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THE AMERICA N-S C AN DIN AVI AN REVIEW 
in Ibsen. Egypt is bound by the severe lines of her tombs and her 
pyramids; Norway is bound by the severe lines of her eternal moun¬ 
tains. The lines of Norway’s mountains must have etched themselves 
deep into Hammer’s nature in his boyhood days. Their noble stern¬ 
ness guides his hand and eye as he releases from hard, recalcitrant 
material those poems in stone and wood and marble that whisper to 
us of the deepest and most austere, as well as of the most delicate 
and evanescent dreams of the human spirit. 
Decoration for Stucco Wall 
Carved in Cypress 
Young in Soul 
By Roy W. Swanson 
Karl-August Akerbrand had to stop at the end of the first furrow 
and rest! He was so tired that it astonished him, and he sat down 
between the plough handles to think about it. He took off his battered 
Stetson and wiped his moist, red forehead. 
“You are getting more and more forehead with every passing 
year,” said he to himself. “Yes, you are getting old, Karl-August, 
you are getting old.” 
It was a glorious Minnesota April day. The earth fairly exuded 
spring. The single new-turned furrow filled the air with a rich, clean 
smell; fat grubs and worms squirmed in the sudden warmth of the sun, 
the air throbbed with robin notes; puffy, moveless clouds piled up on 
the horizon everywhere, the sky was never bluer. 
