"There are singular things in that book, I must confess; and I thank you for showing it to me, or rather your attempt at translation.

I was struck with that ballad of Orm Ungarswayne, who goes by night to the grave-hill of his father to seek for counsel.

And then, again, that strange melancholy Swayne Vonved, who roams about the world propounding people riddles; slaying those who cannot answer, and rewarding those who can with golden bracelets.

Were it not for the violence, I should say that ballad has a philosophic tendency.

I thank you for making me acquainted with the book, and I thank the Jew Mousha for making me acquainted with you." "That Mousha was a strange customer," said the youth, collecting himself.
"He _was_ a strange customer," said the elder individual, breathing forth a gentle cloud.