“Calm autumn skies were o’er them and the sea Swelled in unwrinkled glass: they scarcely knew How sped the voyage until Lindesnaes, At first a cloud, stood fast and spread away To flanking capes, with gaps of blue between; Then rose, and showed, above the precipice, The firs of Norway climbing thick and high To wilder crests that made the inland gloom. In front, the sprinkled skerries pierced the wave; Between then, slowly glided in and out The tawny sails, while houses low and red Hailed their return or sent them fearless forth. ‘This is thy Norway, Lars; it looks like thee,’ Said Ruth: ‘it has a forehead firm and bold: It sets its foot below the reach of storms, Yet hides, methinks, in each retiring vale, Delight in toil, contentment, love, and peace.’” “‘To starboard, yonder lies the isle As I described it; here, upon our lee Is mainland all, and there the Nid comes down, The timber-shouldering Nid, from endless woods And wilder valleys where scant grain is grown. Now bend your glances as my finger points,— Lo, there it is, the spire of Apendal.’” Arrangements had been made with his intimate German friend, whom he first met in Egypt, and in whom Mr. Taylor then took such a deep interest, to meet him at the hotel in Christiania, from which place they purposed to start on a trip overland through Norway to Drontheim, and from that city by steamer to the northern capes of Norway, where the summer sun did not rise or set. Another “sacred triad” was formed—one German and two Americans—equally fortunate and equally pleasant with the former triad in Egypt. Their course lay through the rugged and drear landscape of Southern Norway, and at the time they made their journey the sky was overcast and the air loaded with moisture, giving every bleak cliff a bleaker appearance, and every barren waste a gloomier aspect. With all his poetical nature, Mr. Taylor did not find much to admire on his way to Drontheim. His sympathy was aroused for the poor farmers who dwell in such a solitude as seemed to envelop the land, and he was glad when the gleams of the river announced their approach to Drontheim. From Drontheim they sailed by the Hammerfest line on the 18th of July, following the coast so noted for its fantastic crags and startling cliffs. The coast scenery from Drontheim to Hammerfest is unquestionably the most broken and grand in the world. Its black towers, enormous arches, gigantic peaks, and resounding caverns excel anything in the way of sombre grandeur that travellers elsewhere have described. As they approached the Arctic Circle the mountains became capped with snow, and chilly winds blew off the land, and the days became so long that the evening and the morning succeeded each other with but an intervening twilight. Gradually the midnights grew brighter until, as they proceeded round the North Cape, the sun shone in all its splendor throughout the twenty-four hours.