THORGILS of Flói, in the south-west of Iceland, went from there to Norway at the age of sixteen, and incurred the enmity of Gunnhild, "the kings' mother," by refusing to become one of her son's retainers. To escape her anger, he went on a trading voyage, and in the autumn found himself in the south of Norway, where he took up his quarters with a widow named Gyda and her son Audun. Gyda was a woman skilled in magic arts, but both she and her son treated Thorgils with great hospitality. After a time Thorgils shifted to the house of a great man named Björn, where he was also well received. The household there went to bed very early, and Thorgils asked the reason of this. He was told that the father of Björn had died shortly before, and that his ghost walked, so that they were frightened for him. Often during the winter Thorgils heard something hammering on the thatch, and one night he rose up, and went out, axe in hand. Before the door stood a ghost, big and grim. Thorgils raised his axe, and the ghost turned away towards the burial-mound, but when they reached that he turned to meet him. They wrestled with each other, Thorgils having let go his axe, and the struggle was both hard and fierce, so that the earth was torn up by their feet, but longer life was fated for Thorgils, and in the end the ghost fell on his back, with Thorgils above him. The latter, after recovering himself a little, managed to reach his axe, and hewed the ghost's head off, commanding him henceforward to harm no man; nor indeed was he ever heard of afterwards. Björn thought highly of Thorgils for having helped his household so much.

One night a knock came to the door. Thorgils went out and found his friend Audun there, asking his assistance; his mother Gyda, he said, was dead, and there had been something strange about her death. "All the men have run away, too, no one daring to stay beside her. Now I want to bury her, and do you come with me." "So I shall," said Thorgils, and went off with Audun without the knowledge of Björn. On reaching Audun's farm they found his mother lying dead, and dressed the body. "You, Thorgils," said Audun, "shall make for my mother a coffin with a hearse beneath it, and fix strong clasps on it, for it will take it all to do." When all this was done, Audun said that now the coffin must be disposed of. "We shall drag it away, and bury it, and put as much weight as possible on top of it." So they set out with it, but before they had gone far the coffin began to creak loudly; then the clasps broke, and Gyda came out. They both laid hands on her, and required all their strength to master her, strong as they both were. The plan they took then was to carry her to a funeral pile which Audun had prepared; on this they threw her, and stood by till she was burned. Then said Audun, "Great friendship have you shown me, Thorgils, and manly courage, as you will do everywhere. I shall give you a sword and kirtle, but if ever I ask the sword back, I wish you to let me have it and I shall give you another weapon as good." With this they parted, and Thorgils went back to Björn, who had by this time missed him, and was greatly distressed, saying he had lost a good man, "and it is a pity that trolls or evil spirits have taken him. We shall honour him, however, by drinking to his memory, though I am afraid it will be no merry feast, for we have now searched for him for many days." In the midst of this Thorgils came home, to the great delight of Björn, who then began the feast anew.

THOROLF BÆGIFÓT (the cripple) came home in the evening and spoke to no man, but sat down in the high-seat and took no food all evening. He remained sitting there when the others went to bed, and when they rose in the morning he was still sitting there — dead. The housewife sent a message to Arnkell to tell him of Thorolf's death, so Arnkell with some of his men rode up to Hvamm. On reaching it he learned that his father was sitting dead in his high-seat, and that everyone was frightened, thinking they saw a look of displeasure on Thorolf's face. Arnkell entered the hall, and kept along the side of it till he came behind Thorolf, charging everyone to take care not to approach him in front until he had closed his eyes, nostrils, and mouth. Then he laid hold of his shoulders, and had to exert all his strength before he could bring him down. After that he threw a cloth over Thorolf's head, and laid him out as was the custom. Thereafter he had the wall behind him broken down, and took him out that way. He was then laid in a sledge, to which oxen were yoked, and these drew him up into Thórs-ár-dal, not without great effort, till he came to the place fixed upon for him. There they buried Thorolf in a mighty cairn, after which Arnkell rode home to Hvamm, and took possession of all his father's property there. He stayed there three nights, during which nothing happened, and then went home.

After the death of Thorolf many men thought it bad to be outside after the sun had set, and as summer went on they became aware that he was not lying quiet, and none could remain in peace outside after sunset. Over and above this, the oxen which had drawn him became "troll-ridden," and all the cattle that came near his cairn went mad and roared till they died. The shepherd at Hvamm often came home chased by Thorolf. In the autumn it so fell that neither shepherd nor sheep came home, and when search was made next morning, the shepherd was found dead not far from Thoroll's cairn. He was all black as coal, and every bone in him broken, so they buried him beside Thorolf; of the sheep that had been in the dale some were found dead, while some ran to the hills and were never found again. If birds settled on Thorolf's cairn they fell down dead. The hauntings grew so terrible that no man dared to pasture the dale. At Hvamm loud noises were often heard outside at night, and the hall was often ridden. When winter came, Thorolf often made his appearance about the farm, where he mostly attacked the housewife; many were distressed at this, and she herself nearly went out of her senses. The end of it was that the housewife died from his attacks, and was also taken up to Thórsárdal and buried beside Thorolf. The people began to run away from the farm after this, and Thorolf now began to go so widely about the dale that he laid waste all the farms in it, and so outrageous were his hauntings that he killed some men, and all these were then seen in company with him. Folk complained greatly of all this trouble, and thought that Arnkell ought to amend it. Arnkell invited to himself all those who cared to come, and wherever he was no harm was ever received from Thorolf and his followers. So much were all men afraid of Thorolf and his hauntings, that during the winter no one dared to go on any errand, however pressing. In spring, when the frost was out of the ground, Arnkell obtained help, to which he was entitled by law, to shift Thorolf from Thórsárdal to some other spot. They went to his cairn, fifteen in all, with sledge and tools, broke open the cairn, and found Thorolf undecayed and looking hideously grim. They lifted him out of his grave and laid him in the sledge, to which two strong oxen were yoked, and these drew him up on Ulfars-fells-háls. By that time they were exhausted, and others were taken to draw him up to the ridge. Arnkell intended to take him to Vadils-head and bury him there, but when they came to the brow of the ridge the oxen became furious, tore themselves free, and ran down off the ridge, keeping along the slope above the farm of Ulfars-fell, and so down to the sea. By that time they were utterly exhausted, and Thorolf had become so heavy that they could take him nowhere. They got him however to a little headland near hand, and buried him there; it has since been known as Bægifót's Head. Arnkell then had a wall built across the headland above the cairn, so high that nothing but a bird on the wing could cross it, and the marks of which may still be seen; there Thorolf lay quiet all the days of Arnkell's life. After Arnkell's death Thorolf began again, and haunted Ulfarsfell. The farmer complained to his superior, Thorodd Thorbrandsson of Kárs-stad. With a number of men Thorodd went to the cairn, where they found Thorolf still undecayed, and most like a troll in appearance; he was black as Hell and as thick as an ox, nor could they move him until Thorodd had a plank pushed under him, and with this they got him out of the cairn. They rolled him down to the beach then, heaped up a large pile of wood, set fire to it and rolled Thorolf into it, and burned the whole to ashes, though it was long before the fire would fasten on Thorolf. There was a strong wind blowing, and the ashes were scattered far and wide, but all of them that they could they raked out into the sea, and went home when they had finished this work.

HRAPP was a man hard to deal with in his lifetime and vexatious to his neighbours. When dying he called his wife and said, "When I am dead I will have myself buried in the hall door, and you must set me down there standing so that I may the more carefully look over my homestead." After this he died, and everything was carried out as he had directed, but ill as he was to deal with while living he was still worse when dead. He haunted the place and is said to have killed most of his household and caused great trouble to all who lived near there. At length the farm was laid waste, and Hrapp's wife went west to her brother Thorstein. Folk had recourse to Höskuld and told him of their trouble, asking him to devise some way out of it. Höskuld said he would do so, and went with some men to Hrapps-stad, where he had Hrapp dug up and removed to where there was the least chance of sheep pasturing or men journeying. Hrapp's hauntings then ceased for the most part, but his son Sumarlidi, who took possession of the place again, had not been there long before he went mad and died soon after.

These lands afterwards became the property of Olaf Pá, whose herdsman came to him one evening and told him to get another man to mind the cattle and give him something else to do. Olaf refused to do so, whereupon the man threatened to leave. "Then you have a grievance," said Olaf; "I will go with you this evening when you tie up the cattle, and if I find any good reason for it I will not blame you." Olaf took in his hand his gold-mounted spear, and left the house along with the herdsman. There was some snow on the ground, and when they reached the cattle-shed they found it open. Here Olaf told his man to go in, and he would drive the cattle in to him. The man went to the shed-door, but before Olaf knew he came running back into his arms. Olaf asked why he acted like this. He answered, "Hrapp is standing in the door, and tried to lay hold of me, but I am tired of wrestling with him." Olaf went up to the door, and thrust at him with his spear, but Hrapp seized the head of it with both hands and twisted it, so that the shaft broke. Olaf was about to spring at him then, but Hrapp went down where he came up, and so they parted, leaving Olaf with the shaft and Hrapp with the head. Olaf and the man then tied up the cattle and went home, Olaf telling him that he would not blame him for complaining. Next morning Olaf went to where Hrapp had been buried and had him dug up; he was still undecayed, and there Olaf found his spear-head. He then had a bale-fire made, on which Hrapp was burned, and his ashes taken out to sea. Thenceforward no one was hurt by Hrapp's hauntings.

KLAUFI was brought from Norway to Iceland as a child, and grew up with a relative, Thorstein, in Svarfadar-dal. When he came to manhood, he was five ells and a handbreadth in height; his arms were both long and thick, and his grasp powerful; he had protruding eyes and a high forehead; his mouth was ugly, his nose small, his neck long, his chin big, and his cheek-bones high; his eye-brows and hair intensely black; his mouth open, displaying two projecting teeth, and his whole frame gnarled and knotted.

Klaufi was killed by the sons of Asgeir, with the assistance of his mistress, Ingöld the Fair-cheeked, and his body was dragged to the back of the house. Ingöld then went to bed, while the sons of Asgeir (who were her brothers) went away. As soon as they were gone, Klaufi came to Ingöld's bed, but she had them called back, and they then cut off his head and laid it beside his feet.

The next evening after this, while Karl the Red, son of Thorstein, Klaufi's foster-father, was sitting by the fire with eight of his followers, they heard something scraping on the house, followed by this verse: —

"That is very like the voice of our kinsman Klaufi," said Karl, "and it may be that he thinks himself greatly in need of help. It strikes me that these lines portend some great tidings, whether they have come to pass yet or not." After this they all went out, fully armed, and saw a man of no small stature, south, beside the wall. This was Klaufi; he had his head in his hand and said

They followed him then, and he led them to where the sons of Asgeir had taken refuge. Then he stopped, and knocked on the door with his head, saying-

One morning Karl was standing out of doors, along with a Norseman named Gunnar, who had wintered in Iceland. Karl looked up at the sky, and changed colour. Gunnar asked the reason of this. "No great matter," said Karl; "it was something that I saw." "And what was that?" asked Gunnar. "I thought," said Karl, "that I saw my kinsman Klaufi ride in the air above me. He seemed to be riding a grey horse, which was drawing a sledge behind it. In it I seemed to see you Norsemen and myself, with our heads sticking out, and I suppose I changed colour when I saw that." "You are not so stout-hearted then as I believed," said Gunnar; "I saw all that, and look now whether I have changed colour in the least." "I do not see that you have," said Karl. As they spoke thus, they heard Klaufi reciting a verse in the air above them, adding the words, "I expect you home to me this evening, Karl."

Gunnar decided that he and his fellows would go to their ship that day, and Karl went with them, after instructing his wife what to do in case he should not return. On the way they were attacked by his enemies, and all of them fell.

When Karl's son (born after his father's death, and so, according to custom, also named Karl) had grown up. Klaufi still continued to walk, and did great hurt both to men and cattle. Karl thought it a great pity that his kinsman should behave like this, and had him dug up out of the mound he was buried in. The body was still undecayed, and Karl burned it to ashes on a stone beside Klaufi's old home. The ashes he put into a leaden case with two strong iron bands on it, and sank this in a hot spring to the south of the farm. The stone that Klaufi was burned on sprang in two, and his ghost troubled them no more.

HRÓAR, son of Harald, earl of Gautland, made a vow at the Yule feast, that before another Yule he would break in the grave-mound of Sóti the Viking. "A great vow that," said the earl, "and one that you will not carry out by yourself, for Sóti was a mighty troll in his lifetime, and a greater one by half now that he is dead." Then Hörd, son of Grímkell, from the south-west of Iceland, stood up and said, "Is it not fitting to follow your customs? I swear this oath to go with you into Sóti's grave-mound, and not to leave it before you do." Geir swore an oath to follow Hörd, whether he went there or elsewhere, and never to part from him unless Hard willed it. Helgi also swore an oath to follow Hörd and Geir wherever they went, if he could do so, and to esteem no one higher while they were both alive. Hörd answered, "It may be that there will not be long between us, and take you care that you do not bring death on both of us, or even on more men besides." "So would I have it," said Helgi.

When spring came, Hróar prepared to go to Sóti's mound along with eleven other men. They rode through a thick forest, in one part of which Hörd noticed a little by-path leading away from the main road; this path he followed till he came to a clearing, in which he saw a house, both large and fair. Outside it stood a man in a blue-striped hood, who saluted him by name. Hörd took this well, and asked his name, "for I do not know you," said he, "though you address me familiarly." "I am called Björn," said the other, "and knew you as soon as I saw you, although I have never seen you before, but I was a friend of your kinsmen, and that will stand you in good stead with me. I know that you intend to break into the grave of Sóti the Viking, and that will not be easy for you if you draw alone in the traces; but if matters go as I expect, and you cannot manage to break into the mound, then come to me." With that they parted, and Hörd rode on to catch up with Hróar.

They came to the mound early in the day, and began to break into it, and by evening had got down to the timbers, but in the morning the mound was as whole as before, and so it happened next day also. Then Hörd rode to visit Björn, and told him how matters stood. "Just as I expected," said Björn; "I was not ignorant of what a troll Sóti was. Now, here is a sword that I will give you, which you will stick into the hole you make in the mound, and see then whether it closes up again or not." With that Hörd returned to the mound. Hróar said that he wished to go away, and deal with this fiend no longer, and several others were also eager to do so. Hörd answered, "It is unmanly not to keep one's oath; we shall try it yet again." The third day they proceeded again to break into the mound, and got down to the timbers as before, whereupon Hörd stuck the sword he had got from Björn into the spot. They slept all night, and on coming to the mound in the morning they found that nothing had happened. The fourth day they broke through all the long timbers, and the fifth day they opened up the door. Hörd bade them beware of the wind and stench which issued from the mound, and stood himself at the back of the door while it was at its worst. Two of the men died suddenly with the bad air which came out, through being too curious, and neglecting Hörd's advice. Then said Hörd, "Who will go into the mound? I think he ought to go who vowed to overcome Sóti." Hróar was silent, and when Hörd saw that no one was prepared to enter the mound, he drove in two rope-pegs. "Now," said he, "I shall enter the mound, if I shall get three precious things which I choose out of it." Hróar said he would agree to this for his part, and all the others assented. Then said Hörd, "I will have you to hold the rope, Geir, for I trust you best." Hörd found no treasure in the mound, and told Geir to come down beside him, and bring with him fire and wax, "tor both of these have a powerful nature in them," said he; "and ask Hróar and Helgi to look after the rope." They did so, and Geir went down into the mound. At last Hörd found a door, which they broke up, whereupon there was a great earthquake, the lights were extinguished, and a great stench came out. In the side-chamber there was a little gleam of light, and there they saw a ship with treasure in it; at its stern sat Sóti, terrible to look upon. Geir stood in the door, while Hórd went up and was about to take the treasure, when Sóti said :—

Hörd answered —

With that Sóti sprang up and ran upon Hörd, and there was a fierce struggle, for Hörd was much inferior in strength. Sóti gripped so hard that Hörd's flesh ran together in knots. He then bade Geir light the wax-candle, and see how Sóti took with that, but as soon as the light fell on Sóti he lost all strength and fell to the ground. Hörd then got a gold ring taken off Sóti's arm, so great a treasure that it is said that never has so good a ring come to Iceland. When Sóti lost the ring, he said: —

"You shall know this," said he, "that the ring shall be your death, and that of all that own it, unless it be a woman." Hörd bade Geir bring the light and see how friendly he was, but Sóti plunged down into the earth and would not abide the light, and so they parted. Hörd and Geir took all the chests and carried them to the rope, and all the other treasure that they found. Hörd took also Sóti's sword and helmet, both of them great treasures. They now pulled the rope, and discovered that the others had left the mound, so Hörd climbed up the rope, and then drew up Geir and the treasure after him. As for the others, when the earthquake took place, they all went mad except Hróar and Helgi, and they had to hold the rest. When they found each other there was a joyous meeting, for they seemed to have got Hörd and Geir back from the dead again.

KJARTAN OLAFSON is buried at Borg in Wrar. His grave lies across the choir-gable, stretching north and south, and is fully four ells long. On the grave lies a thick pillar-stone, bearing a runic inscription. The runes on it are much worn, and some of them quite illegible. The stone itself is broken in many pieces, and this is said to have been done by a farmer at Borg. One summer he was about to set up his smithy, and wanted suitable stones for his forge, so he took Kjartan's stone, broke it in pieces, and built his forge out of the fragments. In the evening he went to bed; he slept alone in a loft, while his man slept in the common sitting-room. During the night the latter dreamed that a man came to him, stalwart and big of stature. He said, "The farmer wants to see you tomorrow as soon as you get up." In the morning the man woke and remembered his dream, but gave no heed to it. Between 8 and 9 o'clock he began to think the farmer long in rising, and went to him where he lay in bed, and asked if he were awake. The farmer answered that he was; "but listen," said he, "I dreamed last night that a man came up into the loft here. He was tall and stalwart, well-made and very handsome in every way. He was in dark clothes, but I could not get a look at his face. I thought he said to me, 'You did ill when you took my stone yesterday, and broke it in pieces. It was the only memorial that kept my name alive, and even this you would not leave to me, and that shall be terribly avenged. Put back the pieces on my grave to-morrow, in the same order as they were before; but because you broke my stone, you shall never put a sound foot on the earth again.' As he said this he touched the clothes on me, and I awoke in fearful pain, but I thought I saw a glimpse of the man as he went down out of the loft. I expect," said he, "that this was Kjartan, and you shall now take his stone and lay the pieces on the grave just as they were before." The man did so, but the story says that the farmer was never in sound health again, and lived all his days a cripple.

IN the autumn of 1780 Haldor Bjarnason, who then had Reynistad, sent his two sons to the south of Iceland to buy sheep, as many of these had died in the north during the preceding year. Bjarni went first, along with a man called Jón Eastman, and later on was followed by his brother Einar, then only eleven years old, with a man called Sigurd. While in the south Bjarni unintentionally offended a priest, who cursed him in the lines,

These words were fulfilled, for as the four of them tried late in autumn to cross the mountains towards the north they were lost, together with their guides and all the sheep and other valuables.

The winter passed without anything being heard of them, but the folk at Reynistad first began to suspect how things had gone, when the sister of the two brothers dreamed that Bjarni came to her and said –

In the spring a traveller going south found their tent, and thought that he saw there the bodies of both the brothers, and of two other men. Later travellers saw only two bodies, and only two were found when a party went from Reynistad to take them home. They were those of Sigurd and the guide. After long searching they found, much further north, one of the hands of Jón Eastman, along with his harness, all cut to pieces, and his riding horse with its throat cut. It was supposed that he, being the hardiest of the four, had held on so far, and when he gave up all hope of reaching the inhabited districts, had himself killed his horse to shorten its misery. Of the brothers no trace could be found, nor of the valuables they had with them. Then their sister dreamed that her brother Bjarni came to her again and said –

From this it was suspected that some one, who had gone that way in spring, had stolen all the treasure off the brothers' bodies, and then hid the latter somewhere. A search was made, but in vain. Finally a wizard was employed to see whether he could find out anything. He performed his ceremonies in an outhouse at Reynistad, and thought he saw the bodies buried in a lava hole with a large stone above them, and a slip of paper with runes on it under the stone, nor would the bodies be found, he said, until this had decayed into nothing. This he could see clearly at the time, but when he went to look for them, everything became confused as soon as he got up into the uninhabited districts. The bodies were finally found in 1845 in Kjal-hraun, and under a flag-stone, as the wizard had said.

THERE was a man east in Múla-sysla called Jón, who was not well liked. He was believed to have some knowledge of magic, but never used it for anything but mischief. He came into collision with a certain Magnus, and threatened him, and as Magnus was defenceless himself, he went to the south country to ask help from a wizard there. As soon as he had set out, Jón wakened up a ghost, and sent him after Magnus, with orders to kill him on Spreingi-sand when he was coming home again. Magnus arrived safely at the wizard's, who said that this was a difficult task, for the ghost was powerfully enchanted; but he must remember never to look behind him on the sand, whatever he heard going on behind his back. In that case he was out of all danger, but if he was so unfortunate as to look back, then he must take care never to go out of sight of his farm afterwards, for his life would depend on that. Magnus promised to be on his guard, and rode off along with his companions. When they came north to Spreingi-sand they began to hear terrible noises behind them, which were not so loud at first, but steadily increased till at last they passed all bounds. Sometimes there were howlings and growlings, sometimes shrieks and screams, so that none of them had ever heard such noises and uproar. They knew their danger if they looked back, and restrained themselves well for a long time, but at last the noises were heard close behind him, and Magnus could not help looking round. He then saw eighteen phantoms fighting against one, which they were preventing from reaching Magnus and his fellows, but as soon as he looked round everything disappeared.

On reaching home, Magnus followed the wizard's advice, and never went further from the house than he had been told; but one summer night he awoke and heard the sheep coming in about the farm. He ran out to drive them off, but having no dog with him, the sheep only went very slowly before him. There was a ridge close to the farm, and in his eagerness to drive them over this, Magnus did not notice that it shut out his view of the farm. As soon as he had got over it the ghost came and killed him; at least he was afterwards found there stone-dead, black and bloody.

After this Jón grew very heavy in spirits and strange, could never bear to be left alone, and so on, and this was believed to come from his knowing that he had caused the death of Magnus.

Next winter Jón was travelling with another man, and when they least expected it, there came upon them a blinding storm. They were far from any dwellings, but near them there was a pasture-house, and Jón said he felt so ill that he would not attempt to reach any homestead, but rather try to get to the pasture-house and lie there till the storm ceased. They managed to reach it safe and sound, and as it was now evening, they lay down in the stall. Jón told his companion not to mind although anything strange happened, and he would come to no harm. The other asked what he expected, but Jón only said that he would find out in the morning. Then he seemed to fall asleep, but the man could not sleep for thinking of what Jón had said. After some time he heard something tug at Jón, and apparently drag him down the stall, but as it was pitch dark in the house he could not see what was going on. Then he heard Jón utter sounds from which he guessed that he was awake; then began great strugglings, nor was the man long in being convinced that the other person was much the stronger of the two. Now and then he could hear Jón moaning and groaning, and guessed that he was going down before his opponent. Then he heard the wall being beaten as if with a soft bag, and supposed that this must be Jón that was being so hardly used, but dared give no sign. This went on for a little, and was followed by the horrible sound of one choking, after which all was still. The man supposed that Jón was now dead, and in a little he heard him being torn asunder, there being a sound as of breaking of bones and tearing of tough cloth. After that these pieces began to be thrown over all the house, and this went right on till morning, by which time the poor man was more dead than alive with terror. As soon as it began to grow clear, the man rushed out of the house, reached the nearest homestead in safety and told what had happened. Some men went to the place, and found scraps and tags of Jón all over the inside of the house, all crushed and squeezed to fragments.

No one knew for certain how this had actually happened, as Jón had many enemies, but it was thought most likely that it was the revenge of Magnus. After this the pasture-house was discontinued, and called Part-hús, from the parts of Jón that were found there.

AT Merkigil there are pasture-houses where formerly there was a farm. One time a farm servant there, named Jón, was in the sheds as it was getting dark. He had given the sheep their hay and was about to go home, but strangely enough could not find the door. He felt and felt all round, but could not get the door at all. This went on for a little till Jón grew frightened, and did not know what to do. Finally he took the plan of going up into the stall, taking out his knife and throwing it straight forward. He heard it strike in the door, and thought he was all right now. Down he went out of the stall, found the knife, and opened the door, but as soon as he came out he saw a man sitting right in front of him. He was of a huge size, apparently some six ells in height. There was a red stripe down his face, and he was holding his cheeks in his hands. Jón did not like this spectacle, and hesitated to go out, so he stood still and looked at the man. The latter seemed rapidly to decrease, till at length he was only of ordinary size. Jón thought now that there was no good to be looked for from him, grew desperate and rushed out. As he sprang past the man, the latter let go with his hands, whereupon the skull split in two, and half of it fell on each shoulder. This did not increase Jón's courage, and he ran home as fast as his feet could carry him. It is said in old stories that the farmer who once lived there had his head cloven to his shoulders, and it is supposed to have been him that frightened Jón.

ON a farm in the north of Iceland there lived a man and his wife, who were very rich in money. One spring the man died and was buried at the parish church, which was on the next farm. The wife kept on the farm, and nothing happened all that summer, but in the autumn the man began to haunt the place, and his ghost killed both sheep and cows, while the house was ridden every night. At length the only man left on the farm was the shepherd; he had been a favourite with the farmer, and the ghost meddled least with him. However, on Christmas Eve the shepherd did not come home from the sheep, and when they searched for him, they only found some shreds of him beside the sheep-house. No one would take service with the widow now, and she had to remove with all her belongings. The following spring she was anxious to work the farm again, for it was a good one, so she got a man to look after it for the summer. All went well until the nights began to grow dark again, when the ghost began anew, and finally the overseer ran away. The woman was unwilling to leave before it was unavoidable, but now "good rede was dear." There was, however, in the district a merchant from the south of the country, who was terribly lazy, but a good workman when he liked. In her strait the woman applied to him, begging him to try to work the farm for her all winter. He was quite willing, but only on condition that she should marry him if everything went well during that time. As the woman was rather pleased with the man, she agreed to this, and he went to her farm. Whenever it grew quite dark, it was almost impossible to live there; sometimes the house was ridden and sometimes beaten from the outside, but the greatest uproar went on in the store-room. The overseer now went to the nearest trading village, and bought a large quantity of sheet-iron and white linen. The iron he hammered and shaped till at last it exactly fitted his whole body. Then he pierced holes in it, and got the woman to make him a suit of the white linen, with the iron plates sewed inside it. Next night the ghost came, and began to ride furiously on the house-top. The man put on his iron suit, picked up a horse-hair rope, and ran off to the churchyard. Going straight to the ghost's grave, he found it open and dropped the rope into it, keeping hold of one end. Then he threw earth on himself, and sat on the edge of the grave playing with a dollar-piece. Toward morning the ghost came back. "Who are you?" he asked. "ONE OF US," said the man. "There you lie," said the ghost. The man persisted that he was so, whereupon the ghost felt his breast, and said that he was certainly as cold as a corpse, but he was lying all the same. Still the man denied this, and the ghost seized him by the arm, but finding it cold as ice he said, "Cold arms but powerful; you must be a ghost, but why do you sit here?" The overseer answered that he was as well there as anywhere else; he had been reduced to a single dollar, and it was all the same to him where he amused himself with it. The ghost then asked him to draw the rope up out of the grave, but he refused, saying that he had put it there just because he wanted to meet him: he knew that the other was a rich ghost, and wished to propose that they should enter into partnership. He himself was a very strong ghost, as the other must have felt by his arm, and they could have everything their own way if they combined, but in return he wanted to have a share in the other's money. The ghost for a long time refused to agree to these terms, and asked the man to pull up the rope, which he flatly refused to do. In the end the ghost gave in, and appointed a meeting next night in the store-room at his widow's farm, for there he had half a bushel of money hid in the northmost corner. After this the man drew up the rope out of the grave, the ghost went into it, and it closed over him.

The overseer now went home, dug up the floor in the corner of the store-room and found the money, which he appropriated, as may be supposed. The sitting-room on the farm was up a stair, and was entered by a trap-door. In the evening the overseer spread a raw hide at the bottom of the ladder, and made the sign of the cross all round about it. This done, he waited upstairs for the ghost.

During the night the folk heard a terrible uproar in the room, so that everything danced about. Then something came along the passage with great violence, and broke down all the doors in it. Finally the ghost made his appearance, and sprang over the hide on to the ladder, but just as he got nearly up into the room, the overseer drove a bed board against his breast as hard as he could, so that the ghost fell backwards down the ladder with a crash, and landed on the hide. He could not get any foothold there, nor get off it owing to the crosses, and so was compelled to go into the earth where he was. The overseer then had holy water sprink'ed where the hide had lain, and the ghost was never seen again. He then married the widow, and was a most enterprising and successful man ever after.

IT was generally believed that the men of Hornfirth were so enraged at the priest Stefán Ólafsson, on account of a satire he composed on them, that they sent to him a ghost to take vengeance on him for this. An old woman, still alive, tells a story in proof in this, which she heard from a man in her young days. His story she gives as follows: —

"One winter evening when I was shepherd with Sir Stefán, I was lying on my back in my bed, which was nearest to the outer door, when I heard a noise out in the passage, just as if some one was dragging a hide along it. All who were in the house were asleep, except the priest, who was lying in his bed up in the loft, smoking his pipe. It was moonlight and quite clear in the room. After a little while, I saw a man, to all appearance, enter and come as far as the door, where he stopped and leaned against the door-post without saying a word. Then I heard the priest say, ‘What are you after?’ ‘To meet with you,' it said. ‘Why don't you come nearer then?' he asked. ‘I can't,' said the ghost. ‘Why not?’ ‘You are so hot,' said the ghost. ‘Then stand there and wait for me, if you dare,' said the priest, and with that he sprang out of bed and made for the stranger, who did not care to wait for him, but hurried down stairs with the priest after him. I heard them go outside, and being curious to know more about this, I slipped downstairs and out of doors, where I could hear them down in the meadow below the home-fields, whither the priest had followed him. I heard him call to the ghost and bid him wait for him, and when he would not do so he told the fellow to meet him there again. I ran in then, wishing to conceal the fact that I had seen this, lay down again and pretended to sleep. The priest came in immediately after, and I pretended to awaken. ‘Did you see the stranger?' he asked. ‘No,' said I. ‘Will you venture to go and get me a light for my pipe then?' said he. ‘Yes,' said I, and went for it, though not without some fear."

Another story told of the Hornfirth ghost is to this effect. Late one evening the priest wanted a book which was lying on the altar in the church, but the night being dark no one would venture to go for it, so he had to go himself. When he reached the altar and was about to lift the book, he heard some one in front of him say in a hollow and ghostly voice:—

The priest answered: —

With that he seized the book, and returned to the door of the church. Then he heard it say: —

and answered again : —

and went out, locking the door behind him. When he entered the house, the folk thought they could see that he had been frightened. Many add that he became weak-minded after this, and could not be cured of it until the plan was adopted of lifting the thatch off the sitting-room and drawing him up through the roof, but it is more commonly said that he drove away the ghosts by his poetry.

THERE was a man named Jón, commonly called Jón Flak. He was of a curious disposition, and not well liked by his neighbours, who found him given to annoying them without their being able to pay him back. When Jón died, the grave-diggers, out of mischief, dug his grave north and south. He was buried at the back of the choir in Múli churchyard, but every night after this he haunted the grave-diggers, repeating this verse :—

He never stopped this till he was dug up again, and laid east and west like other folk.

According to another version, Jón had a bad wife, who caused him to be buried in this position out of spite. Others say it was not done intentionally, but because the weather at his funeral was so bad that they were glad to get him buried in any way.

IN old times, and even right on to our own day, it was the general custom to hold night-watch over a corpse, and this was generally done with a light burning, unless the night was clear right through. Once there died a wizard who was ill to deal with, and few were willing to watch his body. However, a man was got to undertake the task, a strong and stout-hearted fellow. His watching went on all right so far, but on the night before the coffining the light went out a little before daybreak. The dead man then sat up and said, "PLEASANT IS THE DARKNESS." "That matters little to you," said the watcher, and made this verse :—

With that he sprang upon the corpse, and forced it down on its back again, and the remainder of the night passed quietly enough.

THERE was a wizard named Finn, who was so full of sorcery and wickedness that all were afraid of him. When he died, no one, either man or woman, would put him in his shroud and sew it round him, as was then the custom. At last one woman ventured on the task, but was only half-finished with it when she went mad. Then another tried it, and paid no heed to how the corpse behaved. When she was nearly finished, Finn said, "You have to bite off the thread afterwards." She answered, "I mean to break it and not bite it, you wretch." Then she broke the thread, snapped the needle in two, and stuck the pieces into the soles of his feet, nor is there any word of his having done any mischief after that.

WHEN Eirik Rafnkelsson was priest at Hof in Alptafirth, he had a maid servant named Oddny, who was engaged to a man in the same district. One time when a body was buried in Hof churchyard, the gravediggers saw Oddny come to the grave and poke about among the earth; but after a little she went away again, and they paid no heed to her. Next night, however, Einar dreamed that a man came to him, and asked him to get him back his bone, which Oddny had taken out of the earth the day before. The dead man said he had asked Oddny herself for it, "but she will not give it up, and says she never took it at all;" and with that he disappeared. Next morning the priest accused Oddny of having taken a human bone out of the earth, and told her to give it up; but she would not take with this, and became so angry that the priest did not press the charge. Next night the dead man came again to the priest, and begged him, as hard as he could, to get back the bone from Oddny, for he wished to have it above everything. When the priest woke in the morning, he arose and went to Oddny, who was washing clothes in a stream near the house, and again demanded the bone from her. She denied flatly that she had taken any bone, but the priest seized her, tore open her clothes, and found in her bosom a man's rib wrapped in grey wool. He then gave the girl a whipping, took the bone, and put it back into the grave. He also told Oddny's sweetheart what she had done, and asked him to consider whether he would have her after that, but he did not mind it and married her. Nothing ever happened to her afterwards, nor did the dead man ever visit any one above ground again.

THE following incident took place fully sixty years ago (about 1830), and is remembered by persons still alive.

One time when there was a burial in the churchyard of Garth in Kelduhverf (N.E. of Iceland), there stood by, among others, a woman named Hólmfríd, wife of Grim, the farmer of half of Vikingavatn in the same district. In digging the grave a large quantity of bones was thrown up, and among them a remarkably large skull. Hólmfríd went to look at the bones, and, turning over the skull with her foot, said, "How like a seal's skull it is; it would be interesting to know who the man was," and other words to the same effect. After the funeral had taken place in the usual way, every one made their way home.

At this time, the beds in farm-houses stood on a floor of boards, running along both sides of the room, while the passage up the centre was left unfloored. In many cases a similar piece of flooring ran across the end of the room furthest from the door, and this was sometimes higher than that along the sides. This was the arrangement at Vikingavatn, and there was also a large rafter stretching across the room. Hólmfríd bed, where she slept with her three-year-old child, was either across the inner end of the room, or at least further in than this crossbeam. When she fell asleep that evening, she dreamed that a huge head came hopping in at the door, and made its way along the passage in the middle, looking very stern. In it she recognised th big skull she had seen during the day, and was so frightened that she started up in bed. On falling asleep again, the same thing happened, but the head this time was more venturesome, and came hopping along the whole length of the room, and tried to get up into the bed. She put out her hands to thrust it away, and woke up in the act of pushing her child out of bed. It had been lying in front of her, so she now put it behind her, and fell asleep again. No sooner had she done so than a man of immense size entered the room, came forward to the cross-beam and laid his hands on it, saying in ghostly tones: "If you want to know my name, it is Jón, and I am son of Jón, and used to live in Krossdal." At this she was greatly alarmed and started up for the third time, and seemed to see this giant leisurely pass out at the door: after that she saw nothing more and slept all the rest of the night.

When this came to be talked about later, old people remembered a father and son in Krossdal, both named Jón, who had both died in the famine of 1783-84. The younger had been a very big man, and the story seemed to fit him exactly.

IN the north there was a priest named Ketill Jónsson who lived at Húsavík. He had a number of coffins dug up out of the churchyard, and said he did so because there was so little room there, and these coffins were only taking up space, the bodies being completely decayed. One time it so happened that three old women were in the kitchen, busy burning the coffins, when a spark flew out of the fire and lighted on one of them. It soon set her clothes on fire, and then those of the other two, as they were all standing close together. They burned so furiously that they were all dead before people came up and put out the fire. During the night the priest dreamed that a man came to him, and said, "You will not succeed in making room in the churchyard, although you go on digging up our coffins, for now I have killed your three old women to avenge ourselves, and they will take up some room in the churchyard, and still more will I kill, if you do not cease this conduct." With that he went away, and the priest awoke, and never again did he dig up any coffins out of the churchyard.

ON a farm beside a church there lived, among others, a boy and a girl. The boy was in the habit of trying to frighten the girl, but she had got so used to it that she was not frightened at all, for whatever she saw, she supposed it to be the boy's doing. One time the washing was lying out in the churchyard, among the articles being a number of white night-caps, which were then in fashion. In the evening the girl was sent out for it, and ran out to gather it together. When she had nearly finished, she saw a white figure sitting on a grave in the churchyard. Thinking to herself that it was the lad trying to frighten her, she ran up and pulled off the ghost's cap, supposing that the boy had taken one of the night-caps, and said, "You won't manage to frighten me this time." When she went in with the washing, however, she found the boy in the house, while on going over the clothes there was found to be a cap too many, and it was earthy inside. Then the girl was frightened. Next morning the figure was still sitting on the grave, and no one knew what was to be done, for none would venture to take the cap to the ghost. They sent round all the district for advice, and one old man declared that it was inevitable that some mischief would happen from this, unless the girl herself took the cap to the ghost and set it silently on its head, with many persons looking on. The girl was then forced to go with the cap, and set it on the ghost's head, which she did very unwillingly, saying when she had done so, "Are you pleased now?" The ghost started and struck her, saying "Yes! Are YOU pleased?" With that he plunged down into the grave, while at the blow the girl fell to the ground, and when they ran and lifted her she was dead. The boy was punished for having been in the habit of frightening her, for it was considered that all the trouble had been caused by him.

ONE time long ago a young fellow named Thorlak was crossing Eski-firth heath on his way to school at Hólar. Passing a deep ravine he heard a dim and ghostly voice calling out to him, "What is your name? Whose son are you? Where do you come from? Where are you going? and, How many nights old is the moon?" The youth answered at once, "Thorlak is my name; I am THörd's son; I come from Múla-sӳsla; I am going to Hólar school: and nine nights old is the moon." The story says that if Thorlak had made a slip anywhere in this, the evil being would have got power over him.

THERE was once a priest who was in the habit of taking all the bones that were thrown up in the churchyard, when a new grave was dug, and burning them. On one occasion when bones had been thrown up in this way, they were gathered up by the priest's cook, by his orders; but as they had got wet, either with rain or snow, she could not burn them at once, and had to set them up on the hearthstone beside the fire to dry them. While this was doing, and the cook was busy with her work in the twilight, she heard a faint voice from somewhere near the hearth saying, "My jaw-bones, my jaw-bones!" These words she heard repeated again, and began to look round the human bones that were lying beside her on the hearth to see what this meant, but could find no man's jaw there. Then she heard it said for the third time, in a still more piteous voice than before, "Oh, my jaw-bones, my jaw-bones!" She went again and looked closer, and then found the two jaw-bones of a child, fastened together, which had been pushed close to the fire and were beginning to burn. She understood then that the ghost of the child which owned the jaws must have been unwilling to have them burned, so she took them up and wrapped them in linen, and put them into the next grave that was dug in the churchyard. Nothing strange took place after that.

ONE time a servant-girl on a farm had given birth to a child, and exposed it to die, as not seldom happened in Iceland, while severe penalties — banishment or even death — were imposed for such offences. Some time after this, it so happened that one of the dances, called viki-vaki, once so popular in the country, was to be held, and this same girl was invited to it. But because she was not well enough off to have fine clothes suitable for such a gathering as these dances were, and was at the same time a woman fond of show, she was greatly vexed that she had to stay at home and be out of the merry-making. While the dance was going on elsewhere, the girl was engaged milking ewes in the fold along with another woman, and was telling her how she had no clothes to go to the dance with. Just as she stopped talking, they heard this verse repeated under the wall of the fold: —

The girl thought that in this she heard the voice of the child she had exposed, and was so startled at it that she was wrong in her wits all her life after.

IN olden times there was a burial vault for the nobility under the choir of Sónder-omme Church. Once, when the church was undergoing repairs, one of the masons wagered with his comrades, that he would venture into the church by night, and go down into the vault for one of the skulls from the decayed bodies that lay there. He won the wager, for at midnight he descended into the vault, and took the biggest skull he could find. But just as he had laid hold of it, and was about to go, he heard a rough, harsh voice saying "THAT IS MINE." "Oh, if it is yours, I won't take it then," said the mason, and lifted another which was not quite so large, but now he heard a woman's soft complaining voice say, "That one is mine." He threw it down also, and took the smallest he could find, but now a thin childish voice called out, "That is mine. That is mine." "I don't care," said the mason, "I'd take it even if it were the priest's." He ran out of the church with it, and so won his wager, but after this he never had any peace. He always thought that an innocent little child ran after him wherever he went, and cried, "That is mine. That is mine." He became strange and melancholy, and did not live long after.

IN Trane-kær castle there is a room, which in old times was so much haunted, that no one could stay in it overnight. A stranger once came to the place, and laid a wager that he would lie in this room over-night, without the ghosts doing him any harm. He did lie in the room and things went well until mid-night; but then there arose noise and disturbance, as if everything was being turned upside down, and before he knew of it, he was lying on the paved space outside the house. After this, the castle was even worse haunted than before, until at last no one could stay in it over-night, and there was no other way left than to get the ghosts laid. Word was sent to the priests in Snöde and Böstrup, and these promised to come on the Saturday evening following. The two of them drove together in a carriage to a knoll beside the highway, north from the castle. Here they made the carriage stop, and warned the coachman not to drive away, whatever happened, until there came one who could say, "Drive on, in Jesus' name." From here they went up to the castle, and there the ghosts of the three countesses came to meet them. One of the priests had not yet got his gown and collar on, and the foremost countess held up her hand and shouted, "What do you want? You have no business here." The priest, however, hastily put on his gown and collar, and now they began to tackle the ghosts. One of these reminded the priest of Böstrup that he had once stolen two skilling's worth, but he immediately threw the two skillings to her, and so that was paid. The priests, however, were unable to stand their ground, being only two against three, and were driven back from the castle, and down towards the highway. If they had not got help then, they would have fared badly.     

That same evening, the priest of Trane-kær was lying in his bed, and said to his wife that there came such a strange restlessness over him; he thought he ought to go somewhere, as there was something not right going on, but he could not tell what it was. His wife said that he really must not go out so late; so he lay for a little then, but finally said that he could not help it, he must go, for he could feel now that two of his brethren were in danger of their lives. He hastily put on his gown and collar, and went down to the highway, where the three countesses were driving the two priests before them. He came just in the nick of time, for the priests were almost helpless. They had indeed got the countesses sunk in the ground up to their knees, but one of the ghosts had slipped behind them and was looking through them from there, so that the priest from Snöde was already withered on one side, and never recovered again. The priest of Trane-kær now lent a hand, and the ghosts had to give in, as they were now one to one. The countesses were laid, and there was peace again in the place. None of the priests, however, got over that night. The one from Snöde was mortally ill when he reached home, and did not live long after it. When the Böstrup priest heard of his death, he said, "Then my time will also come soon," and he died soon after. The Trane-kær priest got off best, but after this time he never mounted the pulpit, but always stood in the choir-door when he preached.

AT Silkeborg there was the ghost of a man, who had been foully murdered; most people say that it was Captain H— 's servant, who had been first killed and then drowned. The curate in Linaa tried to lay him, but he was too powerful for him, for it is not easy to lay the ghost of one who has been innocently murdered. "No worthless wretch, but God's bairn," said the curate, when he came home after a vain attempt. The priest in Gjödvad, Morten Regenberg, had then to take up the matter, "for he was the man that could do it," say the peasants. All the same, he was unsuccessful on the first two occasions on which he tried it; the ghost was too much for him also, knocked the book out of his hand and could not be got to speak, and so long as it kept silence the priest could not get the better of it. Regenberg was not the man to give in, however, and would try conclusions with it a third time. He therefore ordered his man to yoke the horses and drive to Silkeborg, first laying a new horse-collar in the carriage. On the way to Silkeborg the priest got down and went aside, after giving the man orders to wait for him, and not drive on for any person except the one who said, "Drive on now in the name of Jesus." The Evil One now tempted the man to drive off and leave the priest in a fix. He sent to him one in the priest's likeness, but as he only said, "Drive on now," the servant saw that it was not the right person and would not obey him. So it went with others that the Evil One sent to him, but finally there came one with the proper words, and this was the priest himself. When they came to Lille-Maen beside Silkeborg, he ordered the servant to put the horse-collar round his neck; this he did in order to befool the ghost and get him to speak, and for this reason he wanted his man to look like a priest. The plan worked well, for as the man went forward and the priest came close behind him with his book, they met the ghost, who, on seeing the man, could not refrain from saying, "If you are to be priest this evening, I shall play fine pranks with you." The priest, who had previously forbid his servant to say a word, then stepped forward and said, "If he is not, I am." With that he began to read out of the book, and as the ghost had now spoken, he got the upper hand of it. He then ordered his man to turn the carriage, take off one of the wheels, lay it in the carriage, and drive home. The man thought they would be overturned, but dared not disobey, and the carriage ran well enough on the three wheels, for the reason that the ghost had to do service for the fourth one; the priest had forced it to this, when he got power over it. They drove in this way to Resenbro, when the man received orders to put the fourth wheel on again, and they drove home. The priest had accomplished his difficult task, and the ghost was laid.

IN Bjolderup, beside Aabenraa, there is a farm where the cattle-house was once badly haunted. Every evening there came a man with red vest and white sleeves, who went about among the cattle and made a noise. Two large oxen, which were tied up in one of the stalls, were let loose every night by the ghost. For a long time no one could understand why this should have begun all at once; but at last it occurred to them that the floor in the stall, where these two oxen stood, had lately been relaid, and on that occasion a stake was pulled up from the middle of the stall. A ghost must have been laid there in old days, and set free again when the stake was pulled out. There was no other resource then but to send for a "wise" priest to lay it again, but the ghost was difficult enough to deal with, "for he was now so old and so wise."

THERE was once a very clever priest in Stillinge; he had gone through "the black school," and was an expert in that line, as the following story shows. He almost always wandered about under the open sky. Even by night he could often be seen walking backwards and forwards in his garden, or in the churchyard, or the church itself, and sometimes even in distant parts of the parish. When any of his parishioners met him by night, he never entered into conversation with them, but went silently on his way. His wife, says the story, was much annoyed by this night-wandering, and devised many a clever plan to get him off it, but all in vain. At last she wondered whether it would be possible to frighten him from it, and this she resolved to try.

At this time there served on the parsonage a big, strong, daring fellow, who was afraid of nothing. He was taken into her counsels by the priest's wife, and promised to assist her. One night, when the priest was going about as usual, the fellow took a sheet over him and went out to frighten his master. He sought him in the garden, but not finding him there, he went up to the church. There he found the door open, and guessed that the priest was inside. When he got inside the door, he saw him coming down from the altar, deep in thought, so he remained just where he was, as the priest could not pass him without seeing him. As soon as the priest caught sight of the white figure, he stopped and said in a loud voice, "If you are a human being, speak; if you are a spirit, sink!" The man laughed to himself, and was not going to be fooled in this way, so he stood silent and motionless. The priest snatched "the book" out of his pocket, and began to read in all haste. The man shuddered, for he felt himself beginning to sink, but he was so determined that he made not a sign until he had sunk down to the middle of his breast. Then he began to entreat for himself, and begged the priest to forgive him for having tried to play a trick on him. The priest was horrified at what he had done, but said, "No; it can't be undone now, or we should both be lost. Down you must go, but you can come up elsewhere."

The priest read on, and the man had soon entirely disappeared, but immediately afterwards he came up unharmed, in a sheep-cote belonging to a farm that lies a little to the west of the church. He came up out of the ground with such force that he went right up through the roof of the outhouse. After that time there was always a hole in the roof there, which could never be closed up.

MY grandfather told that, in his young days, he was driving from Frederiksund late one evening, when all at once he felt that something crept up into the waggon behind him, although he could see nothing, and the waggon then became so heavy that the horses could scarcely drag it. This continued until he came to Gerlöv church, where he distinctly felt something dump off the waggon, which then became so light again that the horses ran with it as if it were nothing. He explained it in this way, that it was a ghost who was making his way home to Gerlöv churchyard, but had got tired on the way, and had climbed up into the waggon until they reached the church.

WHILE they were once digging a grave in Assing Churchyard, they turned up a body which was not decayed, although no one could remember of any one having been buried at that spot. They took the dead man, and set him up against the wall of the church, where he remained standing for some time. One day the people in the Nether Kirkton, which lies close by, were in the house taking their afternoon meal, when the ploughman said to the good-wife, "The dead man up in the churchyard ought to get a bite too. He has had to go without food for so long, that he may well be in want of it." "Well, I shall cut a slice for him, if you will take it to him," said the woman. The man was willing, and went over to the churchyard with the piece of bread. Handing this to the corpse, he said, "There is a bite for you; you may well be hungry for it, seeing you have had to wait so long." No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than the dead man was on his back, and he was compelled, whether he liked it or not, to carry him four miles west over the heath to a farm there. When he entered with his burden, it was already evening, and the people were so scared that they ran out into the kitchen, with the exception of an old old woman, who lay in a bed beside the kitchen-door, and had done so for many years. The ploughman ran after them, but when he had entered the kitchen, he felt that the body was off his back. He now spoke to the others, and told them what had happened to him, and that the dead man had left him just as he came through the door. They became a little bolder after this, and would go back into the room and see what had happened. When they had opened the door, they saw nothing but a few handfuls of ashes, which lay in a little heap before the old woman's bed. She herself was dead. No one ever got to know what the dead man had to talk with her about; but they could understand that they had both been waiting to meet each other, and on that account neither could he rot in the ground, nor she die. Now that this had happened, he had fallen into a little heap of ashes.

ABOUT sixty years ago it so happened that the wife of the priest in Väsby was sitting up late one evening, waiting for her husband, when she heard the most pitiful cries coming from the churchyard. She readily understood the meaning of these, and hastily got together a bundle of such clothes as would be required for a newly born child, and threw them over the churchyard wall. There was silence for a little after this, but the cries then began anew, and the priest's wife understood that the dead woman had borne twins, and required more clothing for them. She had no more children's clothes, but took all the linen and woollen cloth she could get hold of at the moment, and threw this over to the woman, who immediately became quiet. When the priest came home, she told him the story, but he would not believe it. His wife maintained its truth, however, so he spoke to the deceased woman's relatives and asked leave to open the grave, to satisfy himself whether the story was true or not. They agreed to this; grave and coffin were opened, and there lay the dead woman, with a child on each arm, wrapped in the self-same clothes that the priest's wife had thrown into the churchyard.

A GENERATION back a woman in Mariager had decided to go to the early service in Mariager Church. It began at eight o'clock, and this was during the winter. About four o'clock the woman woke up and put on her finery, and thinking it was near the proper time, made haste to the church. The door was open, light streaming from all the windows, and the organ playing. She hastened inside, and made for her seat, but was surprised to find that she scarcely knew a single person in the church. The priest, who stood by the altar, had also been dead for many years. She was quite scared at this, and would have run out again, but could not rise from her place. In her confusion she looked round, and recognised a friend in the seat behind her, who had also been dead for many years. This friend bent over to her, and whispered to her to unfasten her cloak, and be ready to run out of the church as soon as the priest said "Amen" in the pulpit, and before he had pronounced the benediction, otherwise she would fare badly. The woman could not rise until the priest had said "Amen," but she then ran out as fast as she could. Just as she got outside the door, it slammed behind her with a fearful crash, catching her cloak fast, but doing her no harm. When the people came to the church in the morning, they found the cloak caught in the door. The part outside was whole, but that which had been inside, was torn into little pieces, which lay scattered all over the floor of the church.

ON the estate of Palstrup lived a squire who had a great desire to possess some fields which lay close to his own ground. He employed every means to assert his claim to these fields, and carried on a law-suit about them for a long time. In the end the matter was to be decided by oath. The squire had a servant, whom he bribed to give his oath for him, and the latter put leaves in his hat and earth in his boots, so that when the authorities visited the disputed ground, he gave his oath that he stood on Palstrup earth and under Palstrup leaves. In this way the lands came to belong to Palstrup. Before long, however, the servant died, and could then be heard going about in the fields by night, lamenting and saying, "Skovsborg north-field and Dössing north-field are won to Palstrup with great wrong: O woe and woe! O woe and woe!" Finally the squire died also, and came about the farm every night, making such noise and uproar that the people could scarcely stay there for fright.

IT has sometimes happened that people have been heard and seen ploughing during the night time. These are men who in their life-time have cheated their neighbours by ploughing some of their land on to their own, and who, after death, must go and plough, as if to return what they had taken away; but this they cannot accomplish unless the living help them to put right the wrong they have done. Such stealing of land could be very easily carried out in old times, before the ground was marked off; now-a-days it seldom happens.

One evening a man was busy ploughing part of his neighbour's field on to his own. He said to the lad who was driving the plough for him, "When I am dead, I must plough back again what I am ploughing to-night. Will you help me then?" The lad said he would. Some years passed, and the man died. Meanwhile the lad had grown up and served as ploughman on another farm. One evening as he was threshing, he saw his late master on the other side of the beam that lay across the barn. The ghost leaned his arms on the beam, looked at him for a little, and said, "Will you come and help me now, as you promised?" The man went with him, and when they had got outside the court-yard the ghost said, "Now you can take the short cut across the field, I must go along the road.” When the man got to the field where the ploughing was to be, he found the other there already, with horses and plough. The man took the reins, and at first they went quite slow, but got faster and faster, till at last he had to run to keep up with the plough, and was afraid that he would lose his wind. Fortunately it was soon finished, and when they came to the end of the field the whole thing suddenly disappeared before his eyes, and he went home again, glad to have got off so well.

It is no pleasant thing to come across such night ploughers, and no easy matter to defend one's self against them. They are, indeed, for the most part, heard far away, shouting and driving their horses, and sometimes one can hear the ploughshares and wheels creaking; but as soon as they notice that any one is about to cross the place where they are ploughing, they take good care not to be discovered before they have him in their power. Some say that these night ploughers can bewitch those who come near them, so that they can neither hear nor see. If they do get hold of any one, he must be very fortunate to escape from them before the cock crows. This can only happen when the man thus caught by them puts off his wooden shoes before he begins to drive the horses, and is careful to lift them again when he comes to them for the third time. If he does not remember it then, it can also be done at the sixth time, but if he does not remember then, or is unfortunate, and does not get into them quick enough, he must hold out till the cock crows. However, driving the plough with them brings no other misfortune with it than the trouble of running up and down the field all night. There are many who have had to drive for them, and who have all come well out of it.

THERE was once a man who was not very particular about shifting the boundary mark between himself and his neighbours, for the purpose of gaining a few furrows, but he had to pay dear for that. After his death, he had to walk again, and for several generations was heard every evening after sundown, going about dragging the march-stone and shouting "Where shall I set it? where shall I set it?" (Hwo ska æ sæt 'en?) Finally one summer evening an audacious boy, who was rather late in bringing home the cattle, got annoyed at hearing the ghost's eternal question, "Where shall I set it?" and without further thought, answered rudely, "O, set it where you took it, in the Fiend's name." (Aa sæt’en, som do tow'en, i Fain Nawn.) The ghost answered, "These words should have been said many years ago, and I would have had rest;" after that time nothing more was heard of him.

A STUDENT was once living with an old priest. One day he went down into the garden, where he saw the priest sitting, reading a book. Not wishing to disturb him, he went back to the house, and entered the study, where he found the priest seated, and reading the same book as he had seen him with in the garden. The student was surprised at this and told what he had seen, whereupon the priest begged him to come and tell him the next time he saw this. The student promised to do so, and a few days later he again saw the priest sitting in two different places. When the latter heard this, he immediately took his staff in his hand, and went straight to the figure which sat reading in the garden. When he reached it, however, he at once turned round and walked into the house again. No one knows whether he said anything to it or not, but he looked at it at least. As soon as he had entered the house, he fell dead.

ONE time some men were on a journey, and pitched their tent on a Sunday morning on a beautiful green meadow. The weather was clear and fine, and the travellers lay down to sleep in their tent, all in a row. The one who was lying next the door could not sleep, and kept looking here and there in the tent. He then noticed a tuft of bluish vapour above the man who lay innermost, which in a little came towards the door and went out. The man wished to know what this was, so he rose and followed it. It glided softly across the meadow, and finally came to the skin and skull of a horse that was lying there, and was full of blue flies which made a great humming. The vapour entered the horse-skull, and after a good while came out again. It then went on over the meadow, until it came to a small stream of water, down the side of which it went, apparently looking for a place to cross. The man had his whip in his hand, and laid it across the stream, and the vapour glided along the shaft of it to the other side. Then it went on again for a bit, till it arrived at a mound on the meadow, into which it disappeared. The man stood at a little distance, waiting for it to come back, which it did before long, and then returned in the same way as it had come. It crossed the stream on the man's whip as before, made straight for the tent then, and never stopped until it came above the innermost man in the tent, where it disappeared. The other then lay down again and fell asleep.

On rising to resume their journey, they talked much while loading their horses. Among other things, the one who had been innermost in the tent said, "I wish I had what I dreamed about to-day." "What was it you dreamed?" asked the one who had seen the vapour. "I dreamed," said the other, "that I went out on the meadow here, and came to a large and beautiful house, where a crowd of people was assembled, singing and playing with the greatest mirth and glee. I stayed a very long time in there, and on coming out again went for a long long time across smooth and lovely meadows. Then I came to a great river, which I tried for a long time to cross, but in vain. I saw then a terribly big giant coming, who had a huge tree in his hand; this he laid across the river, and I crossed on it. I went on for a long long time, till I came to a great mound. It was open, and I entered it, and found nothing there but a great barrel, filled with money. I stayed there an immensely long time, looking at the money, for such a heap I had never seen before. On leaving it, I went back the same way as I had come, crossed the river on the tree again and so got back to the tent." The one who had followed the vapour began to rejoice, and said to the one who had been dreaming, "Come and we shall search for the money at once." The other laughed, and thought he was out of his wits, but went with him. They followed the same path as the vapour had gone, came to the mound and dug in it, and there they found a keg full of money, which they took back and showed to their comrades, and told them all about the dream.

IT happened once on a farm in Vend-syssel, that some folks had engaged a tailor, who was sitting on the table sewing one evening, while one of the farm-hands was lying on a bench talking to him. During the conversation, the man fell asleep, and soon after this the tailor noticed that something flew out of his mouth, while at the same moment the man ceased to breathe. The tailor thought over this for a little, and finally concluded that this must be the man's soul, taking a little excursion by night. To see the end of this play, he took a rag and laid it over the man's mouth, supposing that in this way he would prevent it from getting in again, when it came back. In a little the soul returned, and sure enough it did try to get in, but being prevented by the rag, it seemed to get lost, and began to flutter about the room. The tailor hopped down off the table, and began to pursue the soul, which he finally succeeded in catching. He wanted very much to get it to tell him something about its excursion, but did not understand the way to do this; however, he had no intention of letting it back to its proper home, when he had got such an unusual catch. He therefore put it into a box, where he kept it for a long time, but finally got tired of keeping it, and sold it to two itinerant Mormon priests.

Two men were once out digging turf, and lay down to take their mid-day nap. A mouse ran out of the mouth of one of them, and when it came back, the other held his hand over his fellow's mouth, so that it could not get in again, and with that the man died.

THORKELL GEITISSON of Krossavík (E. of Iceland) ordered his thrall Freystein to make away with the child of Ornny, his (Thorkell's) sister. The thrall merely left it in a wood, where it was afterwards found by a man named Krum, who brought it up as his own. The boy was named Thorstein, and throve well. When six or seven years old he began to go to Krossavík, and one day he entered the house, where Geitir, the father of Thorkell, sat muttering into his cloak. The young Thorstein, who was rushing along as children do, fell suddenly on the floor. Geitir set up a loud laugh at this, and the boy went up to him, saying, "Did you think it so very amusing when I fell just now?" "I did," said Geitir, “for I saw what you did not see." "What was that?" asked Thorstein. "I shall tell you," said Geitir; "as you came into the room, there came with you a white bear's cub, and ran along the floor before you. When it saw me it stopped, but you were in a great hurry and so fell over it, and I suspect that you are not the son of Krum, but are of much higher birth." Geitir afterwards told this to his son Thorkell, who, after comparing the stories of Freystein and Krum, was convinced of the boy's real origin, and Thorstein took up his abode at Krossavík.

THE belief in beings, of which each person has one to attend him, is common over the greater part of Norway, but there are differences both in the name and the idea. In some places they are called Fölgie or Fylgie; in others, Vardögl, Vardygr, Vardivil or Valdöiel, and sometimes Ham, Hug-ham or Hau.

In some districts the Vardögl is imagined as a good spirit, who always accompanies the person, and wards off all dangers and mishaps. For this reason, in many parts of the country, people are still so conscientious as to follow everyone, even the poorest, out of doors, and look after him; or at least open the door after he has left, in order to give the Vardögl, if it should accidentally have stayed behind, an opportunity to follow its master, who in its absence is exposed to misfortunes and temptations. Among other risks, he runs that of falling into the clutches of the Thus-bet, an evil spirit which similarly attends every person, and is not to jest with. People often show almost incurable wounds of a malignant nature, where this troll has bitten them during the night. Such persons are said to be "Thus-bitten," and the wounds are called "Thus-bites."

In other parts the Fölgie or Vardögl is regarded more as a precursor of the person, which by knocking at the door or window, tapping on the walls, lifting the latch, and so on, gives notice either of the arrival of an acquaintance, or that he is very anxious to come, or that some accident is about to happen. When the Fölgie shows itself, it is generally in the shape of an animal, whose properties stand in a certain relation to the person's disposition; but each individual always has the same one. Bold men have, as a rule, a spirited beast, such as a wolf, a bear, or an eagle. The cunning have a fox or a cat; the timid have a hare, a little bird, or the like.

Sometimes, however, the Vardögl shows itself in human shape, and has then the appearance of its master, but disappears immediately. Such a person is called a "Double-ganger." Hence it comes that the same person can be seen in two different places at the same time, the one of them being the Fölgie. When this appears to the person himself, many a man is terrified, and believes that he will soon die.

If any one wishes to know what animal he has for a Vardögl, he must, with certain ceremonies, wrap up a knife in a handkerchief, which is held in the air, while he goes over all the animals he knows; as soon as the Fölgie is named, the knife falls out of the handkerchief.

THE Draug is variously imagined in different districts of Norway. In the south it is generally regarded either as a white ghost, or as a Fölgie foreboding death, which accompanies the dead man wherever he goes, and sometimes shows itself as an insect, which in the evening gives out a piping sound. In Herjus-dale in Hvide-sö, at the spot where Herjus Kvalsot was murdered, his "draug" now walks; on Christmas Eve it came to his home, and cried: —

In the north, on the other hand, the Draug almost always haunts the sea or its neighbourhood, and to some extent replaces Necken. The northland fishers have much to do with him. They often hear a terrible shriek from the Draug, which sometimes sounds like "H-a-u," and sometimes "So cold," and then they hurry to land, for these cries forebode storm and mishaps at sea.

The fishermen often see him, and describe him as a man of middle height, dressed in ordinary sailor's clothes. Most of the northlanders maintain that he has no head; but the men of North Möre allow him, in place of a head, a tin-plate on his neck, with burning coals for eyes. Like Necken, he can assume various shapes. He generally haunts the boat-sheds, in which, as well as in their boats, the fishermen find a kind of foam, which they think to be the Draug's vomit, and believe that the sight of it is a death-warning.

THIS procession consists of spirits which have not done so much good as to deserve heaven, and not so much evil as to be sent to hell. In it are found drunkards, brawlers, satirists, swindlers, and such like folk, who, for the sake of some advantage or other, have sold themselves to the Devil. Their punishment is to ride about till the end of the world. At the head of the procession rides Guro-Rysse, or Reisa-Rova with her long rump, by which she is distinguished from the others. After her comes a whole multitude of both sexes. If one sees them from the front, both riders and horses are big and beautiful, but from behind one can see nothing but Guro's long rump. The horses are coal-black, and have eyes that gleam in the darkness: they are guided with glowing bits or iron bridles, which, combined with the yells of the riders, create a terrible noise that can be heard a long way off. They ride over water as well as over land, and the horses' hoofs can scarcely be seen to touch the water. Where they throw the saddle on the roof, some one must shortly die; and where they feel that blows and death will happen at a drinking party, there they come in, and set themselves on the shelf above the door. They keep quiet so long as nothing takes place, but laugh loudly and rattle their iron bits, when blows begin and murder is done. They especially travel about at Christmas, when the big drinkings take place. They are in the habit of resting on the farm of Bakken in Svarte-dal in Upper Thelemark, and usually bake their bread beside Sundsbarm Lake.

When any one hears them coming, he must either try to get out of the way, or at least throw himself flat on the ground, and pretend to be asleep, for there have been instances of living persons being snapped up by the company, and either brought back to the place where they were taken up, or found lying half-conscious far away from it. One Christmas Eve the "Skreia" passed over Nordbö in Nisse-dal, where there was heard a wild cry of "To horse! to horse!" The man went to look out, but before he knew where he was, he was sitting on the ridge of his own house. Still worse did Helge Teitan fare. She was torn out of her own bed, and carried off by the troop. When she came to Holme Lake, a mile from her house, she knew where she was by the many islands. An hour later she was thrown half dead in at the door of her own house. Foam-covered horses, which have been with the troop, are often seen. At Trydal in Gjerre-stad, where screaming children are threatened with "Haaskaalreia," the farmer was carried off by it one Christmas Eve. In his first astonishment he could not utter a word, but when he had got half a mile north from the farm, he managed to say, "In Jesus' name." With that he was dropped down on the field. Gunhild of Tvedt in Ombli was carried off, along with a black horse from her stable. The horse went as well on water as on land, and galloped at a fearful pace until it came to Ljöse-stad, where Gunhild was let go. In old days they were so frightened for “Askereia," that no one dared even to sing when it was out; now they scare children with it. The honest man who is careful to cast himself on his face, or even on his back, and throw out his arms so as to make the sign of the cross, has nothing more to fear than that each one of the company spits upon him. When they have all passed, he spits in turn, otherwise he may take harm by it.

AT Reykir in Skeid (S. of Iceland) lived Rúnólf Thorsteinsson, who had a son named Hildiglúm. On Saturday night, twelve weeks before winter, the latter went outside, and heard so great a crash that he thought both earth and heaven shook. He then looked towards the west, and thought he saw there a fiery ring, and inside it a man on a grey horse. He was riding hard, and soon came past him. In his hand he held a flaming fire-brand, and rode so near that Híldiglúm could see him plainly, and he was black as pitch. In a loud voice he repeated this verse: —

Then he seemed to hurl the brand before himself east to the fells, and a fire seemed to shoot up to meet it, so great that Híldiglúm could not see the fells for it. The man rode east into the fire, and disappeared there. After this Híldiglúm went in and lay down on his bed, and was long unconscious, but at length recovered. He remembered all that he had seen, and told it to his father, who bade him tell it to Hjalti Skeggjason, which he then did. "You have seen the “gandreid," said Hjalti, "and that always comes before great tidings."

THIS spectre moves with a noise like that of a creaking waggon, and derives its name from this. It is believed to consist of spirits of the damned, who are doomed to fly around the earth within twenty-four hours, and always fly in the same direction, namely, to the north-east. Rash persons have called out to it, "Turn about and grease your nave," whereupon it makes for them, and they must escape by getting under a roof, or by their companions throwing themselves above them to protect them from its attacks. In the former case, a "wise" person may turn it back a little, and enable the offenders to escape; but even after they have got safely into the house, it has been heard scraping at the door all night. Where the others have thrown themselves above the speaker, the knark-vogn has scraped great holes in the earth round about them, and pulled at their clothes, but without being able to injure them. In spite of this protection, it once managed to strike a man in the eyes, which were red to the end of his days. In the morning they are free from it.

THE night-raven is a suicide who has been buried where three estates meet. Every year he can push to one side the length of a grain of sand, and so after many years comes to the surface again. The night-raven then flies towards the Holy Sepulchre, but is only permitted to go a certain distance each year, so that it may be centuries before it gets there. A man was once sitting on the ground when he heard something beneath him saying, "Now I turn myself." The man was scared, and the voice repeated, "Now I turn myself." "What can this be," thought the man, "I shall say something to it next time." When the words were repeated for the third time, he answered, "Well turn yourself, in Jesus' name, and never do it again." An old priest, however, is said to have told his communicants that the night-raven was a ghost who had been laid. The pile driven down at that spot, makes a hole in its right wing, and if anyone happens to see the sun through that hole, he can thereafter see things hid from all other eyes. More commonly it is believed that to see through this hole causes madness or sudden death.

The night-raven flies about with a cry of "Ba-u, Ba-u," and is ready to attack persons whom it finds outside by night. There is a story of two girls who met it, and escaped from it by fleeing into a house; in the morning two fiery wings were fixed on the door. It can strike fire with its wings, and is thus visible in the night time.