"But he that unto others leads the way
In public prayer,
Should do it so,
As all that hear may know
They need not fear
To tune their hearts unto his tongue."
The Complete Angler.

The next day, as soon as signs of the tobacco parliament were apparent by FrØken Helga filling and lighting her father's pipe, Karl and Axel, who had been interested in listening to the conversation on traditions the previous evening, besought Hardy to lead Pastor Lindal to the same subject.

"The many ancient burial places existing all over Jutland," said Hardy, "must have given rise to traditions of hidden treasure. Our English word for these tumuli is barrows."

"And ours," said the Pastor, "is KÆmpehØi, or KÆmpedysse, meaning a fighting man's burial place; the verb to fight is kÆmpe, and present Danish. It was, however, a custom to bury treasure in secluded places, and to kill a slave at the place that his ghost might guard the treasure. There is a tumulus or barrow between Viborg and Holstebro. It is related that this barrow was formerly always covered with a blue mist, and that a copper kettle full of money was buried there. One night, however, two men dug down to the kettle, and seized it by the handle; but immediately wonderful things happened, with a view of preventing them from taking away the kettle and the money—first, they saw a black dog with a red hot tongue; next, a cock drawing a load of hay; then a carriage with four black horses. The men, however, pursued their occupation without uttering a word. But at last came a man, lame in one foot, halting by, and he said, 'Look, the town is on fire!' The two men looked, and sure enough the town appeared to them to be on fire. One of them uttered an exclamation, and the kettle and the treasure sank in the earth far beyond their reach. There are many of these stories, but the principle inculcated is, that when digging for treasure it must be carried out in perfect silence. You will have observed that a great many of the tumuli you have met with in Denmark have been opened. This has chiefly been done by the hidden-treasure seekers; but it has had one good result, and that is, it has enriched the museums in Denmark, especially that of Northern Antiquities in Copenhagen. You have probably seen the museum in Bergen, Norway. You will have seen precisely the same type of subjects there as in Copenhagen; and in the tumuli in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, what has been found is, coeteris paribus, identical in type."

"You said just now that a slave was killed at places where treasure was hidden," said Hardy; "is there much belief in that direction?"

"Yes; the belief in ghosts was very strong," replied the Pastor, "and still exists. The general view was that if a man's conduct was criminal in a high degree, that within three days after he 'walked;' that is, his ghost appeared at the places he had been attached to when in life, attended by more or less supernatural attributes. This, of course, arose from our Saviour's resurrection on the third day; but as to this, I will tell you a tradition that is an exception. There was once a man who was exceptionally wicked and bad; he was a thief and a robber, never went to church, and committed all manner of crimes. When he died and was buried in the churchyard, and the people who had attended the funeral had returned to the man's house to drink the GravØl—that is the beer that was specially brewed for consumption at a funeral—lo! there was the dead and buried man sitting on the roof of the house, glaring down on all those who ventured to look up at him. The priest was sent for, and he exorcised the ghost, and ordered him to remain, until the world's end, at the bottom of a moss bog, and to keep him there had a sharp stake driven through him; but, notwithstanding, the ghost rises at night, but as he cannot, from the exorcising of the priest, assume human form, he flies about in the likeness of the bird we call the night raven until cock crow."

"In English," said Hardy, "the night jar. It was the practice in England to bury suicides with a stake driven through their bodies at four cross-ways. It is possible that this arose from a desire to prevent the ghost of the dead person from troubling the living, and being at a four cross-ways, that it should not know which direction to take."

"It may be so," said Pastor Lindal; "but in discussing these things we are apt, as in philology, to assume our own comparisons to be correct. We have also the traditions of spectral huntsmen, with the accompaniment of horses and hounds with red-hot glowing tongues; and, singularly enough, the tradition often occurs that their quarry was the Elle-kvinder, that is women of the elves, but who are described as of the size of ordinary women. The spectral huntsmen have often been seen with the Elle-kvinder tied to their saddles by their hair."

"Your traditions of witches," said Hardy, "appear to be similar to ours. You appear to have burnt and thrown them into ponds to drown after the same cruel custom as in England."

"True," replied the Pastor, "and the description in Macbeth of witches answers to our traditions. On St. John's night witches were supposed to fly to Bloksberg, a mythical place in Norway, upon broomsticks and in brewing tubs. There they met Gamle Erik, the evil one, who entered their names in his ledger, and instructed them in witchcraft, and, after executing the witches' dance, they returned to their respective homes in the same fashion. This tradition is common to other countries, but in Jutland the belief was that the favourite form a witch adopted was that of a hare, which evaded the huntsmen, and could not be shot except by a piece of silver, which must have been inherited—a piece of silver purchased or given had no effect. The witch was then found in the person of some old woman with a wound, who was forthwith dealt with in the cruel fashion then the rule. The gypsies, or, as they are called with us, TÂtarfolk, from their eastern origin, drove a good business by professing to cure the effects of witchcraft; they generally managed to cause the ill effect, however, before they cured it. They would give a drug to a farmer's cow, and call a few days after and offer to drive away the witch that possessed the cow. They would take with them a black furry doll tied to a string. A hole was dug several feet deep in the cowhouse; suddenly the black furry thing was at the bottom of the hole, just sufficient for some of the people to see it when it disappeared. That was the witch; the cow was, of course, cured by an antidote."

"The gypsy is common enough in England," said Hardy; "but they do less in telling fortunes or in thieving farmyards then formerly was their custom. They appear to do a good business in small wares, as brushes and mats, which they take about in vans."

"The gypsy," said the Pastor, "where superstition exists, trade upon it, and in old times in Denmark this brought them a rich harvest. They persuaded the farmers' wives that they must have inherited silver, or they could do nothing against evil influences, and acquired thereby many an old-fashioned heirloom. With us they have never pursued, as you suggest, a steady trade."

"Have you not a tradition of a book called Cyprianus?" asked Hardy.

"The idea of the book is from the Sibyll's books of Roman history," replied Pastor Lindal. "The contents of Cyprianus is very differently described. It is related of it that it is a book of prophecy of material events, that is not in a religious sense. Also, it is described as containing formula for raising the devil, or a number of small devils, who immediately demand work to do, and whom it is fatal not to keep employed. There are many stories based on this, chiefly related of persons who accidentally find a Cyprianus and read some of it, when the hobgoblins appear, and the difficulty of the situation increases until some person versed in the use of the book applies the formula that sends the hobgoblins to their proper places."

"The devil I have always heard in Norway as taking the form of a black dog," said Hardy. "It is the same in our traditions," said Pastor Lindal. "An extraordinary belief was that a carriage at certain times and places would not move, and that the horses could not draw it. The remedy then was, for those who knew how, to take off one hind wheel of the carriage and put it in the carriage, when the devil would have to act as hind wheel to the end of the journey, much to his supposed discomfort. There are many stories of this."

"Hans Christian Andersen's stories have made us acquainted with Nissen, or the house goblin," said Hardy.

"There is little more to tell you then," said the Pastor, "except that Nissen's description is defined by our traditions in Jutland to be a little fellow with sharp cat-formed ears, and to have fingers only, and no thumb. He is supposed to inhabit particular farm-houses and their range of buildings, and, when there is a scarcity of fodder, will steal from another farm; and if there be another Nissen there, they will fight each for the interests of the farm he frequents. He will play tricks on the people working at the farms, particularly so if every Thursday night his porridge is neglected to be put in its accustomed place, generally in the threshing barn."

"But have you no traditions of underground people?" asked Hardy.

"The stories of underground people are more abundant than any other class of tradition," replied the Pastor. "We call them Underjordiske, which means underground people; but by it is included Elle folk or elves, Trolds or goblins, and BjÆrg folk or hill people. Their homes are chiefly placed by tradition in the tumuli or barrows to which we have before referred; and at times a tumulus is seen as standing on four pillars, while the Underjordiske dance underneath and drink ale and mead. At times it is related that they come out of their dwellings in the barrows with their red cows, or to air their money, or clean their kitchen utensils. Through all these stories the manner of life of the Underjordiske is the same as that of the Danish BØnde or farmer. They are not, however, always supposed to live in the barrows, as several stories exist of the BjÆrg folk coming to a BØnde and asking him to shift his stable to another place, as the dung from his cattle falls on his (the BjÆrgmand's) dining-table, and it is disagreeable. If the BØnde obeys, he is promised prosperity, and everything thrives on his farm. They can also, however, be revengeful, and are dangerous generally. Their particular aversion is church bells, and it is generally attributed to their influence that there are so few Underjordiske seen nowadays."

"Can you relate any stories of them?" asked Hardy.

"Very many," replied the Pastor. "There are several collections of these traditions, and although each collection is generally the same in character, yet the details and stories themselves widely differ. But I will tell you two of the stories. A Trold lived in a barrow between two church towers, about a mile from each other. This Trold had a wife, who was of Christian folk. It was necessary to get the services of a midwife, and the Trold fetched the nearest, and gave her for her services what appeared to be two pieces of charcoal; but the Trold's wife told her to take them home, but warned her that as soon as she put one foot outside she should suddenly jump aside, as the Trold would cast a glowing hot-iron rod at her. She followed the advice and went home, when the charcoal turned to silver money. The two women, however, became friends, and the midwife often spun flax for the Trold; but she was forbidden to wet her fingers with Christian spittle, and they brought her a little crock to hold water for her to wet her fingers in. This continued for some time, when at last the Trold wife came to the midwife and said, 'My husband, the Trold, will stay here no longer. He says he cannot bear the two ding-dong danging church towers.' So they left, flying, it is said, through the air on a long stick, with all their belongings."

"A story with some imagery," said Hardy.

"The next, however, is more so," said the Pastor. "On a St. John's night, or, as we call it, Sankt. Hans. Nat, the BjÆrg folk and Elle folk had collected to make merry. A man came riding by from Viborg, and he could see the assembled Underjordiske enjoying the feast. An Ellekone, or elf wife, went round with a large silver tankard, and offered drink to every one, and came at last to the horseman. He pretended to drink, but threw the contents of the tankard over his shoulder, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off. But the Ellekone was after him, and came nearer and nearer; her breasts were so long that they fell on her knees and impeded her. She therefore threw them, one after the other, over her shoulders, and continued the chase with renewed speed. Fortunately he was close to the river, and dashed through it. The Ellekone caught the hind shoe of his horse, and tore it off; but she could not go over the water. The tankard was said to be the largest ever seen in Denmark."

"The story is a common one to many countries, but it scarcely exists with so much clear and distinct imagery as in your recital, Herr Pastor," said Hardy.

"I think now we have had enough of traditions for one evening," said the Pastor.

"What is your opinion of the effect of these traditions on the minds of the people generally?" asked Hardy.

"It is difficult to say," said the Pastor; "we can but guess at their effect. As education and civilization progress, they lose their superstitious influence and interest and amuse. There is a wild picturesque imagery that must appeal to the most educated mind. They afford subjects to painters; but I have never seen a picture yet based on these traditions that grasped the graphic thought of the recital of the tradition. In a religious sense they do no harm; they excite the imagination of the people only to prepare their minds for the simplicity of the Christian faith, at least they assist to do so. When I visit my SognebØrn (literally, parish children), I tell the children these traditions, and when they grow older they like to hear anything I have to say; it assists me in suggesting religious thought when their minds are ripe for it."

FrØken Helga, who had all the evening knitted and listened to her father, dropped her knitting and went to him and caressed him. "Dear little father," she said, "you are always good and thoughtful."

"I think so also," said Hardy.