driven up, or in some dense fog had missed the three hundred years. Frobisher led the way that the people had been wrecked and van- M'Clintock, completing Franklin's spoiled by the natives, by whom it was con- work, has closed it, for a time. We have jectured might be used the sundry-colored flagge for a policie to bring others within their given our readers a brief sketch of the danger. The resolution of the party was im- first Arctic trilogy. It ends, for the time, mediately taken. They determined to recover in disappointment and confusion. As far the same ensign, if it were so, from the base as its immediate object was concerned, people, or else to lose their lives, and all to- like all the rest, it failed. But I venture gether. But, in the end, they discerned them to think that it ended in a high success, to be their countrymen, and then they deemed if the daring and hardihood of her sons them to have lost their ships, and so to be is the glory of a country, her chief defense gathered together for their better strength.' in war, her sinew of strength in an honorOn the other hand, the companie ashoare feared that the captaine, having lost his ship, able peace. In this school many of the came to seek forth the fleete for his reliefe in men were trained whose nimble and darhis poor pinnesse, so that their extremities ing seamanship bewildered and outcaused eche partie to suspect the worst.' Un- maneuvered the most renowned captains der these circumstances, Captain Best took the of Spain at England's Salamis. Frobisher, precaution which prudence dictated. On near- Fenton, Best, the heroes of these expediing the shore, he 'commanded his boate caretions, were all there, foremost among the fully to be kepte aflote, lest, in their necessitie, they might winne the same from him, and seeke champions of England and the Gospel. first to save themselves; for every man, in that Victors in such a strife as I have endeacase, is next himself.' But no strife, he ob- vored to picture, to them it was but serves, followed the meeting of the two parties. merry sport, "a morris dance on the On the contrary, unbounded delight predomi- waters," to scatter and shatter the grandnated. They haled one another according to est armada which Europe has ever sent the manner of the sea, and demanded, What forth on the seas, and to challenge for cheer? and either party answered the other, that All was well; whereupon there was a sud England that naval supremacy which has den and joyful outshoute, with greate flinging never yet been disputed by an equal, and up of caps, and a brave voly of shotte, to wel- never will be-let them build ships as come one another. And truly,' it is observed, they like-while the world endures. One 'it was a most strange case to see how joyfull broad feature in the history of Arctic and gladde every partie was to see themselves enterprise is the pious and God-fearing meete in safety againe, after so strange and in-character of the men who have made credible dangers: yet, to be short,' the narrator devoutly remarks, as their dangers were greate, so their God was greater.'" The poor pinnace came to grief on the way home. She foundered at sea almost the moment after Captain Best and the adventurous crew who had embarked in her were received safely and joyfully on board. The other ships met with an abundant share of the special difficulties and dangers with which recent narratives of Arctic discovery have made us familiar. There is a dreary monotony of danger and suffering in the records of Arctic navigation, which stretch through near themselves its heroes. There is here a grand and almost unbroken unity from Frobisher to Franklin. Bibles, and books which may be the companions of godly men, are the most notable of the relics of our gallant countrymen which bestrew those dreary regions; and I extract from the sailing orders of Frobisher's squadron, Article eight, which contains the watchword: "If any man in the fleet come up in the night, and hale his fellow, he shall give him the watchword, 'Before the world was God; the other shall answer him, if one of ours, that 'after God came Christ, his Son." " From the Dublin University Magazine. VONVED THE DANE-COUNT OF ELSINORE.* CHAPTER V. THE PAINTER OF SVENDBORG CASTLE. of the old castle-an offer which Bertel Rovsing very gratefully accepted. And thus it was that the young man soon became locally known and spoken of as "The Painter of Svendborg Castle." AT the south-eastern extremity of the large and fertile Danish island of Funen One of the rooms in the old castle is situated the little port of Svendborg, a might be termed especially the studio and pleasant old town of about four thousand home of Bertel Rovsing. It was long, population, cosily nestled on the shore of narrow, and lofty, with groined ceiling, a fine semi-circular bay, across the en- and lighted by a mullioned window look. trance to which lie two long, low, narrowing close down on the sea. Internally it islets, respectively called Thoro and Taasinge. Two or three years prior to the time of this narrative, a young, wandering artist, who called himself Bertel Rovsing, came to Svendborg, where he lingered month after month, supporting himself by obtaining occasional employment as a portrait-painter. He appeared to be a poor, friendless, solitary man, but little or nothing was known of his prior history and connections, for he replied with much reserve and evasion to any question concerning them. Nevertheless, he was liked by the people who had any intercourse with him, for he was, albeit melancholy and eccentric, unquestionably a gentleman in the true sense of the word, and highly gifted in his profession. Some little distance to the south of the town there is a spit of land which projects into the sea, forming a sort of natural breakwater in that direction. On the rocky extremity of this promontory the Barons of Svendborg in olden time built a magnificent castle, now a mass of picturesque ruins, majestic even in decay and desolation; only two or three rooms are yet habitable. It happened that the steward of the then Baron of Svendborg, when on a visit to the town, heard of the poor stranger artist, and of his remarkable talent as a po trait-painter; and being a kind-hearted man, not only employed him to paint his (the worthy steward's) semblance on canvas, but also gave him permission to occupy, rent-free, the aforesaid habitable rooms * Continued from page 549. was an antique, dreamy place, profusely decorated with many a quaint and characteristic article. Here were real booksnot mere ghosts of volumes, like those of to-day-but tomes of mighty size, embodying the life-labors of Thoughtsmen ; old rusty swords, which had doubtless performed doughty service in their time; hemlets, breastplates, gauntlets, etc., all much defaced and time-worn; gloves, guitars, and tapestries. In one corner of the room stood an antique oak table, carved at the ends, and with twisted legs terminating in feet cunningly chiseled into the semblance of dragon's heads, and on this table reposed the skull of a female, on the polished brow of which was written: "Go, get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her though she paint an inch thick, to this favor must she come at last!" A great number of cartoons, sketches, and paintings (the latter in every degree of progress, but hardly one of them ac tually finished) were scattered about the room. All bore the impress of genius of an original and highly powerful character, and their subjects-with the exception of a few delicious love-scenes-were teeming with diablerie and marvelous romance. Not a little daring poetry was evinced in the conception of some of these themes; and however a professional critic might object to the extravagance of their nature, and the many incongruities and minor faults of their execution, he could not honestly withhold his praise from the bold conception, the dramatic cast of the figures their striking grouping-their originality and fine effect. This array furnished no mean index to the mind and tastes of the painter. He was obviously gifted, ardent, metaphysical, and ambitious; versed in the lore, and deeply imbued with the spirit of bygone ages; partial to wild, fantastic subjects, and habituated to blending the real with the ideal the homely with the exquisite the prosaic with the intellectual -the fleeting Present with the symbols of the Past. And the person of the man himself? He was about twenty-five years of age, with noble, strongly-marked features, a fine, although not very high forehead, and big, dark, hazel eyes, wildly blazing in their expression. His hair was coal-black; his complexion was very dark, or dusky, yet clear and healthy; and altogether he looked much more like an Italian than a Dane. As to his attire, it was literally of the fashion of the middle or at least of bygone ages; and yet, see him in his studio, and you would vow that he only dressed in keeping with the surrounding objects. Not very long after Bertel Rovsing had established himself in the old castle he was employed to paint the portrait of a certain local magnate, one Herr Hans Jacob Ström. This worthy burgher was reported to be as rich a man as any in Svendborg-yea, or within a circuit of five Danish miles thereof: and they are equal to some three-and-twenty English. He was owner of farms and homesteads, corn-fields and pasturages, cattle and flocks; he kept the largest dry-goods store in the town itself; and he was owner of two brigs and a schooner employed in foreign voyages, and several coasting jægts. Besides all these sources of wealth, he maintained a branch mercantile house at Kiel, in Holstein, under the management of his only son. He had one other child-a daughter-who kept his house at Svendborg, for the old merchant had long been a widower. It was the general opinion of the wise men and sage women of Svendborg, that Hans Jacob Ström loved his daughter Olüfina (for such was the maiden's name) more than any thing else in the world except money. Indeed Herr Ström, although in the main a good enough man, was decidedly worldly-minded, and too much devoted to the practice of heaping up rich es for his heirs to spend. So every body said; and what every body says must be true. Herr Ström was undoubtedly a great man; and, like other great men, he had the weakness to wish himself yet greater than nature intended. Possibly this latent feeling induced him to order his fulllength portrait to be taken on a colossal scale, so that whereas the living Herr Ström stood exactly five feet five inches in his stockings, he required his semblance on canvas to measure seven feet three inches from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head, that being just one third more than his real stature, and to be bulky in proportion. The young painter might have a strong private opinion on the subject, but he was too prudent to object, especially when he found that Herr Ström was willing to pay for his portrait exactly in proportion to the number of square feet and inches of canvas it covered. And so Bertel Rovsing set to work, and in due time produced a most imposing picture of the worshipful Ström in his robes of office (for he happened to be chief magistrate of Svendborg that year;) and in order that there might be no present doubt as to identity, and also for the special information of posterity, the name, "Hans Jacob Ström" was painted in thick white letters an inch and a half high at the foot of the portrait by the particular desire of the owner. The precaution was probably unnecessary, for every body who came to view this chef-d'oeuvre in the line of portrait painting, (and nearly all the people of Svendborg saw it in turn,) vowed and protested that it was an amazingly true and striking likeness. So, moreover, thought Hans Jacob himself, and in the pride of his heart he actually paid the artist the sum agreed upon without more than one or two muttered remarks about the expensiveness of works of art as compared to objects of utility; for, as he truly observed, this piece of painted canvas cost him the price of a yoke of oxen or a good ship's boat. Taking this prosaic and practical view of the transaction, Herr Ström was assuredly justified in speaking of the portrait as an act of extravagance on his part. Unfortunately one act of extravagance very frequently leads to another; and so it did in the present case. Prompted partly by paternal affection and pride, and partly, it may not unfairly be presumed, by the maiden herself, the rich merchant resolved that his daughter should in turn sit for her portrait, and thanks to the good sense of Jomfrue* herself, it was determined that her person should be represented on canvas precisely its natural size. O short-sighted Hans Jacob Ström! evil was the hour when you weakly came to this decision! Was there no far-seeing friend to whisper of the possible danger which might result from this portrait-taking affair? Wise art thou in thy generation, as a money-getting man of business, O Hans Jacob Ström! and yet wilt thou in this matter approve thyself a most egregious ninnny! Let graybeard Time decide! Jomfrue Olüfina Ström was beyond cavil the most charming young lady of one-and-twenty that the whole island of Funen could boast. She was blooming as a rose; sweet as the hawthorn blossom; lovely as the Houris idle poets dream of, meerschaum in hand. In sober prose, Olüfina was really a very fine, plump, and handsome young lady; and what was far better, she was an exceedingly amiable, warm-hearted creature. Her father, however sordid in most respects, (as doubtless became the magnate of Svendborg,) begrudged nothing on her behoof, and therefore she had been expensively educated at Copenhagen, at the deservedly celebrated Pensionnat og Dannelses Institut of Madame Skindelv, where she was taught every lady-like accomplishment by first-rate instructors. The fond dream of her father-ah! what fond, foolish dreams do fathers indulge in! was to wed her to some suitor of rank, for the old merchant proudly knew that he could give her a magnificent dowry, and he fancied that she was worthy, as indeed she was, to become even a countess, if Heaven so willed. Alas! as the inspired Ayrshire plowman quaintly tells us: "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Jomfrue Olüfina duly sat for her portrait; and it is really surprising what an extraordinary number of long sittings she underwent without a single murmur or expression of weariness. *Jomfrue—literally "young lady," but exactly equivalent to our English word "Miss." Olüfina was a stong-minded, sensible, prudent Danish girl, it is true; but she was also a genuine daughter of Eve, and possessed a very fair share of sensibility and of capability to conceive a passionate affection for one worthy of her. At the very first sitting she saw that the young painter was no ordinary dauber, but as regarded his profession, a man of genius, who only required time and opportunity to command the world's homage. At the second sitting she felt her bosom throb with a mingled feeling of admiration of the handsome form and intellectual features of the painter, and pity for his hard destiny in having to toil, unaided by friends or fortune, up that steep hill, at the summit of which shines Fame's bright yet illusive star. At the third sitting she was firmly convinced that Bertel Rovsing was not only a genius, but a modest, amiable, noble-minded young man, and the victim of undeserved poverty and obscurity—in a word, the Football of Fortune. Moreover, her curiosity was mightily piqued concerning his past history, and the mystery which obviously enshrouded the same. At the fourth sitting she felt, not without a blush and an instinctive tremor, a warm friendship for him. Ah! you know the witty French proverb: "L'Amitie est l'Amour sans ailes!" Yes, Friendship is Love without wings; but those wings will soon grow and expand, never doubt! At the fifth sitting the destiny of sweet Olüfina Ström was decided. She fell hopelessly head over ears, many thousand fathoms deep, in love with the Painter of Svendborg Castle! And he, the unknown stranger, the poor man of genius, did he reciprocate the passion he had thus innocently inspired? Ay, heart and soul! How could he sit day after day, for long hours at a spell, all alone with such a woman, gazing at her, analyzing every emotion, every expression of her mobile features, ere he transferred them to canvas; how was it possible for him to do that, without falling irresistibly and helplessly in love with her? The portrait, a superb and faithful one, was at length finished, framed, paid for, and duly admired; but hardly was this done ere a frightful revelation somehow dawned on the obtuse mind of Hans Jacob Ström. In brief, he became apprized of the almost incredible, the doleful, the astounding, the maddening fact, that his daughter-the light of his eye, the pride of his heart, the one bright jewel of his soul had fallen in love, and secretly plighted her troth with the Painter of Svendborg Castle. What! His Olüfina, with whom he could willingly pay down (to a husband of his own choice) a dowry of two hundred thousand specie-dalers, to clandestinely betroth herself to a beggarly artist! The thought was insupportable. Herr Ström sternly forbade his daughter, under vague yet dreadful penalties, to ever speak with or even look at Bertel Rovsing again. And he overwhelmed the young painter himself with the most bitter reproaches and threats, should he dare to even lift his eyes again to behold the young lady whom he had so presumptuously entangled in the meshes of Cupid's net. Finally, Herr Ström bewailed his own infatuation, and cursed the evil hour when he employed the wicked young stranger who had thus broken his household peace; and in the first paroxysm of rage he condemned the portrait of his daughter to the flames; but on second thoughts only ordered it to the lumber-room; and on third thoughts contented himself with simply turning its face to the wall. O fathers of pretty maidens! (Danish or British,) here is a lesson and a warning for you! Beware of employing handsome young artists to paint portraits of your daughters in an unlimited number of private sittings! Ah! it is the old, old story, sung and told in every age and every clime! The experience of the gray world, condensed by gentle Will, as he strolled along reedy Avon's banks, into one wondrously eloquent line: save the twinkling stars and the chaste discreet moon. A stone's cast from the ruins of Svendborg Castle, in a small ravine or dale, inclosed on three sides by low craggy rocks, grew a clump or grove of firs and beech trees, and that was the trysting-place of the lovers. Well, it came to pass that about a week subsequent to the destruction of the brig-of-war Falk, off Bornholm, and the escape (unsuspected as yet) of Lars Vonved from that awful explosion, the betrothed pair met at this secluded tryst in the mellow gloaming. A summer's eve- the moon faintly beaming through the foliage overheadtwo lovers holding earnest whispering converse in the secluded and romantic grove-such is the picture! And hath not the like been painted a thousand times before? Yea; and it will a thousand times again. Hearken now to a manly voice, broken and desponding though it be hearken to the utterance of feelings and emotions which, at this moment, have their reflex in many a breast, all the wide world over! "Will nothing weigh with him but mammon? Will nothing move his soul but the gleam of red gold? O Olüfina! never before did I so keenly feel what a bitter thing is poverty! I have toiled for fame, and thought myself sure to win it sooner or later; but now that wild dream is over! I can battle no longermy hope is dead and my heart is sick. I have nothing in the world to look forward to-nothing to cheer me-nothing to call my own-nothing-" "But my love!" was the thrilling interruption, from a voice low and sweet as the gentle zephyr which fanned the evening air; and a white arm glanced in the moonbeams, as it twined around the neck of the young man, contrasting with the "The course of true love never did run smooth." clustering black hair, which, artist-like, The wise men and women of Svendborg well and truly said that Hans Jacob Strom loved his daughter better than any thing else in the world-except money. And equally true was it that she loved her father better than any body else-except Bertel Rovsing. Thus it was, that, despite poor Bertel was excommunicated and banned by the irate father, Olüfina clung unto him; and many a secret, sweet, and precious stolen interview they enjoyed, with no witnesses he wore long and flung back on his shoulders. "But my love!" she repeated, "and is my love nothing? You once told me that, were you possessed of that love alone, you would think yourself richer than a king, and envy him not his crown and scepter!" "My own Olüfina!" tremulously exclaimed the lover, fondly caressing her, and appearing to deem that a sufficient reply. Soon, however, he resumed by ejaculating in a tone of bitter triumph: "Ay, they can not rob me of your love, |