sudden crack, and, withal, a good deal of young frank fire. Now there
is much finish and the least possible suspicion of ennui. But the
life-history of _Lars_ is worth reading. It is a calm procession of
pictures, without pretence, except the slight pretence of classical
correctness. The first part, which reflects Norwegian manners in a way
reminding us more or less of the exquisite stories of Bjornsen, tells
how two swains of Ulvik, Lars the hunter and Per the fisher, quarrel
for love of Brita, and at a public wrestling decide the question by a
combat, fighting with knives, in Norse fashion, while hooked to each
other at the belt. They strip, _a la_ Heenan and Sayers. Mr. Taylor,
who does not often come behind the occasion when he can get a human
figure to describe statue-wise or under a studio light, is perhaps a
trifle too Phidian in bringing out the good looks of his fish-eating
gladiators:

The low daylight clad
Their forms with awful fairness, beauty now
Of life, so warm and ripe and glorious, yet
So near the beauty terrible of Death.

Lars, the victor, has all the ill-luck. His foe falls lifeless, his
sweetheart calls him a murderer, and he flies from the law. Another
scene quickly shows him crossing the broad ocean, as so many
Norwegians and Swedes had crossed before him, and seeking the
protection of Swedish forts on Delaware banks. Long, sad days pass on
the ocean,

Till shining fisher-sails
Came, stars of land that rose before the land;

and soon he leaps to shore in New Sweden, only to find that the
civilization he seeks has set like a sinking planet into the abiding
enlightenment of another race and creed. Governor Printz's fortress
on Tinicum isle is a ruin of yellow bricks: the wanderer strays up the
broad stream

To where, upon her hill, fair Wilmington
Looks to the river over marshy weeds.
He saw the low brick church with stunted tower,
The portal-arches, ivied now and old,
And passed the gate: lo! there the ancient stones
Bore Norland names and dear familiar words!
It seemed the dead a comfort spake.

The governor is a myth, the Swedes are dead, the Scandinavian tongues
have been changed to English, and an English exactly conformed to King
James's translation of the Scriptures. The first girl he speaks to
checks him for addressing her with a civility:

"Nay," she said, "not _lady_! call me Ruth."

With the father of thi