230 LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. [XII. 



and cut off his head. Late in the day he came to Lade, 

 brought the Jarl's head to Olaf, and told his story. 



It is a comfort to know that " the ?-ed ring*' was laid round 

 the traitor's neck : Olaf caused him to be beheaded. 



What a picture that is, in the swine-stye, those two haggard 

 faces, travel-stained and worn with want of rest, watching 

 each other with hot, sleepless eyes through the half darkness, 

 and how true to nature is the nightmare of the miserable Jarl ! 

 It was on my return from Lade, that I found your letters ; 

 and that I might enjoy them without interruption, I carried 

 them off to the churchyard — (such a beautiful place !) — to 

 read in peace and quiet. The churchyard was not "popu- 

 lous with young men, striving to be alone/' as Tom Hood 

 describes it to have been in a certain sentimental parish; so 

 I enjoyed the seclusion I anticipated. 



I was much struck by the loving care and ornament 

 bestowed on the graves ; some were literally loaded with 

 flowers, and even those which bore the date of a long past 

 sorrow had each its own blooming crown, or fresh nosegay. 

 These good Throndhjemers must have much of what the 

 French call la religion des souvenirs, a religion in which we 

 English (as a nation) are singularly deficient. I suppose 

 no people in Europe are so little addicted to the keeping of 

 sentimental anniversaries as we are ; I make an exception 

 with, regard to our living friends' birthdays, which we are 

 ever tenderly ready to cultivate, when called on ; turtle, 

 venison, and champagne, being pleasant investments for the 

 affections. But time and business do not admit of a faithful 

 adherence to more sombre reminiscences ; a busy gentleman 

 " on 'Change " cannot conveniently shut himself up, on his 

 "lost Araminta's natal- day," nor will a railroad committee 

 allow of his running down by the 10.25 A - M -> to sne d a tear 

 over that neat tablet in the new Willow-cum-Hatband 

 Cemetery. He is necessarily content to regret his Araminta 

 in the gross, and to omit the petty details of a too pedantic 

 sorrow. 

 The fact is, we are an eminently practical people, and are 



