The aspect of affairs was so unfavourable, that the companions of the archbishop urged him to leave the country. But he would not a second time abandon his post. He had been successful with Eric of Denmark, and he endeavoured to be equally so with Olaf. Inviting that king to a feast, he redoubled his attentions, which coming as they did not merely from an archbishop, but from the ambassador of a powerful monarch, were peculiarly grateful to Olaf. Yet Olaf was a limited sovereign; though he readily promised to afford the missionaries all the liberty he could, he was bound to consult the will of the people, and even that of the gods. In the true pagan spirit, he believed that other countries might have local deities as well as Scandinavia,—deities as powerful and as able to protect their worshippers. He advised the archbishop to send a deputy to the next Al-Thing, or general meeting of the freemen, promising that he would use his influence to obtain the requisite licence for the celebration of the new worship. “Olaf first mentioned the subject to his chiefs; lots were cast; and the gods were declared—probably through some intrigue of the king’s—not to be unfavourable to the preaching of Christianity. When, according to the Germanic custom, the people were assembled in their annual plaids, Olaf caused the subject of the French embassy to be proclaimed by a herald. In the discussion which followed, much murmuring was heard; one party condemning the innovation as disrespectful to their ancient gods; another vindicating it as necessary to the well-being of the kingdom. A venerable old man at length spoke:—‘King and people, listen to me! The worship of this new god is already known to us, and we also know that he often assists those who call on him. This many of us have experienced amidst the perils of the deep, as well as on other occasions: why then should we reject what we know to be useful? Formerly many of our people went to Dorstadt, to embrace this advantageous faith; now, as the passage thither is dangerous, why should we reject a good which is brought to our own doors?’—‘We have often found our own gods unpropitious: let us cultivate the favour of this god, who is as willing as he is able always to aid his servants.’ The shrewd barbarian succeeded, because he touched in the hearts of his hearers a chord that responded to his own. Neither he nor they had much notion of a religion which did not confer temporal blessings; all had been disappointed at one time or other in their invocations for them; all, therefore, were disposed to receive favourably proposals from a god who promised them a constant succession of such blessings. This was a poor foundation on which to build; but it was better than none. A proclamation was now made that churches might be built, and that whoever pleased was at liberty to embrace the faith of Christ. While these things were passing in Sweden, a revolution in