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love. And now, upon the first morning she had reached that Fiord, she was down upon it, and there, upon the well-remembered bank she had placed herself, patiently to await the fishinghour that would bring the object of her mission upon those waters. And who was the Norwegian girl with whom she now conversed?

Margaret Franz was the pride of the village above that Fiord. She was the daughter of the farmer, or landowner, who held all those lands stretching up from its boundaries to the mountain foot. Every one liked Margaret Franz. She was so good, and then there was so much of that goodness shining out in her open features. And all the young men loved her, she was so beautiful and so gay so cheer.. ful at their feasts, so free from guile; she sang so sweetly, she danced so well, and she was so kind to all. Alas, poor Fin and Olaf loved her warmly and wildly as ever man loved a woman; and Olaf had won return-love. And ere the winter set in, Olaf and Margaret were to be wed together, and he was to live with her upon her father's land; and everything was settled, and the day named; and Olaf had gone down to Drontheim, to lay in the necessary stores for a wedding, and a winter home in Norway.

All this, with the open franknessof her nature and her nation, Margaret Franz told to the poor Fin. She told it, partly because every one knew it, and partly because she thought that grateful Lapland girl would be glad to hear that Olaf was about to be happy; she told it, because she felt proud to have a listener who knew that Olaf was good, and Olaf was brave; she told it, because her heart was full of joy, and she thought every one must participate that joy; and sure the outcast Fin, who owed her life to him, must rejoice in it too!

Now, for the first time, that poor Lapland girl felt the truth. She knew not till now she loved, but now!she felt it in the envy of Margaret which sprang up in her bosom at that

moment.

She felt it in the hot tears which rolled down her cheek, as she stooped to pluck the flowers that lay at her feet, to hide her bitter secret. She felt it in the heart-sinking which made her wish she was beneath those waters again, and no Olaf near to rescue her. But to bear and suffer was the destiny of her race, and she knew it, and she must endure it. Still it came so suddenly upon her, that though she knew she durst never hope that Norway Olaf would wed Lapland Una, she never thought of it at all till now, and now it was all, all upon her ; now she understood herself-she saw it all. Slowly, as the tears dried off, she raised her head, and looking into the sunny and happy face before her, said

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"Then you will give him," said the Fin, and her measured words were scarcely audible-"you will give him the present I have made for him;" and she placed the gloves in Margaret's hands. "Tell him the Lapland girl he saved made them for him! Tell him she never forgot to pray, and give cakes to Nipen, as Norway men do, that he might be good to Olaf. Tell him," said she, and her bosom swelled as she spoke, "that if you do make him happy-and oh, you willthat it was Una's prayers to Nipen that got you for him.' And the hot tears rolled down again, but she brushed them aside, and rushing up the declivity, was speedily out of sight.

Margaret looked after her she was puzzled what to think. She never dreamed of an outcast Fin loving Olaf. And then these Fins were so wild; they partook so much of the preternatural; their manners were so strange, that Margaret thought no more of it, save that she stored up the grateful creature's gloves in her own bosom for Olaf, and casting her light oars into the water, she was again afloat for her business up the Fiord.

CHAPTER II.

AND at length Olaf has returned from been completed, and the Saturday's Drontheim. All his preparations have first feast is over,† and the Sabbath

Sweet and richly-seasoned cakes are left out at night, in Norway, for Nipen

to eat.

↑ Wedding feasts commence on Saturday-the ceremony on Sunday.

morn has opened with its glorious light, and the waters are calm, the trees green, and the boats are all assembled, that are to carry that bridal party to the parish church. And the waters are smooth, as is to be the life of that young bride and bridegroom. Now

the oars strike into the water, and the three boats are off from the bank. The first carries Margaret, and her female friends and relatives, and they are dressed in gay attire, and Margaret is all in white, and upon her head she wears a gilt crown, Norwegian emblem of a virgin bride. Her eyes are laughing, and gay eyes are answering their meaning looks. At the head of that first boat sit two youths with pan-pipes, playing their sweetest music, all arms have laid down their oars to listen to that music, a light sail has been unfurled to catch the favouring breeze, and all are happy there-happy as though life had no ills in the future.

Within the second boat sits Olaf; he handles no oar now, and around him sit his friends and relatives, and some of them carry fiddles, and some carry the rifle, wherewith the Norway peasant is found to be expert in killing wolves and cock; and the third boat carries more friends, and one of them has a drum, and around them are piled the wedding presents of numerous friends, making a store of winter food and clothing-the kegs of spiced-meat puddings, the dried fish, the frozen venison, the cock of the north, the ptarmigan, and the hare, the cloaks and shawls of fur, the cloth, woven in domestic looms, and the various articles of furniture; and nearly all are the gifts of those loving Olaf and Margaret the food from the hands of fair kinswomen-the clothes and furniture wrought by the skill of brother-peasants and brother-boatmen. How beautifully illustrative of the generous and simple habits of this natural people! And as the boats moved onward for the Church, now the pandean-pipe pours out its music, and woman's voice goes with it, and then the drum peals out its louder joy, and presently the music ceases, and the rifles are dicharged along the water, and the distant echoes reiterate their discharge, again and again. And these rough men, with their large slouched hats and tightened

Early Norwegian history.

jerkins, and long knives, stuck in at their waists, and reaching down to their large water-boots, are all joyous, too, and they sing in loud and spirited cho rus their national anthem of "For Norge ;" and then, as its chorus dies upon the waters, the rifles are again discharged. Then some old Norseman, whose age precludes his singing, but who is venerable in his knowledge of the historic records of his country; who,wending back intoprimitive times, can recount the Saga, which he now recites with the energy of younger days-the Saga of many a noble "seaking," who carried war and conquest down into England, and off far southwho gave Norway laws, and made her name ring, a thing of terror upon southern ears. How intently that national people regard his historic tales, and thank their aged historian when he ends. And then the flasks of cornwhiskey, and the fiery potato-spirit, and the birch-tree wine, are handed round, and the toast of "Gamlé Norge" is drank with an enthusiasm becoming the sons of that mountain, snow-clad land. Oh, it is a happy scene!—and when a pause comes in their joyous music, the tinkling of bells can be heard upon these waters, from the vil lage church, where the clergyman awaits their coming.

Nearer and nearer they make for that village; and already Margaret's boat, lightest made and lightest filled, strikes a-head of the others, and bids fair to win in this bridal race to reach the church. And now the rough jest is thrown by his male companions to Olaf

"His bride and her bright crown are fleeing from him."

"His lazy boat had best pull hard, or she will be to the church and wed to his rival before he can reach her."

And Olaf looks serious, not because his honest nature disrelishes the joke, but his seaman's knowledge has looked a-head, and dark clouds are rolling down from behind that pinewood forest, and the gathering shadows portend that, ere the evening closes, the storm-demon may screech over those calm waters. He shouts to Margaret's boat to have her sail lowered, and to work with their oars. But that boat is too far a-head to hear, or

"Old Norway.

else the laughter and the music aboard of it drowns Olaf's voice, which blends and dies away with the surrounding echoes. His comrades have lowered their sails, and pull their oars lustily to gain upon the maiden's boat, and still the jest goes round; but Olaf does not heed it: his whole attention seems fastened upon that cloud, and that treasure-freighted boat which still skims those waters like a spirit of living beauty. It may be but the fears of an anxious bridegroom; but Olaf has lived upon these waters, and tossed upon them in many storm, and from his boyhood has been schooled to see it coming, to prepare for it, and to fight it; and his friends grow serious as they mark the anxiety depicted upon his face. A wild anxiety-and now, without a word from the foremost rower, he has seized the oars, and pulls with an energy and force that he alone is capable of.

"Aye, there goes Olaf-none other than he could do that," cries many a voice.

He shouts again, and vainly shouts, while the crimson blood distends his fea. tures,and the veins are swollen like cords in his sinewy arms, as, with renewed efforts, he seeks to reach that fated boat.

He

A few heavy drops patter upon the water; a low, murmuring sound, now swelling louder, gains upon the ear. Olaf has cast down his oars; he leans from the head of the boat; his whole strength seems gathered into one wild shout a shout of fearful energy. That shout is heard. Margaret has heard it, and turns to look upon him. The sailor-boys fly to furl the sail; but, oh! it is all too late. Olaf has looked his last on Margaret. caught the last glance of her sunny eyes. From that open in the siderocks, as from the mouth of a cannon, the storm-cloud has burst upon the waters, and burst at the moment the boat was beneath its power; the storm had fastened upon its sail, and, with the rapidity of a lightning-flash, the boat was cast upon its side, and with its inmates went down for ever from the surface of that Fiord! One short cry-a feeble and a startled cry -from that sinking boat, and then the heavy splash, and the waters were for a moment troubled, then rippled in circling eddies around the grave of the Bride of the Fiord!

VOL. XXXII.-NO, CXC.

It went down full of life and beauty, full of joy and hope-hope that was pressing into future times, and carrying happy years. And this is life! Alas! the uncertain life-the dreamy thing of blasted wishes and drowned hopes, to which we all so fondly cling.

Olaf made no plunge into the water to seek for Margaret; the power to do so had passed away with that moment of intense mental agony. It was too much for his simple nature; he had lost the object of his life, and with the loss, reason had fled for ever.

As that boat went down, his companions raised the short, quick cry of men who are horrified. A moment's cry-a shout of terror. Is it echo?— that shrill, and rapid, but prolonged scream-that comes from yonder rock? The boatmen look at Olaf, and at each other, and speak not as they listen. Poor Olaf, he hears it not, or heeds it not; that fatuous and vacant stare of his, it hath no intelligence, no consciousness. And now their eyes follow in the direction of that unearthly screaming, and there, her head uncovered, her long black hair and wildskin dress floating like banners in the wind, wringing her hands with a passionate motion, stands "Una." And the boatmen are seized with a sudden awe, and marvel-"It is all her doing." And some will have it she is the wooddemon, for no Norseman ever saw the water-demon; and some recognise her as a Lapland girl, whose evil eye or wish has done it all.

ture.

How superstition wrongs our naPoor, hapless, broken-hearted Una. She who had prayed so constantly to Nipen to make Olaf and Margaret happy. She, too, who had beside her the presents, efforts of her skilful needlework, to cast to Margaret as she passed. She who had come down, for she knew the day and watched the day, with a bleeding heart, but a heart full of gratitude, to see her benefactor and his bride upon the day that was to give them joy, though it brought worse than death to her. She who would have poured out her life for that young couple, was now regarded with a fearful awe by those simple boatmen, who, in their hearts, charged her with it all. She knew it, and she durst not come down-durst not speak to them. For a few moments longer there she stood, her

21

scream responded to by the affrighted sea-birds it aroused from their restingplaces. The ripple died away—the storm passed as rapidly as it camebut that boat or its inmates was never given back to the surface. And as the boatmen knelt in prayer around the senseless Olaf, and over the young bride's watery grave, the Fin darted up the heights, and disappeared from all eyes.

It was a strange destiny, though, to a highly-superstitious people, easily explainable, that those three true hearts should perish thus-for perish is a word as applicable to those that lived, as to her's that died. Her's had ceased its warm palpitations, and slept beneath the ocean. One, the man's, still worked, but it urged the stream of life through the frame of a senseless idiot. And she who fled, she had life, and she had reason still, but her simple heart had broken. There is no literal truth in the expression, "broken heart"-but it is figuratively true of that state wherein grief has poured the full measure of her poison, through the blood of life, and thenceforth all life-things are shadowy, all appetite for pleasure dies, and enjoyments pall, and are painful on the senses, which, though they still exist, yet but endure life.

Years after the sad event we have described, the lunatic asylum of Chris. tiania gave refuge and protection to one, whose manly form and handsome features ill-accorded with the vacant expression of a countenance, whose dim eyes fell meaningless upon all surrounding objects. He sat upon a low stool, and every now and then, his closed hands, as though grasping oars, went up and down with a uniform rowing motion-and, at times, his breath came quick, and his motions became more rapid. He never spoke,

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unless when spoken to-and then, the one response was given to all questions, Hush, the storm is coming, and we must be quick, or she goes down." But, beyond this, he had no language, no mind, no thought. It would seem as if the event which drove poor reason from her citadel, effected its purpose just at the instant of time when one all-absorbing thought monopolised his whole mind. That one thought survived the wreck of intellect, but it was all that remained.

And the superintendent who showed that institution, shook his head feelingly, as he regarded him, and said: "For years he has never spoken but those words." Beside that hopeless idiot tended a female, who, though dressed in Norwegian stuff, displayed features that seemed to have come from some other clime. Her dark hair and eyes, and sallow skin, and peculiar outline of feature, and delicately-moulded frame, were not of Norwegian cast. She was evidently of foreign blood. But there was in her sad and gentle kindness a something more than that of a mere servant this was evident even in the very tones of her voice, as she occasionally sought to quiet the tiresome motions of his frame, or, as a nurse tends a child, offered him some food. Her gentleness, her sadly sympathetic manner might have been that of a sister, but there was no blood, no resembling link between them." She tends him," said the superintendent, "like a sister or a daughter-she followed him here, and became a servant, without reward, in return for permission to be about him, and to feed him. She is of a bad race, no doubt-but she is all kindness to him; and one would not expect to find such nature in a poor Fin."

C

A DAY IN THE HEBRIDES.

Ar this season of relaxation from business, pleasure trips are as eagerly sought for as were the mines of El Dorado in the times of Raleigh. While the Highland mountains are traversed by sportsmen, the lochs and glens are swarming thick with tourists, who, being shut out from the Continent for reasons too obvious to require explanation, are glad to recompense themselves for their disappointment, by penetrating the picturesque wilds of ancient Caledonia. In these sequestered regions, foreigners are now as abundant as grouse, and the traveller cannot eat or sleep at a rural inn without hearing around him the jabber of unknown tongues. To this throng of pleasurehunting tourists, it fell to my lot, some weeks ago, to add a couple of units, including myself and a fellow-passenger. Perhaps the multitudinous readers of the Dublin, will do me the honour to recollect, that last year, at this very season, I endeavoured, in the character of a gleaner in the Queen's wake, to contribute a few pages for their amusement. Having again revisited many of the same charming localities, and pushed my excursions farther among the famed western Cyclades of Scotland, perhaps it may not be unacceptable to them to hear the remainder of my topographical journal -left, like the story of Cambuscan, "half told "—taking up the narrative at the spot where we parted-the ancient fortress that terminates the great central glen, with its chain of lakes and rivers forming the Caledonian Canal.

Fort William is a small, dull markettown, with few traces of business about it, and little to excite or reward the traveller's curiosity. The fortress, from which it takes its name, was erected in the reign of William III., on the site of a former one, constructed by General Monk, which was then called the Garrison of Inverlochy. It is situated on the upper extremity of Loch Linnhe, which here makes a detour to the westward, and changes its name to Loch Eil. The fortress is of a triangular form, defended by a ditch and a glacis,

The bar

and a few pieces of cannon. racks have no great amount of accommodation, and for lack of military occupants, whose duties here must be very light, the rooms are partly let out to private families.

Fort William has no pretensions as a military stronghold, although it resisted the attempt made upon it by the Highlanders in 1715; and again, in 1746, it withstood a siege by Prince Charles's army, which was forced to retreat, with considerable loss. The fort, when first built by General Monk, was constructed of turf, and its erection met with determined resistance from some of the native chiefs, who regarded it as intended to be a restraint and unwarrantable infringement upon their feudal privileges. Among the fiercest and most formidable of these opponents, was Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel, of whose life a strange passage in connexion with this matter is recorded by Pennant, an amusing old tourist who visited these localities above seventy years ago. The anecdote is long, but worthy of abridgement, as a curious trait of the ferocious and daring manners of the times.

When Cromwell had overawed the North of Scotland, in the expedition of 1652, all the Highland chieftains had, one after another, made their peace with the conqueror, except Sir Ewen. He had at first joined the Covenanters, having been brought up under the auspices of the famous Marquis of Argyle, who was beheaded after the Restoration. But he afterwards abandoned the Presbyterians, and tendered his services to the king, who honoured him with a letter, addressed to "our trusty and well-beloved the Laird of Lochiel," inviting him and his clan "to arm themselves for relief of their country and sovereign." Monk, then the Republican general, left no means untried to bribe him into submission. His offers were so tempting, that many of Lochiel's friends advised him to accept them; but their importunities were in vain. At length, Monk, finding all his proposals rejected, determined upon constructing a

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