d of the great outlaw. To us moderns the real interest in these
records of a past state of life lies principally in seeing events true
in the main treated vividly and dramatically by people who completely
understood the manners, life, and, above all, the turn of mind of the
actors in them. Amidst many drawbacks, perhaps, to the modern reader,
this interest is seldom or ever wanting in the historical sagas, and
least of all in our present story; the sagaman never relaxes his grasp
of Grettir's character, and he is the same man from beginning to end;
thrust this way and that by circumstances, but little altered by them;
unlucky in all things, yet made strong to bear all ill-luck; scornful
of the world, yet capable of enjoyment, and determined to make the
most of it; not deceived by men's specious ways, but disdaining to cry
out because he must needs bear with them; scorning men, yet helping
them when called on, and desirous of fame: prudent in theory, and wise
in foreseeing the inevitable sequence of events, but reckless beyond
the recklessness even of that time and people, and finally capable of
inspiring in others strong affection and devotion to him in spite of
his rugged self-sufficing temper--all these traits which we find in
our sagaman's Grettir seem always the most suited to the story of
the deeds that surround him, and to our mind most skilfully and
dramatically are they suggested to the reader.

As is fitting, the other characters are very much subordinate to the
principal figure, but in their way they are no less life-like; the
braggart--that inevitable foil to the hero in a saga--was never better
represented than in the Gisli of our tale; the thrall Noise, with his
carelessness, and thriftless, untrustworthy mirth, is the very pattern
of a slave; Snorri the Godi, little though there is of him, fully
sustains the prudent and crafty character which follows him in all the
Sagas; Thorbiorn Oxmain is a good specimen of the overbearing and sour
chief, as is Atli, on the other hand, of the kindly and high-minded,
if prudent, rich man; and no one, in short, plays his part like
a puppet, but acts as one expects him to act, always allowing the
peculiar atmosphere of these tales; and to crown all, as the story
comes to its end, the high-souled and poetically conceived Illugi
throws a tenderness on the dreadful story of the end of the hero,
contrasted as it is with that of the gloomy, superstitious Angle.

Something of a