THE XEW YEAR, iSgs 45 



yond it there was to be seen for a time a band in the 

 form of a gorgeous corona, casting a reflection Hke 

 moonshine across the ice. The sky had Ht up its torch 

 in honor of the new year — a fairy dance of darting 

 streamers in the depth of night. I cannot help often 

 thinking that this contrast might be taken as typical 

 of the Northman's character and destiny. In the midst 

 of this gloomy, silent nature, with all its numbing cold, 

 we have all these shooting, glittering, quivering rays 

 of light. Do they not typify our impetuous ' spring- 

 dances,' our wild mountain melodies, the auroral gleams 

 in our souls, the rushing, surging, spiritual forces behind 

 the mantle of ice ? There is a dawning life in the slum- 

 bering night, if it could only reach beyond the icy desert, 

 out over the world. 



" Thus 1895 comes in : 



"'Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud; 

 Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and cloud ; 

 Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. 



" ' Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands ; 

 Frown and we frown, the lords of our own hands ; 

 For man is man and master of his fate.' 



" Thursday, January 3d. A day of unrest, a changeful 

 life, notwithstanding all its monotony. But yesterday we 

 were full of plans for the future, and to-day how easily 

 might we have been left on the ice without a roof over 

 our heads! At half -past four in the morning a fresh 

 rush of ice set in in the lane aft, and at five it commenced 



