[8] Dusk, in Norsk, “Tus-mörk:” that being the hour when the Tus, or Thus (sprite), loves to be abroad.
[9] Like the Daoineshi of the Scotch Highlands, the Neck of Scandinavia shines in a talent for music. Poor creatures! the peasantry may well fancy they are fallen angels, who hope some day for forgiveness; for was not one heard, near Hornbogabro, in West Gotland, singing, to a sweet melody, “I know, and I know, and I know that my Redeemer liveth?” And did not a Neck, when some boys once said to him “What good is it for you to be sitting here and playing, for you will never enjoy eternal happiness,” begin to weep bitterly?
[10] In Border-ballad language, “maik.”
[11] So, in old English, “Church-ale” was the festival on the anniversary of the consecration of a church: while “grave-ale” was the “wake” at an interment.
[12] I must not quit the subject without mentioning the Danish remedy. In Holberg’s facetious poem, Peder Paars, we read:—
For the nightmare a charm I had,
From the parson of our town—
Set your shoes with the heels to the bed,
Each night when you lie down.
[13] Landstad is a Norwegian clergyman, who has lately edited a collection of Norsk minstrelsy, gathered from the mouths of the people. Bugge is a student, who is travelling about the remote valleys, at the expense of the Government, to collect all the metrical tales and traditions that still linger there. It is very unfortunate that this was not done earlier. The last few years have made great inroads on these reminiscences of days gone by.