t vigorous to the
most delicate and tender. Now his words ring like the voice of doom,
filled with thunder and lightning, now they become soft and persuasive
with smiling mien. With a single cadence, or a play of the facial
muscles, or a slight gesture, he can portray a person, a situation, or
an object, so that it appears living in the sight of his hearers. And
what the word alone cannot do, is accomplished in the most brilliant
manner by the virtuosity of his delivery. He does not speak his words,
he presents them; they take bodily form and seem alive."

In his more intimate relationships, on the other hand, in face to face
conversation or in the home circle, the man takes on a quite different
aspect; the prophet has become the friend, the impassioned preacher has
become the genial story teller, and shares the gladsome or mirthful
mood of the hour. Such a personality as this may be analyzed; it
defies any concise synthesis. One resorts to figures of speech, and
they were abundantly resorted to by those who paid him the tribute of
their admiration and love upon the occasion of his seventieth
anniversary. Let us take an instance at random from one of these
tributes.

"The cataract that roars down to the free foaming sea. The mountain
with its snowclad peaks towering up into the immensity of the starry
heavens. The rustling of the woodland above the blossom-spangled and
smiling meadows, the steep uptowering, the widely growing, and the
joyously smiling. At once the soft melody that stirs the heart and the
strong wind that sweeps over the Northern lands."

This concourse of metaphors gives some slight idea of the way in which
Bjoernson's personality affected those who came into contact with it.
The description may be supplemented by a few bits of anecdote and
reminiscence. The composer Grieg contributes the following incident of
the old days in Norway:--

"It was Christmas eve of 1868 at the Bjoernsons in Christiania. They
lived then in the Rosenkrantzgade. My wife and I were, as far as I can
remember, the only guests. The children were very boisterous in their
glee. In the middle of the floor an immense Christmas tree was
enthroned and brightly lighted. All the servant-folk came in, and
Bjoernson spoke, beautifully and warmly, as he well knows how to do.
'Now you shall play a hymn, Grieg,' he said, and although I did not
quite like the notion of doing organist's work, I naturally complied
without a murmur