Then the chief, sore afraid, brought the lily-white maid
To the edge of the blood-sprinkled field,

And they bore her aloft o'er the sward of the croft,
On the vault of the glittering shield.

But amain in their path, in a whirlwind of wrath

Came young Harold, Sir Burislav's son;

With a great voice he cried, while the echoes replied:

"Lo, my vengeance, it cometh anon!"

III.

"Hark ye, Norsemen, hear great tidings: Odin, Thor and Frey are dead,
And white Christ, the strong and gentle, standeth peace-crowned in their stead.
Lo, the blood-stained day of vengeance to the ancient night is hurled,
And the dawn of Christ is beaming blessings o'er the new-born world.

"See the Cross in splendor gleaming far and wide o'er pine-clad heath,
While the flaming blade of battle slumbers in its golden sheath.
And before the lowly Savior, e'en the rider of the sea,
Sigurd, tamer of the billow, he hath bent the stubborn knee."

Now at Yule-tide sat he feasting on the shore of Drontheim fjord,
And his stalwart swains about him watched the bidding of their lord.
Huge his strength was, but his visage, it was mild and fair to see;
Ne'er old Norway, heroes' mother, bore a mightier son than he.

With her maids sat gentle Swanwhite 'neath a roof of gleaming shields,
As the rarer lily blossoms 'mid the green herbs of the fields;
To and fro their merry words flew lightly through the torch-lit room,
Like a shuttle deftly skipping through the mazes of the loom.

And the scalds with nimble fingers o'er the sounding harp-strings swept ;
Now the music moved in laughter, now with hidden woe it wept,
For they sang of Time's beginning, ere the sun the day brought forth,-
Sang as sing the ocean breezes through the pine-woods of the North,

Bolder beat the breasts of Norsemen,-when amid the tuneful din
Open sprang the heavy hall-doors, and a stranger entered in.
Tall his growth, though low he bended o'er a twisted staff of oak,
And his stalwart shape was folded in a dun, unseemly cloak.

Straight the Jarl his voice uplifted: "Hail to thee, my guest austere!
Drain with me this cup of welcome; thou shalt share our Yule-tide cheer.
Thou shalt sit next to my high-seat * e'en though lowly be thy birth,
For to-night our Lord, the Savior, came a stranger to his earth."

Up then rose the gentle Swanwhite, and her eyes with fear grew bright,
Down her dusky hall she drifted, as a shadow drifts by night.

"If my lord would hold me worthy," low she spake, "then grant me leave,
To abide between the stranger and my lord, this Christmas eve."

66

Strange, O guest, are women's council, still their folly is the staff

Upon which our wisdom leaneth," and he laughed a burly laugh;

Lifted up her lissome body with a husband's tender pride,
Kissed her brow, and placed her gently in the high-seat at his side.

* The high-seat (accent on first syllable), the Icelander hasceto, was the seat reserved for the master of

the house. It was always situated in the middle of the north wall, facing south.

But the guest stood pale and quivered, where the red flames roofward rose,
And he clenched the brimming goblet in his fingers, fierce and close,
Then he spake: "All hail, Jarl Sigurd, mightiest of the Norsemen, hail!
Ere I name to thee my tidings, I will taste thy flesh and ale."

Quoth the merry Jarl with fervor, "Courteous is thy speech and free,
While thy worn soul thou refreshest, I will sing a song to thee;
For beneath that dusky garment thou mayst hide a hero's heart,
And my hand, though stiff, hath scarcely yet unlearned the singer's art."

Then the arms so tightly folded round his neck the Jarl unclasped,
And his heart was stirred within him as the silvern strings he grasped,
But with eyes of meek entreaty, closely to his side she clung,
While his mighty soul rose upward on the billows of the song.

For he sang in tones impassioned, of the death of Æsir* bright,
Sang the song of Christ the glorious, who was born a babe to-night,
How the hosts of heaven victorious joined the anthem of his birth,
Of the kings the starlight guided from the far lands of the earth.

And anon with bodeful glamour fraught, the hurrying rhymes sped on,
As he sang the law of vengeance and the wrath forever gone,
Of grim gods with murder sated, who had laid the fair earth waste,
Who had whetted swords of Norsemen, plunged them into Norsemen's breast.

But he shook a shower of music, rippling from the silver strings,
And bright visions rose of angels and of fair and shining things,
As he sang of heaven's rejoicing at the white Christ's bloodless reign,
Glory unto God on highest, peace and good-will unto men!

But the guest sat dumb and hearkened, staring at the brimming bowl,
While the lay with mighty wing-beat swept the darkness of his soul.
For the Christ who worketh wonders as of old, so e'en to-day
Sent his angel downward gliding on the ladder of the lay.

As the host his rhyme had ended with a last resounding twang,

And within the harp's dumb chamber, murmurous echoes faintly rang;

Up then sprang the guest, and straightway downward rolled his garment dunThere stood Harold, the avenger, Burislav's undaunted son.

High he loomed above the feasters in the torch-light dim and weird,
From his eyes hot tears were streaming, sparkling in his tawny beard;
Shining in his sea-blue mantle stood he 'mid that wondering throng,
And each maiden thought him fairest, and each warrior vowed him strong.

Swift he bared his blade of battle, flung it quivering on the board,
"Lo!" he cried, "I came to bid thee baleful greeting with my sword;
Thou hast dulled the edge that never shrank from battle's fiercest test,
Now I come, as comes a brother, swordless unto brother's breast.

"With three hundred men I landed in the gloaming at thy shore,
Dost thou hear their axes clanking on their shields without thy door?
But a yearning woke within me my sweet sister's voice to hear,
To behold her face and whisper words of warning in her ear.

* Æsir is the collective name for all the Scandinavian gods.

"But I knew not of the new-born king, who holds the earth in sway,
And whose voice like fragrance blended in the soarings of thy lay.
This my vengeance now, O brother; foes as friends shall hands unite,
Teach me, thou, the wondrous tidings, and the law of Christ the white."

Touched as by an angel's glory, strangely shone Jarl Sigurd's face,
As he locked his foe, his brother, in a brotherly embrace,

And each warrior upward leaping, swung his horn with gold bedight:
"Hail to Sigurd, hail to Harold, three times hail to Christ the white!"

FOX-HUNTING IN NEW ENGLAND.

manlike to hunt before hounds an animal of such self-possession and such varied cunning, that it is continually putting its pursuers at fault, when it is sportsmanlike to hunt in like manner animals who have each, speed failing, only a trick apiece,the hare depending on its doublings to elude the dogs, the deer on running to water. The reason for this nice distinction lies, perhaps, in that deference to English usage which still exists among us. In this case it is most senseless, for even if foxhunting in English fashion were practicable IN New here, it would not be tolerated by our England farmers, who would never endure the tramand some pling of their cultivated fields and the deof the northern and middle states, the fox is hunted

or three hounds, or oftener with only one, the hunter going on foot and armed with a shot-gun or rifle, his method being to shoot the fox as it runs before the hounds. The sport is exciting, invigorating and manly, and by its votaries is esteemed the chief of field sports. The fox is proverbially the most cunning of beasts, often eluding by his tricks the most expert hunter and the truest hounds. Long walks are required, which take one over many miles of woods, hills and fields, and this in fall and winter when the air is always pure and bracing. I have noticed that many who delight to shoot the hare or the deer before the hounds, are accustomed to scoff at this sport, which indeed is generally held in contempt by those who arrogate to themselves the title of "true sportsmen." It is difficult to see wherein it is more unsports

struction of their fences by a score or more hard-riding horsemen. But it is not practicable, for no horse could possibly follow the course of the hounds and fox among our hills and mountains, where the chase often leads up declivities to be surmounted only by the stanchest and most active hounds, and through thick forests and almost impassable swamps.

In New England the hunt is for the red fox and his varieties, the silver and cross foxes, the gray fox of the south and west being almost, if not quite, unknown. From the tip of his nose to the root of his tail, the red fox measures about twenty-eight or thirty inches, his tail sixteen to eighteen inches including hair, and his height at the shoulder thirteen inches. His long fur and thick, bushy tail make him look larger and heavier than he is. Of several specimens which I have weighed, the largest tipped the beam at twelve pounds; the least at seven pounds. The general color is yellowish red, the outsides of the ears and the fronts of the legs and feet are black; the chin and usually the tip of the tail, white; and the tail darker than the body, most of its hairs

AFTER A BREAKFAST.