And ever, when the tale was o’er,
    The King demanded yet one more;
    Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said,
    “’T is late, O King, and time for bed.” 
      Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

    The King retired; the stranger guest
    Followed and entered with the rest;
    The lights were out, the pages gone,
    But still the garrulous guest spake on. 
      Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

    As one who from a volume reads,
    He spake of heroes and their deeds,
    Of lands and cities he had seen,
    And stormy gulfs that tossed between. 
      Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

    Then from his lips in music rolled
    The Havamal of Odin old,
    With sounds mysterious as the roar
    Of billows on a distant shore. 
      Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

    “Do we not learn from runes and rhymes
    Made by the Gods in elder times,
    And do not still the great Scalds teach
    That silence better is than speech?”
      Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

    Smiling at this, the King replied,
    “Thy lore is by thy tongue belied;
    For never was I so enthralled
    Either by Saga-man or Scald.” 
      Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

    The Bishop said, “Late hours we keep! 
    Night wanes, O King! ’t is time for sleep!”
    Then slept the King, and when he woke,
    The guest was gone, the morning broke. 
      Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

    They found the doors securely barred,
    They found the watch-dog in the yard,
    There was no foot-print in the grass,
    And none had seen the stranger pass. 
      Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

    King Olaf crossed himself and said,
    “I know that Odin the Great is dead;
    Sure is the triumph of our Faith,
    The white-haired stranger was his wraith.” 
    Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

* * * * *

GALA-DAYS.

II.

The descent from Patmore and poetry to New York is somewhat abrupt, not to say precipitous, but we made it in safety; and so shall you, if you will be agile.  New York is a pleasant little Dutch city, on a dot of island a few miles southwest of Massachusetts.  For a city entirely unobtrusive and unpretending, it has really great attractions and solid merit; but the superior importance of other places will not permit me to tarry long within its hospitable walls.  In fact, we only arrived late at night, and departed early the next morning; but even a six-hours’ sojourn gave me a solemn and “realizing sense” of its marked worth,—­for, when, tired and listless, I asked for a servant to assist me, the waiter said he would send the housekeeper.  Accordingly, when, a few moments after, it knocked at the door