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an imperfect rhythm to her life here, which could be harmonised into melody in the immortal life alone.

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The Princess Alexandra of Denmark.There has been a thrill of emotion in half the schools in the kingdom as the news has spread among them, that the Prince of Wales is going to be married to a Princess of Denmark. The school age is perhaps that in which there is the strongest interest about the Danes. The name brings up to the beginners in history the image of the Raven napping from the mast of the pirate ship,—flapping over our eastern shore,—flapping over the fen and the wood where the invaded people lay hid. The name brings up the picture of King Alfred wandering in the wilds, and letting cakes burn on a herdsman’s hearth. It brings up the story of King Canute seating himself on the edge of the tide, for moralising purposes, to shame his flatterers; and the other story of his rowing near the land in the Fens, that he might hear the evensong of the monks of Ely. It is through Canute that we seem to be connected with the Danes in friendship, rather than bound up with them as a conquered people with their conquerors. The schoolchild is full of hatred of the Danes, and contempt of the English, while the sea-rovers are pouncing down upon the eastern coast every two or three years, and burning and sacking the towns, and putting the terrified country people to flight; and the same child is almost as angry with the English for being so foolish as to buy off the Danes each time,—knowing very well that the higher they were paid the more they would come. Those awful associations, and the images of the obstinate worship of Thor and Odin, in spite of the Christian missionaries who risked their lives to convert the Danes, melt away when King Canute comes over the sea, and grows fond of England, and England grows fond and proud of him; and it seems natural, as the young student gets further on in the history of England, that there should have been a sense of affinity between the English and the Danes for a long course of centuries. Thus it may seem very natural that our Heir Apparent should marry the daughter of the future King of Denmark; but still the news will make many young eyes open wide, and many young hearts beat thick.

Can a daughter of the sea-rovers—one of the brood of the Danish Raven—be coming to be a future Queen of England? Yes: but she will not be the first Princess of Denmark who has come over to take a seat on a throne in our island.

It was thus that we became possessed of the Orkney and the Shetland Isles. These were the pledge of the dowry of Margaret, daughter of Christian I., who married James III. of Scotland, in 1469; and as the dowry was never paid, the islands came to us, with Scotland, on the death of Queen Elizabeth. At the same time we had a Queen from Denmark, the wife of James I., and the mother of Charles I., being the daughter of Frederick II. of Denmark. Our present race of sovereigns was also connected with the Danish throne by the marriage of the sister of George III. with Christian VII. of Denmark. It was this tie of kindred which aggravated the bitterness of our sufferings from the ambition of Napoleon, in the early part of this century. By the secret articles of the Treaty of Tilsit, the Danish fleet was delivered over to Napoleon, who meant to use it for the invasion of England. A confidential warning of this arrangement was given us from Portugal, under promise of secrecy. We had no choice but to seize that fleet; and yet we were unable to explain the reason: and thus we stood before the world, and especially before the people of Denmark, as wanton aggressors. The feelings of the royal house may be imagined; and the princes scarcely suffered more than their relative, George III. Mr. Jackson was sent over to Copenhagen as envoy, to demand the navy, while it was impossible to give any satisfactory explanation of the demand, so long as the secret must be kept. George III., on hearing from Mr. Jackson the details of the interview with his nephew, the Crown Prince, asked the odd question whether the interview took place in an upper story of the palace.

“No, your Majesty; it was in a ground-floor apartment,” replied the Envoy.

“That was lucky for you,” replied the King; “for if the Crown Prince had half my spirit, he would have kicked you down stairs.”

Denmark had long been sinking in the scale of nations; and this annihilation of her naval power looked like a death-blow. But the Scandinavian spirit is not easily broken; and it revived by the very excess of the humiliation when, seven years later, in 1814, Norway was wrested from Denmark, and given to Sweden,—a hated rival. As the only hope, the idea of Scandinavian union arose; and this ambition has sustained the spirit of all the three nations for half a century, and is in full vigour at this day. It is not necessary that Sweden, Norway, and Denmark, should be under one crown. It is enough that they should cherish a common pride of race, and draw together in vigilance against encroachment on the part of Russia and of Germany. In the last