chief Cathedral of the North has now stood for many centuries, dedicated
gratefully to his memory as _Saint_ Olaf. The mythus about Thor is to this
effect. King Olaf, the Christian Reform King, is sailing with fit escort
along the shore of Norway, from haven to haven; dispensing justice, or
doing other royal work: on leaving a certain haven, it is found that a
stranger, of grave eyes and aspect, red beard, of stately robust figure,
has stept in. The courtiers address him; his answers surprise by their
pertinency and depth: at length he is brought to the King. The stranger's
conversation here is not less remarkable, as they sail along the beautiful
shore; but after some time, he addresses King Olaf thus: "Yes, King Olaf,
it is all beautiful, with the sun shining on it there; green, fruitful, a
right fair home for you; and many a sore day had Thor, many a wild fight
with the rock Jotuns, before he could make it so. And now you seem minded
to put away Thor. King Olaf, have a care!" said the stranger, drawing down
his brows;--and when they looked again, he was nowhere to be found.--This
is the last appearance of Thor on the stage of this world!

Do we not see well enough how the Fable might arise, without unveracity on
the part of any one? It is the way most Gods have come to appear among
men: thus, if in Pindar's time "Neptune was seen once at the Nemean
Games," what was this Neptune too but a "stranger of noble grave
aspect,"--fit to be "seen"! There is something pathetic, tragic for me in
this last voice of Paganism. Thor is vanished, the whole Norse world has
vanished; and will not return ever again. In like fashion to that, pass
away the highest things. All things that have been in this world, all
things that are or will be in it, have to vanish: we have our sad farewell
to give them.

That Norse Religion, a rude but earnest, sternly impressive _Consecration
of Valor_ (so we may define it), sufficed for these old valiant Northmen.