ONE time when King Olaf Tryggvason sat in Thrandheim, it so happened that a man came to him in the evening, and greeted him becomingly. The King received him well, and asked him his name. He said he was called Gest "A guest here shall you be, whatever be your name," said the King. "I have told the truth about my name," said the other, "and fain would I have your hospitality if I might." Olaf granted him this, but as the day was spent he talked no further with the stranger, but went immediately to evensong, and then to supper, and after that to sleep.

That same night King Olaf Tryggvason woke up in his bed, and repeated his prayers, while all the rest were asleep. It seemed to him then that an elf or some spirit entered the house, although all the doors were closed. He went before the bed of every one who slept there, and finally came to that of one who lay near the door. There he stopped, and said, "A terribly strong lock is here on an empty house, and the King is not so wise in such matters as others would make him out to be, when he sleeps so sound now." After that he disappeared.

Early in the morning the King sent his page to see who had been in that bed over-night, and it turned out to be the stranger. The King had him summoned, and asked him if he was a Christian. Gest answered that he had received the mark of the cross, but had not been baptised. The King said he was welcome to stay there at his court, but he must be baptised in that case. What the elf said about the lock, referred to Gest having crossed himself like other men in the evening, although he was really a heathen.

Gest told many tales of far-back days when he had been with Sigurd Fafnis-bani, and the sons of LodbrOk, and the King's men were charmed to hear him. Olaf asked him many questions, all of which he fully answered. At last he said, "Now I shall tell you why I am called Norna-Gest," and began the following tale.

"I was brought up by my father at a place called Greening in Denmark: he was a rich man, and kept a good house. At that time there went round the country witches who were called spae-wives, and foretold men's lives, and for that they were invited and entertained by people, and received gifts when they went away. My father did this, and they came to him with a large following, and were to foretell my fate. I was lying in the cradle, and two candles were burning beside me. They said that I would be a very lucky man, greater than any of my ancestors or noblemen's sons in the country; this was the future they predicted for me. The youngest Norn seemed to be held of very little account by the other two, for they never consulted her in spaedoms that were of any weight. There was also present a rascal multitude that pushed her out of her seat, and made her fall on the ground. At this she became exceeding wroth, and cried out in a loud and angry voice, bidding the others cease their good prophecies concerning me, "for I lay on him that he shall live no longer than until the candle that is burning beside him is burnt out." At this the elder witch took the candle, and put it out, telling my mother to keep it, and not light it before the last day of my life. After this the spae-wives went away, taking the young one with them in bonds, and my father gave them valuable gifts at parting. After I grew up, my mother gave me that candle to keep, and I have it with me now."

"Will you now receive baptism?" asked the King. "With your advice I will," said Gest, so he was baptized and became one of his followers; he was faithful to him and well liked by the others.

One day the King asked Gest: "How long would you like to live now, if you had the deciding of it?" "Only a short time," said Gest, "if God so willed it." "What will happen if you take your candle now?" asked the King. Gest took the candle out of his harp-stock, and the King ordered it to be lighted; this was done, and the candle burned fast. "How old are you?" asked he at Gest "Three hundred winters have I now," said he; and after that he lay down, and asked to be anointed. The King had this done, and by that time little of the candle remained unburned. They noticed then that Gest was passing away, and just at the same time that the candle burned out, Gest died, and all thought his death remarkable.

THERE was a great famine in Greenland; those who had been to the fishing had but small takes, and some had not returned at all. There was a woman in the district named Thorbjörg, who was a spae-wife, and was called the Little Witch. She had had nine sisters, all of them witches, but she was the only one alive then. It was her custom in the winter-time to go to entertainments, and men invited her to visit them, especially such as were curious to know their fortunes or how the season would turn out; and seeing that Thorkell was the leading man there, it was thought to be his business to find out, when this famine that was upon them would cease. Thorkell therefore invited the spae-wife to his house, and a good reception was prepared for her, as was the custom when such women were to be received. A high seat was made ready for her, with a cushion on it, which had to be stuffed with hens' feathers. When she arrived in the evening with the man who had been sent for her, she was so dressed that she had over her a blue cloak with straps, which was set with stones right down to the bottom. On her neck she had glass-beads, on her head a black cap of lambskin lined with white cat-skin. In her hand she carried a staff with a knob on it; it was mounted with brass, and set with stones about the knob. About her waist she wore a tinder-belt, and on it a great skin-purse, in which she kept the charms that she required in order to get knowledge of anything. She had shaggy calfskin-shoes on her feet, and in these were long and stout thongs with large knobs of brass at the ends. On her hands she wore cat-skin gloves, which were white and hairy inside.

When she entered, it was thought every man's duty to give her honourable greetings, which she received according to the liking she had for each. Thorkell then took the hand of the wise-woman, and led her to the seat that was prepared for her. There he asked her to run her eyes over his cattle, household, and homestead, but she was very reserved about everything. The tables were afterwards laid, and we must tell what food was served up to the spae-wife. For her was made porridge with kid's milk, but for meat to her were prepared the hearts of every kind of animal that could be got there. She had a brass spoon and an ivory handled knife, with two rings of brass on it, and the point of it was broken. When the tables were cleared away, Thorkell came before Thorbjörg, and asked what she thought of his homestead or of his people, or how quickly she could get knowledge of what he had enquired about and all wished to know. She said she would not disclose that before next morning, after she had slept there that night. Next day she was supplied with all that she required to perform her enchantments, and bade them bring her some women, who knew those charms that were necessary to perform the enchantment, and are called Vardlokkur, but no such women could be found. Search was made all over the household whether any one knew them. Then Gudrid answered, "I am neither witch nor wise-woman, and yet my foster-mother in Iceland taught me the charm that she called Vardlokkur." "Then you are learned in season," said Thorbjörg. Gudrid answered, "This is a learning and proceeding of such a kind as I mean to take no part in, for I am a Christian woman." "It might well be," said Thorbjörg, "that you could help folk in this matter, and be no worse a woman than before; but I leave it to Thorkell to provide all that is necessary here." Thorkell now pressed Gudrid hard, until she consented to do as he wished. The women made a ring round about her, while Thorbjörg sat up on the spell-seat. Then Gudrid sang the song so well and beautifully, that all who were present thought they had never heard it sung more sweetly. The spae-wife thanked her for her song, and added, "Many spirits have come hither, and thought it beautiful to hear what was sung, who formerly would turn away from us and show us no obedience. Now many things are plain to me that before this were concealed both from me and from others, and I can tell you this, that this famine will not last much longer, and the season will improve with spring."

WHILE Hörd and his fellow-outlaws were on Geirsholm in Hval-firth, he went one summer with twenty-four men to Saurbæ, because Thorstein Oxnabrodd had boasted that Skroppa the witch, his foster-mother, could so bring it about by her magic that the Holm-men could do him no harm. On reaching the shore, seven of them stayed to watch the ship, and seventeen went up on land. On the sand-hills above the boat-sheds they saw a large bull, which they wished to provoke, but Hörd would not allow them. Two of his men however turned to meet the bull, and thrust at him, one aiming at his side and the other at his head; but the bull met the thrusts with his horns in each case, both spears flew back into their own breasts, and both were killed. Hörd said, "Follow my advice, for everything here is not as it seems." When they reached the farm, Skroppa was at home along with the yeoman's daughters Helga and Sigrid, but Thorstein was at the shieling in Kiwallar-dal. Skroppa opened up all the houses, but caused ocular delusions, so that where she and the other two sat on the bench there seemed to be only three wooden boxes. Hörd's men spoke of breaking the boxes, but Hard forbade them. They then held north from the farm, to see whether they could find any cattle. Next they saw a young sow with two little pigs come running northwards out of the farm, and got in front of it. Then they seemed to see a great host of men coming against them with spears and other weapons, and now the sow with her pigs shook her ears southward again. Said Geir, "Let us go to the ship: we cannot deal here with a superior force." Hörd said it was advisable not to run so soon before all was seen into, and with that he picked up a stone and killed the sow with a blow. When they came there they found Skroppa lying dead, and in place of the two young pigs the daughters of the yeoman were standing over her. As soon as Skroppa was dead, they saw that it was a herd of cattle that was coming against them, and not men at all; these they drove down to the ship and killed, and took the beef on board.

THORMOD the skald was wounded in Greenland by the friends of a man he had killed. Two of his friends found him and took him to the head of Eiriks-firth, where a man named Gamli lived up under the glaciers, along with his wife Gríma. The two lived alone, seldom visiting or visited, and Gríma was not only a good leech, but was believed to know something of the old magic. Twelve months after this, but before Thormod had quite recovered from his wounds, it happened that Thordis, the mother of the man he had slain, was restless in her sleep. Her son Bodvar would not allow her to be wakened, and after she awoke of her accord, he asked her what she had dreamed.

"I have been far-travelled to-night," said she, "and have learned what I did not know before, that Thormod, who killed my son, is in life and is with Gamli and Gríma at the head of Eiriks-firth. I shall go thither and take Thormod, and reward him with an evil death for the great harm he has done us." That very night Thordis and Bödvar with other thirteen men rowed to Eiriks-firth. At the same time Gríma was ill at ease in her sleep, and on waking knew that Thordis was coming to them, "for she has now learned by her trolldom that Thormod is staying here with us, and she means to kill him." On the way Thordis got Thorkell, the chief man in Eiriks-firth, to accompany her with twenty men.

Gríma had a large chair, on the back of which was carved a large figure of Thor. On this she told Thormod to take his seat when Thordis and her party came, and not to rise off it until they were gone. "Gamli will hang up the pot and boil seal-flesh; he shall heap sweepings on the fire and make plenty of smoke; I shall sit at the door and spin yarn, and receive them when they come." When the ship was seen coming to land, Thormod sat down on the chair, and Gamli raised a dense smoke in the house, making it so dark that nothing could be seen. Gríma sat on the threshold and span, repeating something to herself that the others did not understand. When the party arrived, Gríma denied to Thorkell that they had Thormod there. "It would be strange if you did," said Thorkell, "but we should like to search your house." "You could well do that," said Gríma, "though you had fewer with you. I am always pleased to see you in my house, but I have no will to see these folks from Einarsfirth doing damage to it." "Thordis and I shall go in by our two selves and search it," said Thorkell. They did so, and took no long time to it, for the rooms were very small, and when they opened up the sitting-room it was full of smoke and nothing to be seen. The whole house indeed was thick with smoke, and on that account they stayed inside less time than they would otherwise have done. When they came out again Thordis said, "I could not see clearly what was in the sitting-room for the smoke. We shall take out the skylight, and let the smoke out, and see what can be seen then." This was done, and the smoke cleared away. Then they could see everything in the room, with Gríma's chair standing in the middle of the floor. They saw Thor with his hammer carved on the back of the chair, but could not see Thormod. As they left the room and went out, Thordis said, "Gríma has still some of the old faith left when Thor's image is on her chair-back." Gríma answered, "I seldom get to church to hear the teachings of learned men, for I have far to go, and few folks at home. Now, when I see the image of Thor made of wood, that I may break and burn whenever I will, it comes into my mind how much greater is He who hath shaped heaven and earth, and all things visible and invisible, and given life to everything." Thordis answered, "It may be you think such things; but I expect we could make you tell more if Thorkell was not here to protect you, for my heart tells me that you know something of Thormod's whereabouts." Gríma answered, "Now the proverb comes to pass, 'He oft goes wrong that has to guess,' and the other one, 'Something saves every man that is not fey.’" With this they parted, and Thordis returned home.

KORMAK the skald had challenged Thorvard to a holm-gang, and the latter had recourse to a spae-wife named Thordis, whose aid he asked against Kormak, and paid her well for it. Thordis then prepared him for the fight as she thought best. Kormak told his mother, Dalla, of his intention; she asked whether he had good hopes of it. "Why should I not?" said Kormak. Dalla answered, "It will not do, however, to go about it in that way, for Thorvard will not care to fight unless he has some sorcery to aid him. I think it would be wise for you to visit Thordis the spae-wife, for you will have to fight against guile." "I care little for that," said Kormak, but all the same he went and visited Thordis and asked her assistance. "You have come too late," said she; "no weapon can bite him now, but I will not refuse you assistance either. Stay here to-night and enquire into your lot, and I shall be able to bring it about that no iron will bite you either." Kormak stayed there all night, and was wakened by feeling some one handling the covering at his head. He asked who it was, but the person turned away and went out. Kormak followed, and saw that it was Thordis, who by this time had got to the place where the holm-gang was to be fought, and was holding a goose under her. He asked what she meant to do, whereupon she let the goose down, and said, "Why could you not keep quiet?" Kormak then lay down again, but kept awake in order to watch the proceedings of Thordis. She came to him three times, and each time he enquired into what she was doing. The third time when Kormak came out she had killed two geese, and let the blood run together into a bowl, and had already taken the third one and was just about to kill it. "What does this work mean, foster-mother?" said Kormak. Thordis answered, "It will be clearly proved, Kormak, that you are little meant to prosper. I had now intended to destroy the spells that Thorveig had laid on you and Steingerd, and you could have enjoyed each other if I had killed the third goose without anyone knowing it." "I have no faith in such things," said Kormak.

Before the holm-gang Thordis said to Kormak, "I can bring it about that he will not know you." Kormak answered her angrily, said that she would cause nought but mischief, and wanted to drag her out to the door and see her eyes in the sunshine, but his brother Thorgils stopped him.

THORLEIF, a native of Svarfadar-dal in the North of Iceland, being outlawed and forced to leave the country, sailed for Norway, and arrived there in the latter days of Earl Hákon. In the Vik he met with the Earl himself, and refused to trade with him, which so enraged Hákon that next day, while Thorleif was in town pushing his business, he came down to the ship, seized on the cargo, burned the vessel, and ended by hanging all Thorleifs companions. When Thorleif returned in the evening, and found what had taken place, he made close enquiries as to how it had happened, and then in a verse hinted that Hákon might pay dearly for it yet.

Going south to Denmark with some merchants, Thorleif stayed there with King Svein during that winter, and gained the King's good-will by composing a poem on his exploit, for which he was also rewarded by the present of a ring and a sword. Before long Thorleif grew gloomy, and showed no desire to share in drinking with his comrades, or to sit beside them. The King soon noticed this, and asked him the reason of it. "You must have heard, Sire," said Thorleif, "that he who enquires into another man's trouble is bound to help him out of it." "Tell me what it is first," said Svein. "I have made some verses this winter," said he, "which I call 'Earl's Verses,' because they are about Earl Hákon. Now I shall be sorry if I cannot get leave from you to go to Norway, and recite them to the Earl." "Certainly you shall have leave," said the King, "but you must promise to come back to us as quickly as you can, for we have no wish to lose you." Thorleif promised this, and went north to Norway, and made no stay until he came to Thrandheim, near which Earl Hákon then was. Thorleif now put on the garb of a beggar and fixed on his face a goat's beard; under his beggar's dress he put a leather bag, so contrived that it should seem as if he ate whatever food he dropped into it, the mouth of it being just below the beard. Then he took a pair of crutches with a spike at the end of each, and with these went to the Earl's hall at Hladir. There he arrived on Yule Eve, just as the Earl was taking his seat, along with many other great men whom he had invited to the Yule feast. The beggar promptly made his way into the hall, stumbled as he went in and fell on his crutches, and finally took his seat in the straw near to the door beside the other beggars. He soon fell out with these, and began to take his crutches to them, which they had no liking for, and cleared away from him. The noise and uproar of this were at last heard all over the hall, and the Earl becoming aware of it, asked the reason of it. On learning that it was caused by a sturdy beggar, he ordered him to be brought before him, The carl came, and his greeting was but short. The Earl asked him his name, family, and home. "My name is an uncommon one," said he; "I am called Nidung Gjallanda-son, and belong to Syrgis-dalir in Sweden the Cold. I am known as Nidung the Near-corner, and have travelled widely and visited many a lord. I am now growing very old, so that I can scarcely tell my age through failing memory. I have heard a great deal about your lordliness and enterprise, wisdom and popularity, legislation and condescension, liberality and other accomplishments." "Why are you so perverse and ill to deal with, compared with the other beggars?" said the Earl. "What wonder is that," said he, "in one who goes about destitute of everything but misery and wretchedness, and has nothing that he needs, and has long lain out in woods and forests, though he grows ill-tempered with old-age and all the rest, — he who formerly was used to having honour and ease with the proudest lords, and now is hated by every worthless villager?" "Are you a man of any accomplishments," asked the Earl, "as you say you have been with great lords?” The carl answered "Even though there may have been something of that when I was young, yet now it may well be come to what the proverb says, that every man comes to decrepitude. There is also a saying that it is hard for a hungry man to talk; and neither will I talk with you any longer, unless you give me something to eat, for old age, hunger, and thirst, so press upon me that I can stand up no longer. It is very unlordlike to question strangers about everything in the world, and never take thought of what is fitting for men, for all are so contrived that they require both food and drink." The Earl gave orders that such food should be given to him as he required, and this was done. The carl sat down at table, and promptly began to it, and soon cleared all the dishes he could reach, so that the attendants had to bring a fresh supply, which he began to as heartily as the first. Every one supposed that he ate it, but in reality he dropped it into the.bag already mentioned. Men began to laugh and make jests on him, but the carle heeded them not, and did as before.

After the tables were removed, Nidung went before the Earl, and addressed him: "Take my thanks for that now," said he, "but they are ill attendants you have, who do everything worse than you tell them. Now I should like you to show me your condescension, and listen to a poem that I have made about you." "Have you made any poems about great men before?" asked the Earl. "I have that," said he. "The old saying may be fulfilled here," said the Earl, "that often is the song good that grey beards make. Recite your poem, old man, and we shall listen to it."

Then the carl began his poem and recited on to the middle of it, and there seemed to the Earl to be praise of him in every verse of it, and mention made as well of the great deeds of his son Eirik. As the poem went on, however, a strange thing began to happen to him; so great uneasiness and itching spread over all his body and especially about his thighs, that he could not sit still a moment. So excessive did this become that he made them scratch him with combs wherever they could get at him, and where they could not, he made them take a coarse cloth and tie three knots on it, and set two men to draw it backwards and forwards between his thighs. Then the Earl began to get ill-pleased with the poem, and said, "Can't you make better poetry, you devil, for it seems to me this might just as well be called insult as praise: see and improve it, or I will pay you for it." The carl promised well, and began to recite the so-called "Mist-verses," which stand in the middle of the "Earl's Insult," and of which the beginning is preserved. By the time he had finished these verses the hall was quite dark, and then he began again to the "Earl's Insult," and as he recited the last third of it, every weapon that was in the hall was in motion without human aid, and that was the death of many men. The Earl fell into a faint, and the carl disappeared, although the doors were shut and locked. After the poem ceased the darkness decreased, and light was restored in the hall. The Earl recovered consciousness, and found that the satire had touched him closely, and left its mark on him, for all his beard was rotted off, and all his hair on one side of the parting, and it never grew again. The Earl then made them clear the hall and carry out the dead. He was sure now that the carl had been no other than Thorleif, who had thus paid him back for killing his men and taking his goods.

As for Thorleif, he held south to Denmark, living by the way on what he had got in the hall, and however long he was on the road he never stopped till he reached King Svein. The King welcomed him heartily, and asked about his journey, and when Thorleif had told him all, said, "Now I shall lengthen your name, and call you Thorleif Earls'-skald."

AFTER Earl Hákon had recovered for the most part from the injuries caused him by the satire of Thorleif (though it is said that he never was the same man as before), he was eager to revenge himself on Thorleif, if possible. To this end he called upon Thorgerd Hörgabrúd, in whom he put all his faith, and upon her sister Irpa, to send some fiend out to Island who would pay back Thorleif in full. He brought them great offerings and enquired of them, and when he had got an answer that pleased him, he took a log of drift-wood and had a wooden man made out of it. Then by the magic and incantations of the Earl, and the trolldom and sorcery of the sisters, he had a man slain and his heart taken out and put into the wooden one. This he then dressed in clothes and called by the name of Thorgard; and strengthened him so much by the power of the fiend, that he went about and spoke with men. Thereafter he put him into a ship, and sent him to Iceland for the purpose of killing Thorleif. For a weapon he gave him a bill that he had taken from the temple of the sisters, and which Hörgi had once owned.

Thorgard reached Iceland at the time when men were at the Althing. Thorleif was there with the rest, and one day as he went from his booth, he saw a man coming west over Oxar-á, huge of stature and villainous in looks. Thorleif asked him his name. He said it was Thorgard, and straightway hurled abusive words at Thorleif, who on hearing them began to draw the sword he had received from King Svein. At that moment Thorgard aimed with his bill at Thorleif's middle, and drove it through him; the latter on receiving the thrust struck at Thorgard, but he plunged down into the earth, so that only his heels were seen as he disappeared.

Thorleif went home to his booth, and told what had befallen him, to the great wonderment of all. Then he threw open his kirtle, which he had been holding tight, and his intestines fell out. Thus died Thorleif with great renown, and all men thought great harm of it. All were sure that this Thorgard had been nothing but sorcery and magic on the part of Earl Hákon. Thorleif was buried there, his grave-mound being to the north of the law-hill, where it may still be seen.

AT the present day the art of raising a ghost has so much gone out of use, that all are not agreed as to the procedure to be followed in doing so. Some say that a bone of a dead man must be taken and charmed with sorcery, so that it receives human shape, and is then sent against the man whom the wizard wishes to harm. If that person is so wise, that he can hit upon that very bone in the ghost, which was taken from the dead man, or call him by his right name, the ghost can do him no harm, and must leave him in peace.

Some again say that more than this is necessary to wake up a ghost. First of all, it must be done on the night between Friday and Saturday, when this falls between the 18th and 19th, or between the 28th and 29th of a month; the month or week itself makes no difference. The wizard must on the previous evening reverse the Lord's Prayer, and write it on a piece of paper or skin with a hedge-hog quill, using for this purpose blood taken from his left arm. He must also cut runes on a stick, and take both of these articles with him to the churchyard at midnight. There he may go to any grave he pleases, but it is thought safest to keep to the smallest ones. He must then lay the stick on the grave, and roll it back and forward, meanwhile repeating the Lord's Prayer backwards, together with other incantations, which few men know. The grave gradually begins to move, and various sights appear to the wizard, while the ghost is being raised; this goes on but slowly, for ghosts are very unwilling to move, and say "Let me lie in peace." The wizard must neither yield to their entreaties, nor be alarmed at the sights he sees, but repeat his charms and roll the stick, until the ghost is half up. At the same time he must watch that no earth falls outside the grave when it begins to lift, for such earth cannot be put back into it again. When the ghost is half-way out of the ground, he must be asked two questions (not three, for in that case he will go down again before the Trinity), and these usually are (1) what man he was in his life-time, and (2) how mighty a man he was. Others say that only one question should be asked, namely, "How old are you?" If the ghost says that he is of middle age or above it, it is not advisable to go further, because the wizard has to try his strength with the ghost, and ghosts are terribly strong; it is said that their strength is half as much again as in their life-time. This is the reason why wizards prefer to wake up children of 12 or 14 years old, or persons who are not above 30 at most, and never those who are older than themselves.

When the ghosts come up out of the grave, their nostrils and mouth (vit) are all running with froth and slaver, which the wizard must lick off with his tongue; some say that this is the origin of the phrase "to lick up a man's wits." Then he must draw blood from under the little toe of his right foot, and wet the tongue of the ghost with this. As soon as this is done, some say that the ghost attacks him, and the wizard must exert all his strength to get him under. If he succeeds in this and the ghost falls, he is bound to be entirely at the service of the wizard; but if the ghost is stronger than the man, he drags him down into the grave, and no one has ever come back who thus came under the power of the ghosts. Others say that the wizard attacks the ghost, when he is only halfway out of the ground, and throws him on his back, keeping him bound in this position until he has licked his "wits" and wet his tongue with warm blood.

If the wizard does not send the ghost down again, he continues to follow him and his descendants to the ninth generation. Other accounts say that these ghosts continue to grow more powerful during the first 40 years, remain stationary during the next 40, and fall off during the third 40; longer life is not granted them, unless some powerful spell is on them.

HALL, who lived into this century at Geldinga-holt, in Skaga-firth, was a famous wrestler. Once when on a journey to the south, he encountered another great wrestler, and threw him. The other was angry at this, and threatened to do him a mischief.

At this time there lived at Vatns-skard a farmer who was a wizard. One day in winter as he was watching his sheep he saw a girl dressed in a skin-coat going northward. He called on her and asked her errand; she replied that she had to kill Hall of Geldinga-holt. The farmer invited her home with him, and she accepted this; but he led her into the store-room, slammed the door after her, and conjured her to remain there till the room was opened again. With that he went to sleep, strictly forbidding any one to open the room until he awoke. In spite of this, his wife went into it for wool, and then the ghost slipped out. The farmer woke up a little after, and asked who had been in the room. His wife told the Truth. "God help me," said he, "Hall is most likely dead by this time;" and with that he took his stall-horse and rode down to Skaga-firth like a shot, until the horse foundered below him a little way short of Geldinga-holt. Meanwhile on that day Hall had gone to the stable, to comb five foals that he had, and of which he was very proud. As he was about to enter the door one of these was hurled at him with its neck broken. Hall was startled at this, but just at that moment the man from Vatns-skard arrived, and they both encountered the ghost and sent it back to the man who had sent it north.

When the ghost got south again, it was so fierce that there was no managing it, and the man who had wakened it up, finally sent it north again to go wherever it liked. "Skin-coat" drifted north now, and grew so feeble that she did no other harm than scare women and children, keeping out of men's way as much as possible. Finally she settled on a farm out on Skagi, where the good-man was seldom at home, and amused herself with making faces at the children. One time, when she sat on the bed, as she often did, and made Grímaces at the little ones, there slipped in Niels the poet, who had a habit of coming in, wherever he thought fit, without giving notice.

He immediately began to recite charms over the ghost, which made its way out through the wall with Niels after it, reciting continuously. Finally he charmed it down into a mire, and forbade them to cut turf there for so long. Niels said that he felt very much having to charm down "Skin-coat," for at last she had begun to weep loudly, and had been in white weeds (i.e., after baptism) before she was wakened up. So powerfully charmed was she, that he was sure he would have recited himself into Hell if he had required to recite another verse.

THE story says that at one time some Icelandic students in Copenhagen had run short of money, as sometimes will happen, and four of them joined with two Danish ones in raising a ghost to get money for them. Olaf Stephensen, son of Magnus the privy councillor in Videy (Reykjavík), is said to have been "pot and pan" in the whole business; the others' names are not given. The ghost they raised had been a Dutchman when alive, and was not quite cold when they charmed him up out of his grave, so they had to feed him like any other man. When the ghost had got his bearings, they sent him to the royal treasury for money. It unfortunately happened that new money had just been coined, of another fashion than that previously in use, and this had been deposited in the treasury, but not as yet put into circulation. The ghost took a great quantity of these new coins and brought them to the confederates. They were rejoiced at this, and spent the money just as if nothing had happened. Suspicion, however, was awakened when the new coins came so quickly into circulation, and investigations were made into how this had come about. It then appeared that the money had come only from Olaf and his fellows; they were all brought to trial, and the whole affair came to light.

HARALD GORMSSON, King of Denmark, was enraged at the Icelanders, who had composed a satire upon him. He proposed to a wizard that he should go in a charmed shape to Iceland, and see what news he could bring him. The wizard went in the shape of a whale. On reaching the island, he held round the north side of it; there he saw that all the fells and knolls were full of land-spirits, some big and some little. When he reached Vopna-firth he entered it, and tried to go up on shore; then there came down out of the dale a great dragon, who was followed by many serpents, toads, and vipers, and these blew venom upon him. The wizard sheered off, and held further west along the shore, as far as Eya-firth. When he entered this, there came against him a bird, so large that its wings touched the fells on both sides, and with it was a multitude of other birds, both big and little. Off he went again, and held round to the west coast, where he entered Breida-firth. Here there came against him a great bull, which waded out into the sea and bellowed fearfully; many land-spirits accompanied it. He set off again, and held south round Reykja-nes, and tried to land on Vikars-skeid. Then there came against him a hill-giant, carrying in his hand an iron-staff; his head was higher than the fells, and many other giants were with him. Thence he went east along the coast, which he said was all sands, and rocks, and breakers, and the sea between the countries so great that it could not be crossed by ships of war.

INGJALD of Hefn in Hálogaland, who lived in the days of Harald the Fair-haired, held a great feast, at which, according to the old custom, they performed magical rites to enquire into the future. There was present a Finnish sorceress, who was set on a high and splendid seat, and to her each man went in turn to question her as to his fate. Grim, however, the son of Ingjald, and his foster brother Ingimund, sat still and did not go near her, giving no heed to her prophecies. The witch then asked, "Why do these young men not enquire concerning their fate? They seem to me the most notable men of all that are here assembled." Ingimund answered, "I care not so much to know my fate as to become renowned, nor do I think that my destiny lies under the root of your tongue." She answered, "Yet will I tell it you unasked. You will settle in a land called Iceland, as yet largely uninhabited. There you will become a great man and reach old age, and many of your kinsmen will become famous in that land." Ingimund replied, "The answer to that is, that I have never dreamed of going to that place, and a bad merchant should I be, if I were to sell the wide and good lands of my fathers, and go to these deserts." The Finn answered, "It will fall out as I say; and this is the token of it, that the charm which King Harald gave you at Hafrsfirth has disappeared out of your purse, and is now landed in that holt which you shall inhabit, and on that charm Frey is stamped in silver. When you build your farm there, my tale will be found true." Ingimund answered, "If it were not an offence to my foster-father, you would get your reward from me on your head; but as I am neither a violent nor a peevish man, it may just go past." She said there was no need to get angry over it; so it would happen, whether he liked it well or ill. And again she said, "The destiny of Grím and his brother Hrómund lies thitherward also, and they will both be yeomen good."

Next morning Ingimund searched for his charm, and could not find it, and this he thought no good omen. Ingjald bade him be cheerful, and let not this spoil his enjoyment or prey upon him, for many famous men now thought it fitting for them to go to Iceland, and he had got nothing but good by inviting the Finnish woman there. Ingimund said he gave him no thanks for that, "but for all that our friendship shall never fail." Then Ingimund went home and stayed with his father that winter. In the spring Grím and Hrómund sailed for Iceland, thinking it of no use to strive against fate. "I will not go thither," said Ingimund, "and we must part here." "That may be," said Grim, "but I shall not be surprised if we meet in Iceland, for it will be hard to flee from destiny."

That summer Ingimund's father died, and by the advice of King Harald he married Vigdis, daughter of Earl Thorir, the King celebrating the wedding with great magnificence. "Now I am well pleased with my lot," said he to the King, "and it is a great honour to me to have your good-will, but there sticks in my mind what the Finnish woman said about the change in my affairs, for I would not have it come true that I should leave my ancestral lands." "I cannot take away from that though," said the King, "if it be done for some end, and if Frey pleases to make his charm land where he wishes to set his seat of honour." Ingimund said he was anxious to know whether he would find the charm or not, when he dug the holes for the pillars of his high seat: "it may be that it is not done for naught, and now I must not conceal the fact that I intend to send for Finns, to show me the nature of the district, and the lie of the land where I shall settle, and I mean to send them to Iceland." The King said he might do so, "but I think that you will go there, and it is doubtful whether you will go with my leave, or steal away, as is now become so common." "That will never happen," said Ingimund, "that I shall go without your consent." With that they parted, and Ingimund went home.

He then sent for Finns, and three of these came south. Ingimund said he would bargain with them, and give them butter and tin, if they would go his errand to Iceland, to search for his charm, and describe to him the lie of the land. They answered, "That is a dangerous mission for messengers to go on, but at your request we shall attempt it. Now, we must be shut up in a house by ourselves, and let no one name us." This was done, and after three nights had passed, Ingimund came to them. They rose up, and breathed heavily, and said, "It is hard for the messengers, and much labour have we had, but we shall give you such tokens that you will know the land by our description if you come to it; but it was difficult for us to look for the charm, and powerful are the witch's spells, for we have put ourselves into great straits. We came to land where three firths enter from the north-east, and there were great lakes at the inner end of one of them. Then we came into a deep valley, in which, under a mountain, there were some holts and a habitable grassy slope. In one of the holts lay the charm, but when we tried to take it, it shot into another one, and leapt away from us always as we made for it, and a kind of veil lay always over it so that we could not take it, and you will have to go yourself." Ingimund said that he would indeed go soon; there was no use in striving against it. He treated the Finns well, and they departed.

Soon after that Ingimund sailed for Iceland with the King's leave, and landed in the west of the island, where he found Grim, with whom he passed the winter. The second winter he spent in Vididal on the north coast, and early in the spring they held eastward to Vatnsdal. As they neared it, Ingimund said, "Now the Finns' prophecy will be found true, for I know the lie of the land from their account of it." Ingimund took all Vatnsdal above Helgavatn and Urdarvatn, and chose for his homestead a fair grassy slope. There he raised a great hall a hundred feet in length, and, when digging the holes for his high-seat pillars, found his charm as had been foretold to him. Then said Ingimund, "It is a true saying that no man may kick against his fate, and we shall now take this with a good heart. This homestead shall be called Hof."

THERE was once a skipper from Vester-vig, who made a voyage to Norway, and was caught by the winter, so that he had to remain there for a time. He stayed with one of the inhabitants of Finn-mark, and when Christmas Eve came, his host asked if he would like to know what they had for their Christmas supper in Vester-vig. Yes, he would like to know that very much; he would even give a pint of brandy to know it. This was agreed on, and the Finn drank one half of the brandy, and talked a little; then he drank the other half-pint, and lay down on the floor. His wife took a quilt and laid it over him. He lay there and shook for half-an-hour, after which he lay still for another half-hour, and then woke up, and told what they had for supper; and as a proof that he had been there, he produced a knife and a fork, which the skipper recognised as the ones that he himself used when at home in Vester-vig.

ONE who has lost anything seeks a so-called wise man or wizard, who promises to strike out the thief's eye. This is performed in the following way. The troll-man cuts on a young tree a human figure, mutters some dark incantations for the devil's aid, and then thrusts a pointed instrument into the eye of the image. It was also the custom to shoot with arrow or bullet at some of the limbs of the figure, by which it was believed wounds and pains could be created on the corresponding limb of the living person thus represented. In connection with this might stand the famous magic art of the Finns, of producing the image of an absent person in a vessel of water, aiming a shot at it, and so wounding or killing a hated enemy at a distance of several hundred miles. Even against the cattle of others has this sorcery been practised, and paralytic strokes and other sudden illnesses have from this received the name of "Shot," or "Troll-shot."

A young Swede had during his travels in Finland betrothed himself to a beautiful Finnish girl, but on re-returning to his home he soon forgot his love and his promise to return to his bride. One day there came to him a Lapp wizard, and it occurred to the young man to ask him how things went with his betrothed in Finland. "That you shall see for yourself," said the Lapp, and after filling a bucket with water under certain incantations, he bade the young man come and look into the water. Then the youth, it is said, saw the well-known beautiful country round the hut of his betrothed. His heart beat high when he saw her, pale and worn out with weeping, come out of the door, followed by her father, who wore a stern look, and carried a rifle in his hand. The old Finn went to a bucket filled with water, looked in the direction from which the bridegroom was expected, shook his head and cocked his rifle, while the daughter wrung her hands. "Now, he will shoot you," said the Lapp, "unless you are beforehand and shoot him. Be quick and aim at him." The old Finn put his gun to his shoulder, and went up to the pail. "Shoot now," said the Lapp, "or you are a dead man yourself." The youth fired, and saw the Finn fall lifeless to the ground. His conscience thereafter carried him back to his devoted sweetheart, and he there learned that her father had died of a stroke on the same day that the Lapp had performed the magic trick described above. Many such stories are found even among the Swedish Finns in Wirmland and Finnmark.

THERE once lived in Esby, on the peninsula of Helge-nms, a man from whom one thing or another was stolen at different times. On one occasion one of his wife's gowns was stolen, and she gave him no rest or peace, until he promised to go over to Borup, where a wise man lived who had the art of "showing again." The man went over to Borup and had an interview with the wizard, who said to him; "Well, if you have ever stolen anything yourself, you must not come to me; otherwise you may come to me on Thursday, and you shall see the thief."

The man went home, and returned on the Thursday. The wizard then brought forward a pail of water, which he told the man to look down into and he would see the thief. Sure enough he did see him walking off with the gown, and knew who it was; but he was sadly put out to see himself walking along behind him, with four bushels of rye on his back. He let the gown go where it liked, and never again ventured to show his face to the wise man in Borup, who had punished him in this fashion, and shown that he himself was no better than the thief he was trying to catch.

A CERTAIN Sigurd, shepherd at Grund in Svarfadar-dal, came into possession of a considerable sum of money, left by some one who was in his debt. He was afraid to keep the money anywhere but in a sheep-house, which he alone frequented, and there he hid it in a ram's purse. Shortly after he had got the money, an acquaintance of his, also named Sigurd, came to him and asked for the loan of a dollar. Sigurd had no other money but this, so he ran to the sheep-house, whither his namesake quietly followed him and saw where he took it from. Not long after, Sigurd had a look at his purse, but now "the cat was come in the bear's den," for the money was gone and nothing but filth in its place. Sigurd took the loss of the money greatly to heart, but had no idea as to who could have taken it, and least of all did he suspect his friend. At last he decided to go to Klúkur, and ask one Torfi there to help him. This Torfi, who was born about the middle of last century and lived down to 1840, was the son of a priest clever in such matters, and was himself famous in that line. At first Torfi, was very unwilling to act, but asked whether he would know the thief if he saw him. Sigurd thought he would, and Torfi then made him look into a vessel of water below the table. There Sigurd saw a man in the act of taking his money. On his head was a hood with the opening turned to the back and holes cut for his eyes; on his back he wore a grey sack, tied about his neck, and was thus so strangely got up that Sigurd could not recognise him. At this Torfi said that the thief must have suspected he would be searched for, and so tried to disguise himself, but he would not "get a hood out of that cloth" (i.e. succeed) for all that. Sigurd might now go home, and the money would be waiting him in the house, except that perhaps one dollar might be missing, and even that he would get later on. Lastly he made Sigurd promise to give him plenty of fish if he got the money, and Sigurd readily promised that. He then held homewards, and arrived there in the evening. Next morning he took a certain Hallgrím with him to the sheep-house, and on arriving there they found the money scattered all over the floor, just as if it had been thrown in at the window. One dollar, however, was wanting. A sprinkling of snow had fallen during the night, and they found tracks leading to the other Sigurd's farm, the person having gone on his stocking-soles.

As for this Sigurd, the same evening that the other one came home he asked for his shoes about bed-time, but would not say where he was going. There was some delay in his getting the shoes, so he went out on his stocking-soles and restored the money, for he had no rest until he got rid of it; the one dollar was wanting because he had spent it. He confessed this a few days later, and was forgiven by his namesake, while Torfi got his fish.

ONE time two young unmarried men from Svalbards Strand came to Eya-firth, and stayed with Torfi at Klúkur, being acquaintances of his. They gave him some return for the night's hospitality, and old Torfi was quite delighted with them. When they were about to start in the morning, Torfi said to them, "I cannot repay you in any other way, my lads, than by showing you your future wives, if you like." This they readily accepted. One of them was recently engaged, a fact which Torfi did not know, and he thought it would be fun to see whether Torfi would not be wrong. Torfi took them with him into a dark closet, where there stood a vessel apparently filled with water. They were told to look into this, and on doing so saw the liknesses of two girls, and Torfi told them which of the two each of them would marry. The engaged one did not recognize his girl at all; indeed she was quite another person than his sweetheart. He told Torfi this, but the latter said that all the same it was his destiny to marry the girl he had seen there, and if he liked he would show him the man his present sweetheart would marry, which he then did.

The other one recognized his future wife; they lived in the same district, but had not at that time thought of each other. All the same, it came about as Torfi had said, and they were married a few years later.

As for the first one, his engagement was afterwards broken off. He moved further north later on, and settled there, and married the woman that Torfi had shown him.

The girl who had been engaged to Torfi's guest became half-silly; indeed she was of the family of Thorgeir, after whom "Thorgeir's Bull" was named. She asked advice from Torfi, as many did who were assailed by this monster. He gave her a leaf with runes on it, telling her to wear it on her breast, and never part with it, above all not to lose it, for it would cost him great trouble to make one as good again. The girl quite recovered, but one time when she went to church, she lost the leaf. Immediately after this her infirmity came back upon her as before, and Torfi was again appealed to. He was very reluctant to do anything, and said he could not help her completely, but he gave her another leaf, saying it would do her as long as he lived. He was by this time an old man, and had given up using magic; in fact, it is said he had dropped it all before he died. The girl improved again after getting the leaf, and was married to the man that Torfi had foretold. After Torfi's death, however, she grew ill again, and was confined to her bed. She could never be left alone, and there had always to be a light beside her at night, otherwise she was ready to go out of her wits with fear. She had no other trouble but this uncontrollable terror, which finally killed her about 1860. Everything points to the fact of Thorgeir's Bull having had a hand in her illness.

ONE summer, when the men of King Olaf Kyrri had been round the country gathering his revenues, he asked them where they had been best received. They said that it was in one of the King's shires. "An old farmer lives there," they said, "who knows many things. We asked him many questions, and he could answer them all; we even believe that he understands the language of birds." "What do you say?" said the King; "that is great nonsense." Some time later, while the King was sailing along the coast, he asked his men, "What district is this on shore here?" They answered, "We told you about this shire before, that it was here we were best received." Then the King asked, "What house is that that stands beside the sound?" They answered, "That house belongs to the wise man that we told you of." They saw a horse near the house, and the King said, "Go now; take that horse and kill it." "We have no wish to do him an injury," said they. "I will have my way," said the King; "strike the head off the horse, and do not let its blood fall on the ground. Bring the carcase out on board the ship, and then go and bring the man, but tell him nothing of this, as you value your lives." They did all this, and gave the old man the King's message. When he came into the King's presence, the latter asked him, "Who owns the land that you live on!" "You own it, Sire," said he; "and take rent for it." "Show us the way along the coast," said the King; "you must know it well." The old man did so, and as they rowed along a crow came flying past the ship and croaked hideously. The farmer looked at it earnestly. "Do you think it something important?" asked the King. "I do indeed," said the farmer. Then another crow flew over the ship and shrieked. The farmer stopped rowing, and held the oar loose in his hand. "You pay great heed to the crow, farmer," said the King, "or to what she says." "I begin to suspect now," said the farmer. A third crow came flying close to the ship, and croaked worst of all. Then the farmer rose up, and paid no heed to the rowing. "You think it something very important now," said the King; "what does she say?" "Something that it is unlikely that either I or she should know," said the farmer. "Tell me it," said the King. The farmer said —

"How, now, farmer!" said the King, "will you call me a thief?" Then he gave him good gifts, and remitted to him all his taxes.

ONE time Hallgrím Pètursson was passing Ölvis-haug in Hafnar-fell, when his guide suggested to him that it would be interesting to see Ölver rise up, and asked Hallgrím to use his powers as a poet for this end. Hallgrfm then made this verse :—

The ghost then began to make his appearance, first the head, which they thought very grim and frowning, and then he rose slowly up as far as the waist. The priest's guide then grew frightened, and bade him for any sake rhyme the ghost down again. This he did in three verses, of which one was,

Another story about Sir Hallgrím is that he rhymed a fox to death. This fox destroyed many sheep in the district, and was so destructive that it was believed to be a "stefnivarg" (an animal sent by a wizard), and could neither be caught nor killed. One Sunday as the priest was performing divine service, and stood in full vestments before the altar, he happened to look out at the choir-window, and saw the fox biting at a sheep. He forgot for the moment where he was, and said—

This finished Reynard at once, but because Hallgrím had used his poetic gift for such a purpose in the midst of divine service, he lost it altogether, until he repented of his oversight, and vowed to compose something to the praise and glory of God if He gave him back the gift. Time passed until one autumn when the meat was being hung up in the kitchen. Hallgrím's man had this task, and was standing up on one of the rafters, while the priest handed him up the meat from below. "Say something to me now," said Hallgrím, "for I feel as if the gift were coming upon me again." "Up, up," answered the man, meaning that he should hand him up the bee£ These words Hallgrím then employed to begin the first verse of his Passion Psalms, which commence,

THOSE who wish to injure their enemies send against them either the spirits called sendingar or animals known as stefnivargar. The word stefni-varg literally means a wolf (varg) that is directed (stefna) against something, but in this connection is used of animals which have power given to them by magic, and are then sent to do harm. There was once a rich man in Akureyar, who was a thorough miser, and would never give anything to the poor. To punish him for this, a certain wizard sent him so many "mice-wolves," that they destroyed all he had, and he finally died in the greatest poverty. For a long time after this the mice remained in the island, until the then owner sent for another wizard. He came, and got a whole leg of mutton roasted; then he sat down on the island, and began to eat this. In a moment the mice surrounded him in crowds to get a bit of it. The wizard rose again, and with the leg of mutton in his hand, went back to the farm, and all through it, until he had gathered round him every mouse on the island. Then he threw the mutton into a deep pit, which he had got dug for the purpose. The mice all sprang into the pit, which was then closed up at once, and the wizard strictly forbade any one to touch it in time coming. For a long time after this there were no mice in Akureyar, but many years later the proprietor of the islands had a foundation dug for some new building, and they were careless enough to open the pit again. In a moment the mice crowded out again, and have ever since been a plague to the islands, which otherwise are so excellent.

ONE time an Icelander spent a winter in Finnmark, where an old woman took a liking to him, and wished him to marry her, but he refused, and went home again in the spring. The old woman was greatly displeased, and determined to avenge herself. She took two foxes, a male and a female, and repeated charms over them; then she put them on board a ship that was bound for Iceland, commanding that they should there increase and multiply, and never be cleared out of the country. They should also attack the animal species that they first saw on land there. Now the old woman thought that they would first see men, and meant them to destroy these, but the ship they were on touched first at the east of Iceland, and the foxes landed on the headland now known as Melrakka-nes in Alpta-firth. There they saw a flock of sheep, and these were the first animals that they met with. They have since multiplied and spread over all the land, and attack and kill the sheep.

WHOEVER wishes to be able to ride air and water must get the bridle that is known as the "gand-ride bridle." This is made by taking up a newly buried corpse, and cutting strips of skin off the back; these are used for the reins. The dead man's scalp is next flayed off, and used for the head-piece of the bridle. Two bones of the head are used for the bit, and the hip-bones for the cheeks of the bridle. A charm is then repeated over this, and it is ready for use. Nothing more is required than to put this bridle on a man or animal, stock or stone, and it will immediately rise into the air with its rider and go faster than lightning to wherever is wanted. It then causes a loud noise in the air, which some believe they have heard, as well as the rattling of the bridle.

IN Brovst in Vendsyssel there once lived a woman, who was a vile witch. All the ploughmen who served with her became so lean that it was something terrible, although they ate ever so much. One of these, who had come to be mere skin and bone, tried in vain to discover the reason for it. Finally he went to a wise woman, who told him that his mistress was a witch, who rode on him every night to Tromskirk in Norway. "There you have a salve," said she, "and if you anoint your eyes with that, you will waken up outside the Tromskirk in Norway, and find yourself in the shape of a horse; but as soon as you get the bridle off, you will resume your own form again. When your mistress comes out, see and throw the bridle over her head; then it is she who must become the horse, and carry you home." The ploughman did as the wise woman directed, and woke up outside Tromskirk in Norway. He managed to get the bridle pulled off, and became a human being again. When the woman came out of the church, he clearly recognised his mistress, who was greatly astounded to see that her horse had become a man, and tried many devices to get the bridle on him again. The ploughman, however, got it put on herself, and she then became a horse. He now rode merrily on her through the air; on the way he came to a smithy, where he halted and had his horse shod on all four feet, and rode on again. At last they reached home, and the woman went down the chimney into the kitchen. There he took the bridle off her, and she resumed her own shape; but the horse-shoes she could not get quit of, so it was evident enough that she was a witch, and her husband drove her away.

THE witches blow into the key-hole of the church-door, in order to blow from themselves the Holy Ghost, before they journey to Blaa-kulla to be initiated in the service of the Evil One. The person who does not wish to assist the witches in their preparations for this journey, carefully hides during Easter Week the bread-spade, oven-broom, rake, and all besoms, for the witches generally go off on some of these on the evening of Maundy Thursday, and come back next morning before sunrise. Those witches who have not these implements themselves, borrow or take them wherever they can get them. Their own broom-stick is not always sufficient, as some witches take children with them, to get them initiated in the black art. The way lies through the witch's chimney up into the air, while the witch cries, "In the Evil One's name, up and not down, over all tree-tops, and back again before daylight." One time it happened that a young witch, who was going that way for the first time, said in place of these words, "Up and down till daylight," and so continued to fly up and down the chimney till daybreak.

At Blaa-kulla the witches are received by the Evil One in the best fashion. He bears the shape of a man, but has a horse's foot. The witches give him an account of all the mischief they have done during the previous year, and he then teaches the older ones still worse arts, after which he dances with them all. The festival closes with a banquet, which to the witches' eyes seems to consist of the rarest dishes. One of the witches, however, had once taken a little child with her, and this refused to eat a single bit of all that the Evil One offered, for it could see that the feast consisted only of snakes, worms, lizards, and black toads. When the banquet is ended, the witches ride through the air to their home, but sometimes it has happened that some person has got up so early as to hear the witches come flying past, making sticks and straws whirl up high into the air. One time a boy was standing beside a farmyard on the morning of Good Friday, when the witches came past; he threw his clasp-knife into the whirlwind, where it struck one of the witches on the leg, so that she plumped down into the dung-heap and stuck fast there. The boy would not help her out of it, until she promised him one of her garters, which he kept as a proof that he had really seen a witch.

On Easter Day all the witches must attend divine service in church, but they repeat all their prayers backwards. Any one can see who are witches who has in his pocket three eggs, the first that have been laid by three young hens. With these eggs one can see the witches sitting with milk-pails on their heads, and a cross in their eyes. The milk-pail signifies the power that witches have over other people's cows, so that if a wicked creature of this kind drives a knife into her roof-tree and milks the shaft, she gets as much milk as she pleases from the cows she names, and she sometimes milks them so hard that pure blood comes. If the witch does not want to have the trouble of doing this herself, she has her milk-hares, which suck the cows, and go home to her with the milk. These hares have often been seen in the cows' stalls.

It is told of one witch that she could churn whole pounds of butter in a pail of water. When Maundy Thursday approached, all her neighbours made haste to hide the oven-rake and other baking implements — things that every proper housewife was much more careful about in former days than now. One Easter week, however, it so befell the witch that she had to lie in bed. Her husband noticed that she became the more restless the nearer Thursday came, and asked her the reason. At first she only answered that she had important business which had been neglected; but when her husband declared himself willing to do it, whatever it might be, she confessed to him her fear of not being able to go with her comrades to Blaa-kulla and hear what was talked about there. The husband asked whether he could not go in her place. She said it could be done if he would only in all respects follow the directions she would give him. He promised to do so. She then put on him her own shape, and gave him a long stick, with which he was to fence with the witches, but every time he struck any of them he was to say "Sore to-day, whole to-morrow." Then she smeared the oven-rake with troll-salve, and instructed her husband that he would fly up through the chimney if he said, "Straight up and straight out, over all beech-tops."

The husband, however, had always had a grudge against his wife's companions, and as he was a soldier, he exchanged the wooden stick for his good sword, and went off to Blaa-kulla. There was dancing and sporting there, but they were no nice sports, and when the witches began to fence with their sticks, the soldier struck with his sword, aiming always at the witches' noses and ears. For every stroke he gave them he said, "Whole to-day, sore to-morrow." This made the faces of the witches anything but beautiful when they came home.

Of course the soldier's wife was looked upon as a traitor by all her companions, and stood in danger of being punished by them and by their master unless she avenged them on her husband. She therefore, while still in bed, took two straws from the mattress, and made with them a pop-gun, loaded it with some charmed material, and aimed it at her husband. He dodged the shot, however, and it was well for him he did so, for it went right through the door-post.

SOME people speak of milk-hares as if these also belonged to the fallen angels, but this is not at all the case, for they are made by the witches for the occasion, whenever they wish to employ them. The milk-hare consists merely of a few wooden pegs and a stocking-leg. The witches pour a drop of milk, which they have taken from other people's cows, into a stocking-leg, and tell it to go and suck the cows, and then come home and cast up the milk into the witch's milk-dish. There still lives a peasant in Slätt-akra, who once shot at a milk-hare when out hunting, under the impression that it was a common puss. The hare fell by the side of a fence, for no troll-stuff can stand gunpowder, but when the man came up to lift his game, he only found some pegs and a stocking leg, of the same blue colour as those worn by the older women in the district, while beside this there lay a splash of milk on the field. He then understood at once what it was that he had wasted powder and shot on.

THERE was once a woman in Stodov on Helge-næs who practised witchcraft. She had the custom, when she was about to make butter, of saying, "A spoonful of cream from every one in the county ;" and in this way she always got her churn quite full of cream. One day it happened that she had an errand to town, just when they were about to churn, and said to the maid, "You can churn while I am away, but before you begin you must say, 'A spoonful of cream from every one in the county;' I shall take care then that plenty cream will come to you." She then went away, and the maid at once began to pour the cream into the churn, but when she came to say the words that the witch had taught her, she thought that a spoonful from every one was so very little, so she said, "a pint of cream from every one in the county."

Now she got cream, and that in plenty. The churn was filled, and the cream still continued to come, till at last the kitchen was half-full of cream. When the woman returned home, the girl stood bailing the cream out at the kitchen-door, and the witch was very angry that the maid had gone beyond her orders, and asked for a pint instead of a spoonful, for now every one could easily see that cream had been stolen from them. After this the girl never got leave to make the butter by herself.

A PRIEST was once out walking with his half-grown daughter. On the way they came past a farm, where a number of ploughs were at work in the fields. "Do you know, father, what I can do?" said the daughter. "I can make all these ploughs stand still.” "Let me see you do it then," said the priest. The girl began to repeat her charms, and all the ploughs stopped except one, which she said she had no power over, as it had rowan-tree in it.

When they reached home the priest asked if she knew more than that. She said she could also milk their neighbours' cows. "Let me see that too," said he. The daughter struck two awls into the wall, and began to milk at these. When she had milked for a little she said,

"Now I must milk no longer." "Yes, go on," said the priest. When she had milked for a little again, she said, "Now it is turning red." "Never mind; go on," said the priest. "But it is nothing but blood now," said the girl. "Go on," said the priest. "The cow is dead now, father," said she. "Then you may stop," said he.

The priest now sent a messenger round to his neighbours, and one of their best milk-cows was found dead in its stall. He saw then that his daughter really could charm, and asked who had taught her. "My mother," said she. The priest's wife was then burned as a witch, but the daughter was spared, being only a child. The priest gave his neighbour another cow for the one that was dead, and the daughter promised never again to make use of what she had learned from her mother.

To steal milk or wool from others it is only necessary to procure what is variously called a "til-beri" or a "snakk." This is got by a woman stealing a rib from a dead man in the churchyard on a Whitsunday morning. She then wraps it in grey sheep's wool or yarn stolen from elsewhere, so that it looks like a wisp of wool, and lets it lie for a time between her breasts. With this she goes three times to the sacrament, and on each occasion drops into her breast the wine she takes, so that it falls on the til-beri. The first time she does so it lies quite still, the second time it begins to move, and the third time it becomes so full of life that it is ready to spring out of her bosom. The woman must take care then that it is not seen; in old days the penalty for having one was either burning or drowning. When it has thus acquired strength, the woman draws blood on the inside of her thigh, and there the creature attaches itself and lives on her blood when it is at home. It is then used to suck other folks' cows or ewes, returning with the milk and dropping it into the woman's churn. The butter made of this looks good enough, but breaks up into small grains or goes into froth, if the mark of the cross is made over it. The til-beri may also be used for the purpose of stealing wooL On one occasion all the wool of a farm was left outside to dry during the night; next morning it was seen all gathered into a ball, which then rolled off so fast that no one could overtake it.

IF a person wishes to get money that will never come to an end, one way is to procure a tide-mouse, which is got in this way. The person takes the hair of a chaste maiden, and out of it weaves a net with meshes small enough to catch a mouse. This net must be laid in a place where the person knows that there is treasure at the bottom of the sea, for the tide-mouse will only be found where there is silver or gold. The net need not lie more than one night, if the spot is rightly chosen, and the mouse will be found in it in the morning. The man then takes the mouse home with him, and puts it wherever he wishes to keep it. Some say it should be kept in a wheat-bushel, others say in a small box; it must have wheat to eat and maiden's hair to lie upon. Care must be taken not to let it escape, for it always wants to get back into the sea. Next, some money must be stolen and laid in the hair beneath the mouse, and it then draws money out of the sea, to the same amount every day as the coin that was placed under it; but that one must never be taken, otherwise it will bring no more. One who has such a mouse must be careful to dispose of it to another, or put it back into the sea, before it dies, otherwise he may suffer great harm. If the man dies, the mouse returns to the sea itself, and causes great storms on sea and land; these are known as "mouse-storms."

ONE who wishes to know future events need only procure a tale-sprite, who will tell him all he wishes to know. Whoever wishes to get one must go to some lonely spot, where he knows that no one else will come, for his life is at stake if he is spoken to while he is charming the spirit to himself. He must lie in shadow, looking towards the north, and having a horse's membrane over his mouth and nostrils, and then repeat some magic rhymes. The membrane is taken into the mouth of the person, and the spirit comes and tries to enter there, but the membrane stops him. The man then closes his teeth, thus catching the spirit inside the membrane. He then puts the whole thing into a box, but the spirit does not speak until the man has dropped holy wine on it, which he does secretly when partaking of the sacrament. It may also be given dew that falls in May-month, but this is not necessary. The tale-sprite tells its possessor all that he wishes to know, but talks most freely in sleety weather and east wind. If it escapes from the box, it enters the man and makes him mad. A certain Torfi in Eyafirth had one that had come down from the Sturlunga age, passing from one hand to another, and was hoarse-voiced by reason of old age and neglect. It was kept in a red oaken box, which was given by Torfi to a certain Sigfus in Öxnadal, who shortly before his death buried it in a knoll "in the devil's name."

THE person who wished to perform this rite had to go out on the last night of the old year, taking with him a grey cat, a grey sheep-skin, a walrus hide (or an old bull's hide), and an axe. With all this he betook himself to the meeting of four roads which, in a straight line and without any break, led to four churches. There he lies down and covers himself with the hide, drawing it in under him on all sides, so that none of his body is outside of it. He must then hold the axe between his hands and stare at the edge of it, looking neither to right nor left whatever may happen, and not answering a word although he is spoken to. In this position he must lie perfectly still until day dawns next morning. When the man had thus disposed of himself, he began to repeat certain spells and incantations which could call up the dead. Then if he had any relatives buried at any of the four churches which the cross-roads led to, these came to him and told him all he wished to know of events past and to come for many generations. If he had the firmness to keep looking at the edge of the axe, never turning his head nor saying a word, whatever took place, he not only remembered all that they told him, but could as often as he wished after that consult them with impunity by "sitting out." Few, however, escaped successfully from the ordeal.

Some say that Crossroads are those on hills or moors from which four churches can be seen. The oldest belief is that men should "lie out" on Christmas Eve, because the new year begins then; to this day men reckon their age by Yule nights, and he is said to be e.g. fifteen years old who has lived fifteen Yule nights. When a man sits on the cross-roads, the elves come out of every quarter and crowd around him, inviting him to come with them, but he must not give them any answer. Then they bring to him all kinds of treasures, gold and silver, clothes, food, and drink, but he must not take any of these. The elf-women come in the likenesses of his mother or sister, and ask him to go with them, and every possible device is tried. When day dawns the man must stand up and say, "God be praised, now it is day over all the sky." Then all the elves disappear, leaving all their wealth behind, and this the man gets to himself; but if he answers them, or accepts their gifts, he comes under their spell and loses his wits for ever after. There was a man named Fúsi who sat out on Yule night, and held out for a long time, until an elf-woman came with a big piece of fat, and offered him a bite of it. Then Fúsi looked at it and said, in words that have since become a proverb, "Seldom have I refused fat:" he took a bite of it, came under the spell, and became witless.

IF you wish to be rich you must go on Twelfth Night (old style) and sit where four roads meet, one of which must point to the church. You must take a grey calfskin and a sharp axe, and spread the skin beneath you on the road, so that the tail is turned to the kirk-road, but your face must be turned in the opposite direction. Then you must set yourself to sharpen the axe; and whatever may be said to you, you must answer nothing but, "I am whetting, I am whetting." Whatever on-goings there may be on both sides of you, you must not look up, but stare fixedly down at the axe, otherwise it will go ill with you, and the trolls will take you. When it draws near midnight, the trolls come swarming from all directions, dragging gold and costly things, which they pile up in great heaps round about you, and show you all this wealth to get you to give a single glance up; they also speak to you, make faces, and cut all kinds of capers. If, however, they have been unable to entice you to turn your eyes to the gold which they laid beside you, or to pay heed to themselves out of fear for them, or to get you to answer them back, then they seize the tail of the calf-skin to drag it away; then you must see and be lucky enough to cut off the tail with the axe behind your back, but in such a way that the edge of the axe is not injured. If you succeed in this you are a lucky man, for then the trolls disappear each in his own direction, and you get all the gold and precious things that were laid beside you; but if you fail in it, the trolls get power over you, and you will never come back whole from this expedition.

THE victory-stone is good to have and carry about on one's person, for the man who has it always gains the victory in battle; wherever he goes no injury can happen to him either from men or trolls; fortune always attends him, everything goes as he wishes, and all people are well-disposed towards him. No wonder, then, that men are eager to have such a stone, that brings so much good with it, but no one knows where this precious stone is to be found; the raven knows it, though, and this will tell you how to get the raven to go for the victory-stone, and how to get it from him then.

It is a common saying that the raven mates in February, lays its eggs in March, and hatches in April. Now when the raven has laid its eggs, the man must climb up the cliff or ravine where the nest is, and sit there in concealment, remaining perfectly still until the raven flies away from the nest. Then he must be very quick in slipping to the nest, take the eggs, boil them hard, and get them laid back in the nest again before the raven returns, so that it may have no suspicion, — and he must be an active man who is to accomplish this. The raven comes back again, and sits on the eggs; but when it has sat there till well on in hatching-time, it begins to grow impatient seeing that there is no sign of the eggs chipping yet, and finally gets tired of sitting any longer. Then it takes the plan of going to look for the victory-stone, to lay it in the nest beside the eggs in order to get them hatched; and the man must now be on the spot, and either shoot the raven and take the stone out of its beak, or let it lay the stone beside the eggs, and then come on it unawares, before those boiled eggs are fully hatched, for then it takes back the stone to where it got it.

A CERTAIN man had found a life-stone in an eagle's nest. It was so little, however, that he was afraid he might lose it, so he took the plan of sewing it into his right arm-pit, making sure that it would be quite safe there. After this he went through many perils and adventures, but always escaped unscathed. One time, however, after he was well on in years, he went on a long voyage, the end of which was that the ship was wrecked and all on board perished except himself. He could not drown, having the life-stone on him, and was tossed about in the sea for years on years. It was a sorry life he had, for the sea-monsters caused him various injuries, that would have killed most people. At last he drove on shore somewhere or other, and the first thing he asked was that they should open his right arm-pit and take out the stone. This was done, and the man at the same moment fell into dust.

THE most wonderful thing my father ever saw was a man who travelled about and bewitched people's sight. He was no outlandish juggler, but a regular Swede, who lived in Helsingborg. He came to one village where a pump-barrel was lying in the street, and through this he crept from the one end to the other. The whole population of the village assembled, and stood round looking on, for the man crept through it several times. Just then a girl came along who had been out in the fields gathering herbs for her mother's pig, and asked why people stood looking at the man creeping along the outside of the pump. When the stranger heard that she could see correctly, he insisted on buying the herbs which she was carrying in her apron, and the girl, who thought that she could easily pull others again, sold them to him. Scarcely had she received the money, than she began to lift her dress, and raised it higher and higher towards the knees, calling to the others and asking whether they did not see that they were standing in water. Now that she had sold the four-leaved clover, the man could bewitch her eyes as well as those of the others. Many people tell of the same thing happening at different spots; but I know that this took place in N., for my father saw it with his own eyes.

IN Passion Week the evil powers play their pranks more than at other times, so that people have to be on their guard. Witches, troll-women, and all that kind who try to do injury to their neighbour by wicked arts, endeavour during this week to borrow something or other, such as milk, butter, barm, brandy, etc., but to such requests every wise good-wife says "No." For if such things are lent to these people, they charm them, so that the ale will never brew, the cream never turn to butter; no article of the same kind as one has lent out will ever succeed with any one. Then a wise person must be got to remove the charm.

It is no more than fifty years ago that our neighbour had got all his house put under a charm. No calves, foals, lambs, or chickens were born for a whole year on the farm. The butter never came, although they put a pinch of salt in the churn and laid some grains of salt under it, besides making a cross over the lid. They tried setting a fire-steel or a knife beside the churn-stick; they even shot over it with gunpowder, but nothing helped. It was the same with brewing and baking, nothing succeeded with them. A messenger was sent for a wise man, who travelled about. He promised to give the witch her reward, but made it a condition of his assisting them that for three days they must not lend the least particle, whatever it might be. He then made them procure a black dog without a single white hair on its body. This he buried alive in the fields one morning before sunrise. Then he bored holes in all the thresholds, and laid troll-incense in them. After this he took a knife and cut open the swellings on the backs of the horses and cows. Out of these there came large maggots, and the wise man said that these were all the animals, big and small, that had been intended to be born on the farm during the year; the witch had turned them all to maggots.

Our neighbour now wanted to see the witch who had done all this to him; he had his suspicions, of course, but wished to be quite certain in the matter. The wise man was not very willing to raise her shape, but the farmer was determined. They shut themselves up in the still, and strict orders were given that no one was to come in there. The wise man was to raise the witch out of a large mashing-tub which stood empty, but just as her forehead and eyes became visible, they thought that some one opened the door, and he had to stop his exorcism. He declared, however, that if the witch would not show herself, she should at least feel his power. He put some of the cream, barm, brandy, and other articles that had been charmed, upon an iron plate and roasted them on the fire, and whatever the arts may have been that he exercised with the iron plate, it is certain that the witch could not sit down for fourteen days, so scalded was she.