"Oh, how happy here's our leisure!
Oh, how innocent our pleasure!"
The Complete Angler.

John Hardy received a letter from his mother, dated from Hardy Place.

"My dearest John,

"Your weekly letters have become shorter, and I have read between the lines that you are keeping back something from your mother; but this doubt has been made a certainty from a letter of Robert Garth's to his friends here. He writes, so I hear, that the 'governor' is sweet on a parson's daughter in Denmark. Now, I know, dearest John, that you will always be the true gentleman your father was; but this has distressed me, because you say yourself nothing. Do come home to me. I miss the sound of your footstep, the manly voice that reminds me of your father, and, above all, your kindly manner to your mother. Write at once, as my anxiety is more than I can bear." There was more in the letter, breathing the same deep affectionate solicitude a mother alone feels. John Hardy wrote at once.

"My dearest Mother,

"If I had anything to tell you, I should have told you long ago. I have described Pastor Lindal's family to you in my letters, and, I can only add, my respect for him grows daily. He does his duty with a simplicity that is difficult to be understood in England, and I have learnt to look forward to hearing his Sunday sermons, from their freshness such as single-mindedness alone gives. I feel more the earnestness of religion and the simplicity with which it should be invested from the influence of his character. I know you will say that this has nothing to do with FrØken Helga Lindal, his daughter, and you want to hear of her. All I can say is, that her character is what would attract you. She does her duty in the Pastor's household with simple exactness; she assists in visiting the parish, and is of material use to her father in this respect. She is spoken of everywhere and by all in praise and regard, and she is like her father—simple and true. I cannot say that I do not admire so perfect a nature, but I do not feel now a wish to ask her to be my wife, and if I did she would say 'no.' Her father is a widower, and his daughter is his right hand. His two boys, who are really good lads, have to be considered, and FrØken Helga's influence over them is complete. Her leaving her father would leave him unassisted, and his two sons without the influence she alone possesses. She knows and sees this, and would sacrifice her life to her sense of duty. If she cared for me, there would be no difference; that would be sacrificed too. I can assure you that I shall never bring any one to Hardy Place that my mother cannot receive as her daughter. The kind affection and care you have always shown me is dearer to me than houses and land and wealth or the strongest feelings of selfishness.

"I hope, dear mother, that this will set your mind at rest.

"If you wish me to come home, I will do so; but I wish to stay longer, and when you see there is no real cause for anxiety, you may have no objection. The days pass pleasantly here. I teach the two boys English every day. They fish with me for trout in the river, the Gudenaa, and we make excursions together, and occasionally we visit a Danish family in the neighbourhood; and the genuine kindness I receive everywhere interests me. In the evenings Pastor Lindal is conversational, and his conversation is like his sermons, always fresh. There is no one thought harped upon and torn to tatters. To say he is a man of original thought would not describe him—it is individuality and simplicity; there is nothing extraordinary or unusual, but a clearness of colour, like a diamond, which is the more valuable when it has no colour."

John Hardy wrote a little more on home affairs at Hardy Place, and closed his letter.

In the evening, when the Pastor's pipe was as usual lighted by his daughter, Hardy asked him as to the superstitions in Denmark, and if they then were prevalent and had any force.

"They are endless," said the Pastor, "and in every conceivable direction. There is no land so full of traditional superstition as Jutland."

"When in Norway," said Hardy, "the superstition that struck me most was that of the Huldr, who in different districts was differently described. Generally the Huldr was described as a tall fair woman, with a yellow bodice and a blue skirt, with long fair yellow hair loose over the shoulders; but she was as hollow as a kneading trough, and had a cow's tail. She was described as coming to the SÆter farms on the fjelds, after they were vacated by the Norwegian farmers, with a quantity of cattle and milking cans; and I have heard the cattle call sang by Norwegians that they have heard the Huldr sing. I have spoken with people who have seen the Huldr, and described her to me with a vividness as if it were a real personage. I have heard people say they have seen her knitting, sitting on a rock with a ball of worsted thrown out before her, to entice mortals to take it up, when they must follow where she would lead." "We have not that superstition in Jutland," said the Pastor; "that is begotten of the lonely life in the isolated farms in the fields in Norway and their interminable woods and natural wildness of nature. Our superstitions are, as I said, endless. They consist of historical traditions of a supernatural character, of traditions attached to places, as old houses, churches, also of particular men, of hidden treasure, of robbers, and the like. Then there are the more supernatural superstitions, as of witches, ghosts, the devil, of Trolds, of mermen and mermaids, of Nissen, like your English pixey, of the three-legged horse that inhabits the churchyards, the were-wolf, the gnome that inhabits the elder tree, the nightmare, or, as we call it, Maren. There is also the tradition of gigantic dragons or serpents, called by us Lindorm, in which your story of St. George and the dragon prominently figures. There are also minor superstitions of the will-o'-the-wisp, the bird called in English the goatsucker, and the classical Basilisk."

"But surely all those superstitions cannot exist now?" inquired Hardy.

"I do not say they do; but they are hidden to a greater extent in the recesses of the hearts of the people than you would imagine."

"Can you relate anything of these superstitions?" said Hardy. "It would interest me beyond everything."

"Yes," said the Pastor. "I will give you an example in any one of the particular traditions I have mentioned, and I will begin with the historical superstition, as I mentioned that first.

"When King Gylfe reigned in Sweden, a woman came to him, and she enchanted him so by her singing that he gave her leave to plough so much of his land as she could in a day with four oxen, and what she thus ploughed should be hers. This woman was of the race of the giants (Aseme). She took her four sons and changed them into oxen, and attached them to the plough. She ploughed out the place she had chosen, and thus created the island of SjÆlland. She did this from the MÆlar lake in Sweden; and it is said that where there is a point of land in SjÆlland there is in the MÆlar lake a bay, and vice versÂ, so that both the MÆlar lake and SjÆlland island have one form, one is land, the other water. This tradition is common over Denmark, and with us has become classical. The woman's name was Gefion."

"I have seen a delineation of the tradition," said Hardy, "at one of your Danish palaces, on a ceiling at Fredriksborg."

"Yes, it is there; but you will find it everywhere in Denmark," replied the Pastor. "Of traditions of churches, they are endless; but we will take one example, possibly by no means the best. When Hadderup church, between Viborg and Holstebro, was building, the Trolds tore down every night what had been erected in the day. It was therefore determined to attach two calves to a load of stones in a waggon, and where the calves were found in the morning to build the church. This, however, did not answer, and at last an agreement was made with the Trolds that they should allow the church to be built, on the condition that they should have the first bride that went to the church. This succeeded, and the church was built. When the first bridal procession should, however, go to the church, at a particular place a sudden mist fell upon them, and when it cleared off the bride had disappeared."

"A very striking tradition," said Hardy. "It has a good deal of picturesque colouring."

"Yes," said the Pastor, "and that is why I told you that particular tradition. But of places there is a tradition of Silkeborg, with nothing supernatural about it; but as you have been there fishing, it may interest you to know why it has obtained that name. The story is, that a bishop wished to build a house there, but he was uncertain where; so he threw his silk hat into the water as he sailed on the Gudenaa, and he determined that where his silk hat came to land, that there would he build his house. The hat came ashore at Silkeborg. The bishop, however, could not have sailed up the Gudenaa, and the probability is he must have gone down the lake, as the Gudenaa runs from the lake through Jutland to the sea at Randers." "There is a similar tradition," said Hardy, "in Iceland. When the Norwegian chiefs were conquered by Harold the Fair-haired, about 870, they cast the carved oak supports of their chairs, that they were accustomed to sit in at the head of their tables, surrounded by their dependents, and decided that where these drove ashore, they would found a colony; and where they did drive ashore was on the shores of Iceland. It may possibly have influenced the tradition you relate of Silkeborg."

"Possibly," said the Pastor; "but of traditions of places, there are very many, and, as an example, there was in Randers province an island, and on the island a mansion; and when the family owning it were absent, three women-servants determined to play the priest a trick. They dressed up a sow like a sick person in bed, and sent for the priest to administer the sacrament to a dying person. The priest, however, saw the wicked deception, and at once left the island in his boat. Immediately the whole island sank as soon as he lifted his foot from the shore of the island. But a table swam towards him, on which was his Bible, which in his anger and haste he had forgotten to take with him. Where the island sank can, it is said, yet be seen the three chimneys of the mansion deep down in the water; and there are some high trees growing up through the water, to which, when they grow high enough, will the enemies of Denmark come and fasten their ships." "This story is only one of a class to the same effect," continued the Pastor. "It has many variations to a similar effect. You have heard of Limfjord in North Jutland. It derives its name after our tradition to the following: At the birth of Christ a Trold woman was so enraged at the circumstance of his birth that she produced a monster at a birth, and this monster gradually took the form of a boar; and it is related that when the boar was in the woods, its bristles were higher than the tops of the trees. This boar was called Limgrim, and rooted up the land so as to create the inlet of the sea that we call Limfjord; the name originally was Limgrimsfjord, since abbreviated to Limfjord."

"What is your view of the origin of these traditions?" asked Hardy.

"They are to me," said the Pastor, "an evidence of the continuous change the world undergoes, has undergone, and will undergo. The older the tradition, the more antagonistic it is to the known laws of nature; the later the tradition, the less improbable it is. We have seen how heathenism, with its unreasonable and wild vagaries, gave way to the early Christian Church. Then arose the ultramontane Church, which was succeeded by the purer light let in by Morten Luther; and changes are taking place, and will take place; and the use of these old traditions is to teach us that change must be. Age succeeds to age, and generation to generation. The science of geology teaches the same lesson. As we learn more of it, and more accurately of it, we gradually grasp the thought that endless ages have wrought changes, and will continue to work at the discretion of the Great Power that we feel and know exists. We can only say that the works of the Lord are wonderful, and trust in him."

"Have you heard of the religion of Buddha?" said Hardy. "With all our present researches into it, we know comparatively little; but, taken broadly, it is a doctrine of slow development. A life exists, and gradually earthly passion ceases, and a state of perfect rest is reached, but through an endless series of change."

"Yes," replied Pastor Lindal; "but it is a religion of the imagination. It has a certain beauty and a poetic charm, while the Christian religion has the reality of the principle that kindliness is the real gold of life, which I have learnt from you."

Hardy felt that in his letters to his mother he had correctly described Pastor Lindal.

FrØken Helga had continued knitting as usual, but that she listened to every word her father uttered was clear to Hardy; and when he rose to go to his room for the night, she said, "Thank you, Herr Hardy; you have interested my father to speak in the way he only can."