all alone one Thorsdags qveld (Thursday evening), her companion having come down to the gaard for mad (food). Looking out she sees what she supposes is Sigrid coming back up the mountain with a great box of provisions. But when the figure gets alongside of an abrupt rock just below, it suddenly disappears. Gunvor knew then that it was a Thus."

"Nonsense," replied I.

"Oh! it's all very well to say nonsense, but why do the cattle always get shy and urolig (unruly), when they pass that spot. We never could make out before why this was, but it was plain now, they could tell by their instinct there was something uncanny close by."

"Very good; do you know another tale?" said I, our pace well admitting of this diversion, as it was very slow in the dark wood, into which our road had now entered.

"Yes, that same woman, Gunvor's husband, was the best fiddler in the valley. One day, when she

nobody, though she looked all over. That must have been a Troll underground. She remembered

the tune, and taught it her husband. It was called (the name has slipped my recollection.) Nothing so beautiful as that slot was ever heard in the valley.

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But he is dead now, and there is nobody who can play as he did."*

*Like the Daoineshi of the Scotch Highlands, the Neck of Scandinavia shines in a talent for music. Poor creatures! the peasantry may well fancy they are fallen angels, who hope some day for forgiveness; for was not one heard, near Hornbogabro, in West Gotland, singing, to a sweet melody, "I know, and I know, and I know that my Redeemer liveth?" And did not a Neck, when some boys once said to him "What good is it for you to be sitting here and playing, for you will never enjoy eternal happiness," begin to weep bitterly?

CHAPTER IX.

Langeid-Up the mountain-Vanity of vanity-Forest perfumes-The glad thrill of adventure-An ancient beacon-Rough fellows-Daring pine-trees-Quaint old powder-horn-Curiosities for sale-Sketch of a group of giants-Information for Le Follet-Rather coolRural dainties and delights-The great miracle-An odd name-The wedding garment-Ivar Aasen-The Study of Words-Philological lucubrations-A slagsmal -Nice subject for a spasmodic poet-Smoking rooms -The lady of the house-A Simon Svipu-A professional story-teller-Always about Yule-tide-The supernatural turns out to be very natural-What happened to an old woman-Killing the whirlwind-Hearing is believing-Mr. Parsonage corroborates Mr. SalomonThe grey horse at Roysland-There can be no doubt about it-Theological argument between a fairy and a clergyman-Adam's first wife, Lileth.

AT Langeid station, where we arrived late at night, there was great difficulty in finding anybody at home. At last we ferreted out an old man in one of the multifarious buildings, which, as usual, formed the establishment. All the rest of the

family are paa hoien (up on the mountain).

That

Langeid was a horrid place. As there was no wash-basin to be found, I laid hands upon a quaint brass mortar, which the old man informed me was "manifold hundred years old." In the travellers' book I see a German has been informing the people that he is a Ph.D. But then I have seen elsewhere, in this country, an Englishman's name in the book with M.P. attached to it. But he went down, poor man, with the steamer Ercolano, so we must leave him alone.

What a lovely morning after the rain. The spines of the fir-trees, and the hairy lichen (alectoria jubata') festooning the branches, frosted over with the moisture which still adheres to them, and is not yet sucked up by the sun that is just rising over the high mountains. What refreshing odours they shed abroad, seconded by the lowlier "pors," with its delicious aromatic perfume.

What an intense pleasure it is thus to travel through an unknown country, not knowing where

me this rather than a journey in Switzerland, and all the first-rate hotels in the world.

"Up yonder," said my attendant, "a bear used to harbour. The man in the gaard above shot him not long ago. He was very large. That's a "Vitr' (warning) yonder, on the top of that mountain to the east. There are a great many dozen of pine-logs piled up there from the olden times."

I discovered that this was a beacon-hill, formerly used to give notice of the approach of foes on the coast. The next beacon was at Lobdal, a great many miles down the valley. The establishment of beacons from Naes to Helgeland, is attributed, by Snorro, to Hacon the Good. A slower way of conveying intelligence of the descent of an enemy on the coast, was the split arrow (haeror), equivalent to the fiery cross of Scotland.

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Are not you frightened to travel all alone?" said the little fellow, looking curiously into my face. "You might be injured."

"Not I," replied I.