Then Utgard-Loki proposed to him the childish exercise of lifting his cat.  Thor put his hands under Tabby’s belly, and, lifting with all his might, could only raise one foot from the floor.  He was a very Gulliver in Brobdignag.  As a last resort, he proposed to retrieve his tarnished reputation by wrestling with some Utgardian; whereupon the king turned into the ring his old nurse, Elli, a poor toothless crone, who brought Thor to his knees, and would have thrown him, had not the king interfered.  Poor Thor!  The next morning he took breakfast in a sad state of mind, and owned himself a shamefully used-up individual.  The fact was, he had strayed unconsciously amongst the old brute powers of primitive Nature, as he ought to have perceived by the size of the kids they wore.  He had done better than he was aware of, however.  The three blows of his hammer had fallen on nothing less than a huge mountain, instead of a giant, and left three deep glens dinted into its surface; the drinking-horn, which he had undertaken to empty, was the sea itself, or an outlet of the sea, which he had perceptibly lowered; while the cat was in reality the Midgard Serpent, which enringed the world in its coils, and the toothless she-wrestler was Old Age!  What wonder that Thor was brought to his knees?  On finding himself thus made game of, Thor grew wroth, but had to go his ways, as the city of Utgard had vanished into thin air, with its cloud-capped towers and enormous citizens.  Thor afterwards undertook to catch the Midgard Serpent, using a bull’s head for bait.  The World-Snake took the delicious morsel greedily, and, finding itself hooked, writhed and struggled so that Thor thrust his feet through the bottom of his boat, in his endeavors to land his prey.

There is a certain grotesque humor in Thor’s adventures, which is missed in his mythologic counterpart of the South, Hercules.  It is the old rich “world-humor” of the North, genial and broad, which still lives in the creations of the later Teutonic Muse.  The dints which Thor made on the mountain-skull of Skrymir were types and forerunners of the later feats of the Teutonic race, performed on the rough, shaggy, wilderness face of this Western hemisphere, channelling it with watery highways, tunnelling and levelling its mountains, and strewing its surface with cities.  The old Eddas and Voluspas of the North are full of significant lore for the sons of the Northmen, wherever their lot is cast.  There they will find, that, in colonizing and humanizing the face of the world, in zoning it with railroads and telegraph-wires, in bridging its oceans with clipper-ships, and steamboats, and in weaving, forging, and fabricating for it amid the clang of iron mechanisms, they are only following out the original bent of the race, and travelling in the wake of Thor the Hammerer.

While the Grecian and Roman myths are made familiar by our school-books, it is to be regretted that the wild and glorious mythic lore of our ancient kindred is neglected.  To that you must go, if you would learn whence came