passed through the mouth into the stomach of Raude, and speedily ate for itself a way out again. Great was the spoil which awaited the victor: but his greatest pleasure was to execute such of the magician’s dependents as refused baptism. After these notable exploits, he returned into Drontheim.[223] [Sidenote: 998.] Though Olaf was as much disposed to enforce the conversion of individuals as of large bodies of men, he was not equal to both tasks; and, in the former case, he sometimes devolved on others the important duty of a missionary. A story preserved by Gunlaug, the Icelandic monk, will illustrate the manner in which he exacted revenge when his efforts had been unsuccessful. Halfrod, the royal poet, was accused to Olaf of being still idolatrous in heart, and of worshipping a little image of Thor, which he carried in a bag. The accuser was Kalf, another domestic of the palace. The poet being summoned into the royal presence, indignantly denied the charge; and, in proof of his innocence, turned the bag in question inside out. “After this charge,” said the king, “you cannot both remain in the same house; let Kalf return to his farm.” Turning to the poet, whose sincerity he probably wished to test, he said, “Halfrod, thou must be my emissary to the uplands. There resides a man called Thorleif the Wise, who will not be converted. Formerly, I sent many persons to reason with him, but they had no influence over him. Now, I send thee, with an order either to kill or blind him: take with thee as many men as thou pleasest.”—“This commission,” replied the poet, “scarcely becomes a freeman; yet I will go wherever thou commandest. As my companion, I will take thy uncle Jostein, with twenty-two horsemen.” Away they rode; and, on reaching the wood near to the dwelling of Thorleif, they dismounted. Halfrod, who knew that the number of his followers would be insufficient if force were required, said to them, “I will go alone to Thorleif’s house; wait for me here three days; and if, at the expiration of that time, you see me not, return to your homes.” He would not permit even Jostein to accompany him. His first care was to disguise himself so completely that no eye could recognise him. In a mendicant garb, his face discoloured with the appearance of squalid wretchedness, he took his staff, and, when near to the house, began to move slowly and wearily, as if consumed alike by age and misery. Thorleif was sitting on a bench, in front of his house; the poet dragged himself along, and saluted him. “Who art thou?” was the demand of Thorleif. Halfrod told a piteous tale of his wanderings, his misery, his ill luck, his dangers: he had been so unfortunate as to be seized by the domestics of king Olaf, and hurried into the royal presence. As usual, conversion or death had been set before him; but he had escaped, and had, ever since, been the sport of the elements. He thought, however, that if he had continued rest, and good living, he