"You are certainly not fitted for the lot of a governess," said Raymond.

"Indeed I consider I have every necessary qualification except, perhaps, the brains ;" and Dorothea looked straight into Raymond's face with an assumption of triumphant independence, resolved that he should suspect nothing of her intense dread of this cheerless future she was painting for herself, or of her intense longing for his sympathy. But suddenly she became conscious that her eyes were revealing all that she had intended them to dissemble.

"Dorothea," said Raymond simply, "don't be a governess—be my

wife."

Dorothea was momentarily too much astonished to speak, but not so astonished as she would have expected to have been, could she have conjectured the event, when not under the mesmeric sway of Raymond's presence. At last she said (without, however, investing the words with any finality of meaning), "impossible! why, I have scarcely known you six hours. And, besides, I have vowed never to marry!"

"And I have vowed never to marry, and two negatives make an affirmative," said Raymond, with more love than logic. "Until I saw your photograph, Miss Dale, I was a confirmed bachelor, although I had come to England with the express intention of getting married. But now, I believe in the old saying, that "Marriages are made in heaven," and when God disposes, and man proposes, woman has no alternative but to say 'yes.'"

66

“But, indeed, I cannot say 'yes,'" said Dorothea resolutely, or not for a very long time first, at any rate. You must acknowledge the unreasonableness of what you ask, Mr. Gordon. We don't know each other, really, at all. Our tempers may be quite incompatible."

“I admit, it is unreasonable to ask you to utter the momentous affirmative on so short an acquaintance," said Raymond, "but to-morrow we will return to England together, and give Millicent an agreeable surprise. She will help us to a categorical knowledge of each other."

"That will be very nice," said Dorothea, without any attempt to vindicate her independence, "and Millie will help me to educate myself up to matrimony, supposing I finally decide to say yes.' I must attend Cookery Classes, read Domestic Economy, and learn the prices of Groceries. But are you really in love with me already, you imprudent man ?" she added, with a gleam of unmistakeable coquetry.

Half in jest, half in earnest, Raymond, despite an hereditary tendency to gout, had gone on his knees, and raising her hand to his lips, said— "Of course I am! Who ever loved that loved not at first sight!'"

6

C. E. B.

Lines suggested by a Scene on the Banks of the Avon at Evesham, revisited after a long absence.

I

E crumbling walls, and ancient towers,

Ye meads, and streams, and budding bowers,
Of many-gardened Evesham !

Not banks of Isis, or of Cam,

Can boast retirement suited more
For Muses' walk, and studious lore,
Than winding Avon's willowed shore.

2

Standing upon the hallowed sod,

Where once the knight and abbot trod,
How often in the years gone by,

I heard the chimes ring silverly,

Above the grassy graves;

And marked the widening shadows creep
Athwart the lawns, that gently sweep
To Avon's dreamy waves.

3

The years pass on; we older grow,
And leave the Summer's golden glow,
And travel toward the Winter snow;
But still with equal splendour blow

The woods, the fields, the flowers, as when
We saw them with the wondering ken
Of childhood: it is we who alter,

In faith, in hope, in love, we falter,

And from our darkened spirits rise
Vapours to dim the earth, and skies.

4

And here along the fringéd shore,

The quivering lights, and splendours pour,
The rich earth teems, as in the more
Impassioned, sanguine days of yore.
As in the bygone years, so now
The freshening breezes fan the brow;
The bursting sunlight blinds the eye;
The untold depths of azure sky,

The fragrance of all sister flowers,
The music from the leafy bowers,

All, all are round me, and I move

'Mid light, and peace, and joy, and love.

5

O' surely they, who here may rove,
Through sunny mead, or shady grove,
The pleasant willowed banks along,
The shining grass and flowers among ;
They surely know, if any may,

Hearts free from care, and spirits gay.

6

The sun that pours his light so free
On mead, and stream, and flower, and tree,
The waters gleaming in the light,

The grass and flowers, that shine so bright,
The radiant scene, thus fair, and calm,
Might it not pour a healing balm

On spirits passion-tost ?

Ah no such influence is there not
In the most sweet retiréd spot,

That the fair earth can boast.
The restless soul can ne'er be healed
By azure sky, or fragrant field;
Nor feel, amid such scenes, the less
Its own deep want, and wretchedness.
The innocent and pure may find
A peace and comfort to the mind,
Alone, in Nature's solitude;

But not the foul, the vain, the rude;
Such erring spirits only feel

How far they are from holy weal;
And in the realms of peace, and rest,

Are longing still, and still distrest ;

The troubled tide of thoughts unblessed
For ever surging in the breast.

COTTESWOLDE.

A Glimpse of Norway.

OT many years ago the publication of "Through Norway with a Knapsack," written by a former townsman of ours, attracted the attention of a large number of tourists to that very interesting and littlevisited country. Since then, so much has been written that a book or article seems to be the inevitable result of a visit long or short to Norway. The number of visitors, though far from large, is now increasing, and the country is rapidly becoming one of the most popular resorts of those in search of health or enjoyment. Already the presence of the English people is manifest. The best salmon rivers and the finest residential estates are in English hands, the yachts sailing or steaming about the fjords belong to the same race. In the common schools, English is taught, and the young folks are delighted when they have the opportunity of showing their knowledge of the English tongue.

Facilities for visiting Norway are easy and pleasant. The steamers leaving Hull twice a week for Bergen and other places on the Norwegian coast are well-appointed. The North Sea is at times very rough, but fair weather may be counted upon during the summer months. Should the weather be fine, it is a glorious ride, the color of the sea constantly varying, reflecting colors from the palest emerald to the deepest turquoise,

the scene becoming very animated when the steamer passes through the numerous fleets of fishing smacks in the neighbourhood of the Doggerbank.

The first sight of Norway is a surprise-the idea associated with a rock-bound coast leading one to expect majestic cliffs rising to great heights, instead of which is seen an innumerable number of small islands, many softly rounded, slightly covered with green sward, and others bare, wild, and rugged. The water in the narrow channels is so still that the reflection of the islands is perfect.

The navigation of the steamer is at times a little exciting, before the beautiful fjord upon which Stavanger is built is entered, the town is seen lying beyond a long stretch of jagged rocks; behind it, a range of curiously broken mountain peaks breaks the line of higher mountains upon which the snow lies in glittering fields. It would be hardly possible to imagine a scene in which pastoral beauty is so blended with elements of the wildest and grandest description. The town itself, numbering about 20,000 inhabitants, is a very important place, as places go in Norway. The large warehouses, and the busy appearance of the populaation give the idea of commercial prosperity, while the wide, irregular streets, quaint old painted wood houses built upon piles in and about the water, and the general up and down appearance of the place have a very picturesque effect. The houses are remarkably well built, many being very large, with handsome verandahs, wide reaching eaves, and windows gay with flowering plants. Flowers are so valued that scarcely a house or cottage is to be found without the windows being converted into a garden. The Cathedral is a fine old building, very ancient, unfortunately much restored, but the restorers have left the Norman arches untouched, and a grand pulpit of the 12th century, the carving of which is worth going a long way to see, remains. The town is not dull, neither is it very lively, there's an old world atmosphere about the place which for a time is pleasant to breathe.

From Stavanger to Bergen the distance is about 90 miles, the coast is kept, except when time can be saved by running through the fjords, which, though small, are very numerous, the panorama of lowlying islands, rugged rocks, still water with occasional glimpses of the sea is very beautiful in its ever-changing nature. To the geologist the experience will be fascinating, the softly rounded rocks, polished and smoothed by the glacier action, and the cliffs with their strong markings recall the ages long gone by, while the mountains under the shadow of which the steamer passes, composed entirely of primary rocks, present the same form as when originally solidified, and not being overlaid with more recent formation have all the charm of hoar antiquity. If the traveller is interested rather in the old world life, every island teems with interest, every bay is almost a fairy story—for these islands were once the home of the Vikings. The great stones remain that formed the temple where they met for worship, and the inlets now so silent have reechoed with the shouts of the seamen as they gathered in their boats to cross the seas for adventure or for profit. Pirates they were, but they influenced

more or less the early history of Northern Europe. Now nothing remains to tell their story but the islands where they lived, the inland seas which they made their home, and the mounds beneath which their kings and heroes, in their ships lie buried.

Happily it is not necessary that one should be either a student of science or of history to enjoy the fascinating beauty of the Norwegian coast, or its grand Fjords, for their nature is such that the most sluggish imagination is at once quickened into activity. It is impossible to resist the charm of the narrow channels running out seaward, where the Atlantic Ocean can be seen, and its murmuring heard, "toying with the shore, his wedded bride." On the other side, mountains bare and rugged rise majestically from the water's edge, or clusters of hills with occasional bright patches of pasture land appear, and well-nigh hidden among the pines quaint old farmhouses are visible, while the distance is lost in snow and ice-bound hills.

It is just when the mind is growing tired of the constant succession of these scenes of absorbing beauty, that Bergen is reached The site of Bergen is exceptionally pretty, it lies at the head of a crescent-shaped bay, surrounded by mountains rising 2,000 feet in height. In the summer time it is a very busy place, the harbour is crowded with shipping, steam or sailing, old-fashioned fishing smacks contrasting well with the splendidly-built English yachts lying at anchor; boats laden with the "treasures of the deep" are crowding in to find a market for their stores, and on every hand pleasurable excitement is witnessed.

Bergen, though one of the oldest towns in Norway, and intimately associated with its history, presents a very modern appearance, this is partly due to successive fires, and also to the fact that the houses being built of wood are constantly repainted. To find the older

portion of the town diligent search has to be made, and the results will hardly repay the trouble taken. The streets are wide, and some of the many squares are handsome; for visitors the market place will have much attraction, here boats with their living freight are crowded together, (the boats are so built that one portion forms a tank in which the fish are kept alive) Round about the market place and quay large warehouses for the curing and storing of fish are built, thousands of barrels of salted herrings wait for shipment, and immense stacks of dried fish, mostly coarse cod and ling, roughly bundled together, are ready to be sent to the Mediterranean, that the Catholics in that district may be well supplied during Lent. One feels sorry for the good people who will welcome such fare, surely a month of this diet, if they survive it, ought to atone for the sins of a life-time. Leaving the market-place and walking about the town, evidence is not wanting of general prosperity, the almost total absence of places for the sale of intoxicants is very noticeable. Now and then, in an obscure place a café is to be seen, where beer and porter, but no spirits can be obtained. It is a curious fact that the Norwegians, who a few years ago were ardent spirit drinkers, now very rarely touch spirits, and this is attributed together with the great sobriety of the people to the partial suppression