es
Italy upon the New-England autumn night. He tells the tale of "The
Falcon of Sir Federigo," from the "Decameron." It is an exquisite poem.
So charming is the manner, that the "Decameron," so rendered into
English, would acquire a new renown, and the public of to-day would
understand the fame of Boccaccio.

But the theologian hears with other ears, and declares that the old
Italian tales

"Are either trifling, dull, or lewd."

The student will not argue. He says only,--

"Nor were it grateful to forget
That from these reservoirs and tanks
Even imperial Shakespeare drew
His Moor of Venice and the Jew,
And Romeo and Juliet,
And many a famous comedy."

After a longer pause, the Spanish Jew from Alieant begins "a story in
the Talmud old," "The Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi." This is followed after
the interlude by the Sicilian's tale, "King Robert of Sicily," a noble
legend of the Church, whose moral is humility. It is told in a broad,
stately measure, and with consummate simplicity and skill. The attention
is not distracted for a moment from the story, which monks might tell in
the still cloisters of a Sicilian convent, and every American child hear
with interest and delight.

"And then the blue-eyed Norseman told.
A Saga of the days of old."

It is the Saga of King Olaf, and is much the longest tale in the volume,
recounting the effort to plant Christianity in Norway by the sword of
the King. In every variety of measure, heroic, elegiac, lyrical, the
wild old Scandinavian tradition is told. Even readers who may be at
first repelled by legends almost beyond modern human sympathy cannot
escape the most musical persuasion of the poem which wafts them along
those icy seas.

"And King Olaf heard the cry,
Saw the red light in the sky,
Laid his hand upon his sword,
As he leaned upon the railing,
And his ships went sailing, sailing
Northward into Drontheim fiord.

* * * * *

"Trained for either camp or court,
Skilful in each manly sport,
Young and beautiful and tall;
Art of warfare, craft of chases,
Swimming, stating, snow-shoe races,
Excellent alike at all."

There is no continuous thread of story in the Saga, but each fragment of
the whole is complete in itself, a separate poem. The traditions are
fierce and wild. The waves dash in them, the winds moan and shriek.
There are evanescent glimps