they passed as heirlooms from generation to generation, floating on the oral tradition of the people. Snorri Sturluson tells us that the songs of the skalds who were with Harald Harfagri in his wars were known and recited in his day, after an interval of nearly four centuries. “These songs,” he says, “which were sung in the presence of kings and chiefs, or of their sons, are the materials of our history; what they tell of their deeds and battles we take for truth; for though the skalds did no doubt praise those in whose presence they stood, yet no one would dare to relate to a chief what he and those who heard it knew to be wholly imaginary or false, as that would not be praise but mockery.” Our earliest Scottish chroniclers did not disdain to make use of the lay-smith’s craft, as a help to history, long after the Iceland skald had been succeeded by the Saga-writer, and the flowery recitative of an unclerkly age superseded by the terser narrative of the parchment scribe. The art is as old as Odin and the gods, if indeed it be not older, and these its creations. But its golden age had passed ere Paganism began to give way before Christianity, and the specimens we have in this Saga are mostly of the period of its decadence and by inferior skalds. Yet it is significant of the esteem in which the art continued to be held by the settlers in the Orkneys, that we find Earl Sigurd honouring Gunnlaug Ormstunga with princely gifts, Arnor Jarlaskald enjoying the special favour and friendship of Earl Thorfinn, and Earl Rögnvald, the founder of the cathedral, courting for himself the reputation of an accomplished skald.