has got upon the right side also, plastered from ears to tail with specimens of every soil in Breakneckshire. Slowly over the heavy meadow-lands, slowly over the brooks, and well in hand and all together at the last fence of all; there, too, has arrived one-armed scarlet, whom a fall rather refreshes than otherwise; and at no great distance comes the agile violet, making up not quite half of the dozen who started. Orange, as well he may, swerves from the stunted bushes; scarlet, with only one arm to hinder it, must needs swerve also, and refuses. 'White,' says my right-hand neighbour, 'is bound to be in if he don't ride harder at it than that;' and he redeems his bond by going in accordingly. Only clumsy yellow of the four gets over it, with the exception of his hind-legs, which, after a struggle, he drags out and connects them with the others in the usual way, and so would have come in an easy winner; but cantering home too carelessly, clumsy yellow is overtaken, headed, and after a sharp struggle, defeated at the post by agile violet. Let us make one of the cheering crowd which accompanies the fortunate moustached rider to the weighing-machine: eleven stone, with saddle and bridle and spurs, as he was before the race, quite regular, and as he should be. But see, what have become of his magnificent moustaches? They are off, and in his pocket; and now that he has changed his clothes, you would never recognise agile violet in the quiet-looking young spectator in black. We are respectable and domestic young men in private life, and do not care to be known as gentlemen-riders at a steeple-chase, that is all. Nothing, not even a pair of moustaches, is what it pretends to be in these proceedings in Breakneckshire. For instance, are there refreshments under the grand stand? Certainly. Anything else? Oh, dear no; all gambling is contrary to the law. Only a smiling, smooth-shaven gentleman just lifts a crimson curtain as we enter into the luncheon-tent, and 'Roulette, gentlemen?' says he, as innocently as though he were requesting us to partake of gingerbeer. Within the ring, the betting has now commenced in earnest, for the great race of the day, the open steeple-chase, takes place immediately, and the horses are mostly well-known favourites of the sporting public.

'I'll bet against Hyacinth,' cries a disbeliever in that noble animal, running the three first words into one, so rapidly are they delivered; but accenting the name of the mare with great distinctness. 'I'll bet against Bluebonnet; I'll back Brimstone against the Field.' What anxiety in those roving eyes-what cautiousness in those unsmiling lips! To judge, indeed, from this portion of the tribe of Ishmael here assembled, whose hand is against every man's, and every man's hand against them, this trade of bettingbook-making must be, I fancy, very far from a pleasant one.

Certainly the professional jocks have the advantage of the amateurs in point of appearance; a nobleman may, and often does divest himself of every vestige of his class, in his attempts to emulate his groom; but, after all, the groom looks his own character better than he who would play it. Never did I see a finer set of party-coloured centaurs than those who started for the open Rasperton. Neat, sir; devilish neat, sir,' acquiesced my right-hand neighbour, as I made this observation; and he looked down upon the halfsovereign which formed the head of his scarf-pin, as much as to add that that was devilish neat also, and rather a happy fancy. After seeing the whole array fly, bird of Paradise-like, over the hurdles, I hurried away with this gentleman to a certain position by one of the broadest of the brooks, where we were safe,' he said, 'to see a purl or two; and if we had luck, it might be half-a-dozen.' Presently there came a rushing noise and a shaking of the heavy morass

about us; then one, two, three apparitions of flying men and steeds; and fourthly, a thud and plunge in the water, that wetted us through, even where we stood. The jock, a mere lad, was upon the bank in an instant; but the beautiful animal which he had bestridden lay in the brook without the power to extricate itself. A crowd closed round it, so that we saw no more; but I heard the shrill, small voice say: 'Well, I'm sorry for it; but get the saddle and bridle off at once, will ye, for I have to ride Saladin for the next race.'

As for his late steed, it was all over with him then and there. 'Broke a wessel,' answered a stable-boy carelessly, of whom we inquired what had happened. 'A blood-vessel, I suppose he means?' said I. 'He means you to think so,' replied my astute companion. 'People begins to say them steeple-chase jumps is too much for a horse's stride, as, indeed, they often are; so those that likes the sport to go on, gives out that they break a vessel, when in reality they break their backs.'

Besides being wet through, and therefore desirous of getting home, this piece of information disinclined me to witness any more steeple-chasing; so I hurried away as fast as I could to Rasperton.

When I got to the Weasel Asleep, it was already dusk, and I had to pick trusty Seaman out from about a hundred other animals; by that uncertain light, all horses not absolutely white are brown, and it seemed to me as if I had driven a whole drove of Seamen into Rasperton. Even in broad noonday, I have always a difficulty in recognising a horse, unless its colour happens to be particularly marked, such as a piebald; and therefore it is not to be wondered at that I mistook Lord Scattertin's tandem leader, which would have kicked the old gig to atoms in five minutes, and then Farmer Whityer's colt, which would not have got me home till daybreak, for my borrowed quadruped. Each of these misfortunes, however, was prevented by the hostler, who, upon bringing out the real Simon Pure, seemed to look at me a little askance, as at one who had made a couple of attempts at felony.

'You're sure you've got him right now, sir?' inquired he.

Yes,' said I, making a little inventory of his principal features: short tail, thin neck, bit of gray on his mane. All right this time. Thank you, my man.'

There was a slight fog prevailing, but the moon was large and bright enough to make my road perfectly visible; moreover, I remembered it with great exactness, and was therefore exceedingly astonished when the horse refused to take a turning to the left hand, about three miles from Rasperton. I conquered him, indeed, but not till after a struggle; and instead of the slapping pace at which he had come hitherto of his own accord, he crawled along without even heeding my frequent applications of the whip. Gig after gig, four-wheel after four-wheel passed me, and when I got to Blewbourn, a village about half-way home, there was a great array of vehicles in front of the public-house-their proprietors were of course drinking within-and as the fog was by this time getting down my throat pretty thickly, I thought I would take a little something stronger and warmer to mix with it. There was a jovial company of yeomen in the bar-parlour, and I happened to enter just as one of them was concluding an amusing story.

'So the major is going this way with one pistol, and his brother the other with the fellow to 't. Neither of them are the sort of folks to lose a horse without paying out the chap as took it. His favourite trotter, too, with the white nose.'

How came the man at the Weasel Asleep to let

the horse go?' inquired one. 'Why, that's a very old trick.'

'Ay, old enough,' resumed the narrator; but the scoundrel acted, it seems, so natural-like-pretended so innocently to be in search of a horse of his own, that poor Jem was clean taken in. Howsomever, it will be the worse for master Clever if the major do come up wi' him; he is taking the Downs road, I hear, in a proper passion.'

I swallowed my brandy-and-water at a gulp, and ran to the gig. Good heavens! the horse had a white nose; it did not look in the least like Seaman! No wonder it had not liked to turn to the left.

'I see you have the major's nag, sir,' observed the helper gaily. (How frightfully recognisable some horses are! However, it was clear this man could not as yet have heard of the robbery, and if I could only hinder him from going into the inn, all might yet be well.)

'Yes,' said I coolly; 'he's lent it to me. Look here, my good fellow: I have left a pocket-book at the inn, a mile and a half down the road; here is a sovereign for you if you will start at once and ask for it while I wait here.'

No sooner had the hostler's hobnails ceased to beat pit-a-pat upon the frosty road, than I was in the driving-seat, and going at some fifteen miles an hour towards home. Three miles beyond Blewbourn, I came upon an empty cart-house, and there I took out the horse, and put up the gig. I rode the animal for a mile further along the highway, and then fastened him to a tree by the roadside, where he could be easily seen. I did not wish them to think that you, who had so kindly lent me Seaman and the gig, were the thief, you know. Then I left the turnpike-road, and ran a little steeple-chase, all by myself, across the fields, because of the major, to your door.

And that was how Mr Robert Jones came home from the races upon foot, and why I had to send next day for my horse and gig.

NORTHERN SUPERSTITIONS.

IN Sweden and Norway, and probably too in Denmark, there are some curious superstitions which the civilisation and enlightenment of the present century have not yet eradicated from the beliefs and memories of the peasantry. They are nearly all of a harmless, somewhat poetical character, though many of them may be traced back to pagan times, and most of the rest to a period when paganism was beginning to give way before the force of Christianity. There is no telling strictly how old they are, nor how they came originally to be believed. No doubt the rugged and massive scenery of the Scandinavian country had something to do with their creation; desolate rocks and mountains, precipices and torrents, lonely lakes and interminable forests, being naturally suggestive of invisible and mysterious powers, and tending to impress beholders with a sense of awe and wonder. Be this as it may, the northern mind, familiar through long ages with awe-inspiring objects and phenomena, has shaped the feeling of dread and mystery so engendered into sprites, fairies, elves, and mountainmonsters, spirits of fells and cataracts, demons of storms and hurricanes, and the wandering ghosts of men and women too sinful to be admitted into heaven. There are other appearances, of a partly human, and partly monstrous nature, which seem to represent certain spiritual and moral contrasts, and reflect the popular conceptions of the supernatural consequences

of good and evil actions. Our information on these matters is not very extensive, but we have gathered lately, from reading Mr Brace's book on The Norse Folk, some few singular particulars which will probably be entertaining to the most of our readers.*

One of the most fearful phantoms to a peasant benighted on a lonely mountain road, is the Aasgaardsreia, or the 'Wild Riders,' who, should a storm be going on, are apt to gallop by with a horrible glee, enough to terrify all hearts but the stoutest. These are the spirits of drunkards, and alehouse fighters and perjurers, who, having been considered hardly bad enough for the depths below purgatory, are compelled to ride over the world till doomsday. They are mounted on coal-black steeds, with eyes of fire, and red-hot iron bridles; and the clanking and rush they make as they sweep over lake and mountain, may be heard at the distance of many miles. They appear to be more commonly heard than seen. They ride most at Christmas time, and especially like to frequent scenes of drunken fightings and carousals, or places where murder is being planned or perpetrated. If they drop a saddle on the roof of a house, the inmates may expect death. Whosoever meets them, should throw himself flat on his face, till the clanking, cursing crew have passed by, in which case he will probably not be hurt. This is said to be one of the oldest beliefs in Norway, dating before the introduction of Christianity. One may suppose it to have originated in some one's taking fright during a tempest.

The story of Gertrud's Bird' is a curious superstitious legend, which travellers in Norway are apt to inquire about from frequently hearing it alluded to. Thorpe, a writer quoted by Mr Brace, gives it as it passes current among the peasants. In Norway,' says he, the red-crested, black woodpecker is known under the name of Gertrud's Bird. It came to be so called from the following extraordinary circumstance: When our Lord, accompanied by St Peter, was wandering on earth, they came to a woman who was occupied in baking; her name was Gertrud, and on her head she wore a red hood. Weary and hungry from their long journeying, our Lord begged a cake. She took a little dough, and set it on to bake, and it grew so large that it filled the whole pan. Thinking it too much for alms, she took a smaller quantity of dough, and again began to bake, but this cake also swelled up to the same size as the first; she then took still less dough, and when the cake had become as large as the preceding ones, Gertrud said: "You must go without alms, for all my bakings are too large for you!" Then was our Lord wroth, and said: "Because thou gavest me nothing, thou shalt, for punishment, become a little bird, shalt seek thy dry food between the wood and the bark, and drink only when it rains." Hardly were these words spoken, when the woman was transformed into the Gertrud bird, that flew away through the kitchen chimney; and at this day she is seen with a red hood and black body, because she was blackened by the soot. constantly pecks the bark of trees for sustenance, and whistles against rain; for she always thirsts, and hopes to drink.'

She

This is strange enough as a piece of natural history; but it seems to shadow forth a certain moral meaning which is tolerably obvious. The poorest understanding may gather from it that one ought to avoid greed; that in bestowing charity, it is not proper to be stingy, but what is given should be given with a free and ready hand. A significant moral meaning seems also to be figured in the anomalous creature called the Huldra, in whose material existence there is a very widely spread

*The Norse Folk; or a Visit to the Homes of Norway and Sweden. By Charles Loring Brace. London: Bentley.

belief. This creature looks like a beautiful woman, but is disfigured by a cow's tail and udder. Being in the habit of attending country-weddings, it sometimes happens during the dancing that her tail betrays her; and very much offended she is if she finds it noticed. Polite people accordingly avert their eyes as much as possible, but take care not to remain long in her company. She is pictured as a sad and pensive being, with a face of wondrous loveliness; and her song, which is often heard in lonely places among the hills, has a tone of melancholy which excites sympathy and pity. The belief respecting her is very ancient, and seems to personify the moral disfigurement which arises from the inseparable union of the animal nature with the higher spiritual qualities when the propensities have been predominantly developed. The mixture of loathsomeness with beauty is thought to proceed from, and be a fitting punishment of sin.

The notion of a supernatural influence affecting a person's fortunes, and being the cause of his success or non-success in life, appears to be very prevalent among the northern people. Two peasants, let it be supposed, start in life with equal blessings; each has his rich grain-fields, his patch of wood, his red house, his horses, and his cattle. One thrives from the beginning, and always goes on thriving; his stacks are fuller every day, his crops better, his live-stock healthier, his house constantly protected from storms and the effects of winter. With the other, it is just the contrary. The roof of his house leaks, his barns decay, the wheat mildews, the hay rots, the land grows every season poorer. What is the reason of this difference? Manifestly, the first has his Tomte, or little attendant spirit. The last has offended this friendly guardian. The Tomte, as every peasant knows, is the spirit of some poor heathen slave, who must work out his salvation by kindly services to human beings before the day of judgment. He is a repulsive, deformed little fellow, hardly larger than a baby, with a shrivelled, shrewish old face, and is fantastically dressed in a red cap, gray jacket, and wooden shoes. The unlucky peasant had seen him at the usual time of his appearance, the broad noonday, dragging wearily along an oaten straw to the stack, or one ear of wheat to the barns, and scorned him, and railed at him, saying he might as well bring nothing as such trifles. Then the Tomte, feeling hurt at the treatment, has gone over sadly to the other, who now becomes rich, while the first sinks into poverty. If the Tomte brings only an acorn to the barn, he must not be despised. A proverb says: "The woodman holds the axe, but the Tomte fells the tree.' One sees that the virtue of thrift, the duty of being careful of small things, is here allegorically inculcated. Let every man, and no less every woman, take heed to cultivate the favour of the Tomte.

The superstition about the Puke is more commonplace, but may be noticed in passing. He is a kitchen elf, who is apt to leave offensive traces of his presence about the milk-vessels. Certain old women, it is said, are accustomed to sell themselves to the devil, in order to get possession of these elves, as then they will have as much milk and cream as they desire. If any one wishes to discover these old women, the litter left by the Puke must be collected and burnt with bits of wood from nine different trees, at a spot where three roads meet, and then the old ladies will appear. The Puke, if traced to his hole, might perhaps be found to be a mouse; but one does not see how the possession of such a sprite could tend to increase the products of the dairy. Does the fable point satirically to some ancient practice of adulteration among milkdealers, presumably now obsolete to some 'cow with an iron tail,' for instance, whose 'profits,' by judicious mixture with the produce of the more authentic cattle, may be supposed to have occasioned the aug

mentation? One troweth not. Such a theory would account for the increase of the milk, but how about the cream? There needs another theory to account for that; and so we must leave the Puke in his original state of mystery.

Many of the Swedish superstitions have a specially characteristic tone-a more sober and religious element than the superstitions of other European peasantry. This is particularly true of those which appear to have sprung out of the struggle between heathenism and Christianity. The mysterious spirits of the streams and mountains are not merely fairies-creations of pleasant fancy; they are the unfortunates who did not enjoy, in their mortal lives, the light of Christianity, and are now awaiting the Redemption. They are often mournful, almost despairing creatures; and the passing traveller may wound them bitterly by hinting reckless opinions respecting their condemnation. A plaintive melody is sometimes heard about the shores of lakes, which is attributed to the Necken. This being is described in different forms; sometimes as a young man with bestial extremities, representing the power of animal passion, which has brought him to this deformity; sometimes as a forlorn old man; but more often as a sad and solitary youth playing a harp upon the waters. The best offering that can be made him is a black lamb, accompanied by hopeful expressions with regard to his salvation; the matter about which he is understood to be most concerned. To tell him that he is cut off from all chances in this direction, is the way to overwhelm him with sorrowful consternation. Two boys are reported to have once said to one of them: 'What dost thou profit by sitting here and playing? Thou wilt never gain eternal happiness;' an unfeeling taunt, which threw him into a passion of weeping. Among the stories related of the Neck, Thorpe quotes a beautiful one as follows: 'A priest, riding one evening over a bridge, heard the most delightful tones of a stringed instrument, and on looking round, saw a young man, naked to the waist, sitting on the surface of the water, with a red cap and yellow locks. He saw that it was the Neck, and in his somewhat intemperate zeal addressed him thus: "Why dost thou so joyously strike thy harp? Sooner shall this dried cane that I hold in my hand grow green and flower, than thou shalt obtain salvation." Thereupon the unhappy musician cast down his harp, and sat bitterly weeping on the water. The priest then turned his horse, and continued his course. But lo! before he had ridden far, he observed that green shoots and leaves, mingled with most beautiful flowers, had sprung from his old staff. This seemed to him a sign from Heaven, directing him to preach the consoling doctrine of redemption after another fashion. He therefore hastened back to the mourning Neck, shewed him the green flowery staff, and said: "Behold how my old staff is grown green and flowery, like a young branch in a rosegarden; so likewise may hope bloom in the hearts of all created beings, for their Redeemer liveth!" Comforted by these words, the Neck again took up his harp, the joyous tones of which resounded along the shore the whole night long.' A pretty story, surely, and one suggestive of charitable sympathies and hopeful considerations touching the fate of the fallen and the lost.

There are some curious legends connected with particular localities and striking natural objects, which obtain extensive credence, not only among the northern peasantry, but even to some extent among the more refined and educated classes. At a certain old castle in the southern parts of Sweden, Mr Brace was shewn an antique drinking-horn and a little bone or ivory whistle, which are reported to have come into possession of the family through a very remarkable circumstance. The legend runs, that there was once

a terrible giant who lived in a mountain at some distance from that neighbourhood, and who took great offence at the erection of a church by some pious Christians about fifty miles off near the sea. Though so far off, it seems the giant could not help hearing the singing of the nuns; and it grieved him. Every morning and evening his peace of mind was disturbed by the holy chantings, until at length he grew very angry, and took up a great stone, as large as a considerable house, and threw it with all his might at the pious edifice. The stone, however, broke in two without reaching it, and one piece fell not far from the aforesaid castle. It lies there in the shape of a large boulder near the village. For a long time, no one observed anything wonderful about this stone, and it was not suspected that the wicked little mountain folk, called the Trolls, came there; but in the course of ages, stories got abroad that these fantastic little elves were in the habit of raising the stone on golden pillars, and dancing under it. A grand old lady lived at the castle then, and when she heard of this, she became possessed with a great desire to know something of the habits of the fairies; so she promised gold and jewels to any one of her huntsmen who should visit this giant's stone when the Trolls were there. The Trolls, you should be informed, always dance on Christmas-morning, between cockcrowing and the break of day. At first, no one ventured to go, but finally a brave young huntsman volunteered, and on the Christmas-eve rode forth to the stone. 'When he came near by, he heard the noise of music and dancing, and he saw the great rock raised up on golden pillars, and bright lights underneath. And there was a host of beautiful little fairies, dancing, and singing, and drinking, as if mad; they wound about among each other, and flew and whirled like the leaves in a whirlwind; and there was one of them who was the most beautiful creature ever seen. She had a diamond crown, and a little whistle in her hand: it was the queen of the elves.' Seeing the bold huntsman, she ran towards him and welcomed him; and he was so charmed with her, that he hardly knew what he was doing. Telling her servants to offer him drink, they brought him a hornful of some not very pleasantlooking liquor. He was just on the point of tasting it, when his good angel whispered to him that if he did so, he would straightway forget everything in his past existence, and become transformed into an elf; so he dashed the drink on the ground, snatched the whistle from the queen, and spurred his horse away. Where the drops fell on his horse from the horn, the hide was burnt. The elves followed him close, shrieking and crying fearfully, like the witches after Tam o' Shanter. Had they caught him, it may be supposed he would have fared worse than Tam's gray mare. Luckily, the direction he had taken was the way homewards. As he approached the castle, he found the portcullis down, and the lady and her guards standing waiting for him. They knew if he could only get over the moat, the Trolls could not injure him. Galloping up with the speed of the wind, he barely escaped being overtaken. At length, however, he sprung upon the bridge, got safely over, and it was drawn up after him. Then there stood on the other side great numbers of the little elves, moaning and crying piteously: 'Give us our horn and our whistle! Oh, do give them back to us!' And the elfin queen came forward, and offered countless diamonds and stores of gold to the lady if she would be pleased to give them up. But the lady replied: "Thou wicked imp! thou shalt never have thy horn and whistle again. They shall remain here; and thou mayst cry till ye all come to judgment at doomsday!' Thereupon the queen said that if they persisted in keeping those elfin things, they must guard them carefully; for should they be at any time taken away, the castle would be burnt

down. And the lady answered: Begone, ye goblins! In the holy name, begone!' and at that word they all vanished into the air, and were never seen any more; though sometimes now the servants think they hear them round the castle. The horn and whistle were kept and shewn to visitors; but in a few days the bold huntsman who got them, and the horse he rode on, both died very suddenly. Nothing happened to the horn and whistle until many years afterwards, when the Danes, during an invasion, attacked the castle, and among other plunder, carried them off; and then it came to pass, as the fairy-queen had prophesied, that the castle was burned down. Subsequently, the things were brought back, and remained in the restored castle a long while; but being objects of great curiosity, they were visited and touched by so many people, that they became a little worn and injured, and were sent away to be mended, when suddenly, through some accident, the castle was burned down again. A third time, a hundred years later, people forgot the elfin queen's warning, and sent away the relics for some unknown reason; and the building was burned down once more. The family that owned them finally died out; and now they are in the possession of another family, and are kept in a glass case, so that nobody can touch them. The relics are allowed by scholars to be genuine antiquities; and the date assigned to the story in a printed narration is about the year 1490. Such a legend, however, is likely to have been the product of a much earlier period. Things of this sort require time to grow; and less than four hundred years seems hardly long enough, considering that the ascribed date of the huntsman's foray is more recent than the invention of the art of printing.

There are so many superstitions about the Trolls, and they appear to have reference to so remote an antiquity, that some antiquarian scholars have thought it possible the primeval inhabitants of Sweden might have survived, in some of the deep forests, till modern times. The boulders and rocking-stones, so common on the plains throughout the country, are always attributed to the Trolls. Usually, it is their supposed hatred to Christianity which led them to throw these at some newly erected church. There are a number of families still believing they derive their descent from the mingling of the children of men with these creatures. Many of the Trolls are said to be seen on the uninhabited rocks and islands which abound on the coast of Sweden, whither they were driven by the early Christians. Some sailors belonging to Bohuslan,' relates Thorpe, when once driven on a desert shore by a storm, found a giant sitting on a stone by a fire. He was old and blind, and rejoiced at hearing the northmen, because he was himself from their country. He requested one of them to approach and give him his hand, "that I may know," said he, "whether there is yet strength in the hands of the northmen." The old man, being blind, was not sensible that they took a great boat-hook, which they had heated in the fire, and held out to him. He squeezed the hook as if it had been wax, shook his head, and said: "I find the northmen now have but little strength in their hands compared with those of old." Anoble family in Sweden, the Trolls, derive their name from a bold deed of one of their ancestors, who struck off the head of a Troll queen that offered him magic drink in her horn. This horn, we are informed, was long preserved in the cathedral of Wexiö. It is supposed that the offspring of the Trolls are countless, but that they die when it thunders.

It would be hardly proper to close this article without noticing some of the ghost-stories which pass current among the Norse Folk. Not only are the lakes, and streams, and mountains infested with a supernatural population, but human habitations, as elsewhere, are liable to be haunted by the spirits of the departed.