinguished a part in the ancient history of Norway. She heard with delight of the proud Gida, whose ambition sent forth to conquest the fair-haired Harold, the first monarch who held all Norway under his sway. And though the deeds of Gunilda, 'the king's mother,' excited her horror, yet it gave her pleasure too, to see a woman, by the supremacy of her mind, governing seven kings, and influencing the destinies of a nation. The civil wars offered still darker pictures, when blood-storm after blood-storm hurried through the land, and, at length, bore down her freedom in their frantic rage. Now the wild strawberry blooms among the wrecks of former cities, and over the blood-drenched fields wave golden harvests. A milder race now treads the soil of Eric the Bloody, looking forward to a bright and hopeful future, yet still listening delighted in its peaceful valleys to the strange, wild traditions of the olden time. A constant subject of discussion and dispute between Harold and Susanna was their lady, the pale Fru Astrid. Whenever the conversation was of her, Harold's face assumed a very serious expression, and to Susanna's urgent entreaties, that he would tell what he knew of her, he would only reply, ' She must have known many misfortunes.' But when Susanna overwhelmed him with questions in regard to these misfortunes, in what they consisted, whether there were any way in which one could help her. to do this, Susanna would have traversed the whole earth- then Harold began to relate a story. Tales of women, who have been distinguished and powerful in their valleys, are not uncommon in Norway. We read of a lady of Hallingdale, who was so magnificent, that she was drawn by elks. We hear, CHRISTMAS. We read, too, the story of Eldhjerna, who, in grief for the crimes of her seven sons, renounced the world, and retired to a lonely therefore does the earth rejoice in his coming. valley, where she endeavored, by alms and fasting, to expiate the crimes of her children. But for the story that Harold related to Susanna concerning the Lady Astrid, its like had never been heard in the valleys of Norway. It contained so many strange and terrible events, that the credulous Susanna, becoming every moment paler and paler, was chilled with horror; but just at the most terrible part of the catastrophe, a sudden suspicion would cross her mind, that her terrors were wasted upon a mere fiction. And when she expressed her suspicion, and Harold's face and hearty laugh confirmed it, she would start up, and leave him, with the assurance that she would never ask him another question, would never believe another word he said. THE sun will warm and illumine the whole earth, This lasted-till- the next time. Then, if Harold promised to tell the truth - the exact pure truth, then would Susanna allow herself to be again deceived, would again listen, turn pale and weep, till the increasing wonders of the story once more awakened her distrust, which she would again express, and again Barbara would start up, scold, threaten, shut the door violently behind her, and Harold again—would laugh. On one point, however, Harold and Susanna were entirely united both served their lady with the warmest zealand this, without their being themselves conscious of it, made them daily esteem each other the more; but this increased esteem had no effect in allaying the fierceness of the war which they waged in behalf of their respective countries. GOD be praised for the sun! So many friends, so many pleasures desert us in our wanderings through this earthly life- but the sun remains ever true to us, and lightens and warms us from the cradle to the grave. It is the sun that unites Christians and heathens in a common worship, while it lifts the hearts of both to Him by whom the sun was created. The highest festivals, both of Christianity and of northern heathenism, take place at that time of the year when the sun is newly born for the earth, and nature revives under his power. This festival time is celebrated with great zeal and many interesting observances in the Scandinavian countries. Not in the houses of the rich alone does the fire glow and the mirth of children resound; from the meanest hut issue sounds of joy, light visits even the prisons, and the poorest taste of plenty. In the country the doors stand open; the hearth and the table are free to every wanderer. In many parts of Norway, no traveller is allowed to pay for food or lodging at the inns. At this season, earth seems to feel the truth of the heavenly words, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive. Not to man alone, but to animals also does Christmas bring pleasure. All the inhabitants of the farmyard, all the house animals, share in its festivities; and the birds of heaven rejoice too, for on every shed are raised high poles, on the top of which, rich sheafs of oats invite them to the feast. Even the poorest day |