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I have hitherto been a zealous opponent of the Circean herb, but I shall now reexamine the question without bias. I am aware that the Rev'd Jonas Tutchel, in a recent communication to the Bogus Four Corners Weekly Meridian, has endeavoured to show that this is the sepulchral inscription of Thorwald Eriksson, who, as is well known, was slain in Vinland by the natives.

"'Gustav Eriksson Vasa, while in exile and wandering in Dalarne with a view of stirring up the people to fight for Fatherland and Freedom, was saved by the presence of mind of a Dalecarlian woman, and so escaped the troops sent by the Tyrant to arrest him. "'This monument is gratefully erected by the Swedish people to the Liberator." Karen laughed. "How can you remember it so well?" she asked.

It seems, therefore, best for us to remain in the faith and allegiance which we have sworn and promised to our lawful lord and master Gustaf Eriksson." These words had evidently the full approval of the people, to judge from their upstretched hands and their loud acclamations, and at once the courage of the conspirators fell to the ground. What to say or to do they knew not.

Retribution came swiftly. Above the peal of the Christmas bells rose the clash and clangor of armed hosts pouring forth from the mountain fastnesses to avenge the foul treachery. They were led by Gustav Eriksson Vasa, a young noble upon whose head Christian had set a price. The Vasas were among the oldest and best of the great Swedish families.

Daniel Thunberg contributed materially to the opening of the route between Wenern and the Baltic; and Colonel N. Eriksson, the celebrated engineer whose reputation stands so high in the United States, had the direction of the work for many years.

Sigurd Eriksson, Aastrid's brother, and the uncle of Olaf, was a man of prominence in Esthonia, and one day rode on business of King Vladimir through the town in which Reas lived. Here he saw some boys playing, one of whom attracted him by his manly and handsome face. Calling him to his horse's side, he asked his name. "Olaf," said the boy. Olaf!

"Now, pay attention," said the giant, "to-day is the great commemoration day." He pressed a finger on a lark garnet in the mountain rock, and a thousand flames shot up. The golden helmets awoke. "Who goes there?" asked the man with the prophet's beard. "Swede," answered the giant. "A good name!" replied Gustav Eriksson Wasa, for it was he. "How much time has passed away?"