NORWEGIAN TOURIST CLUB CHÂLET.
NORWEGIAN TOURIST CLUB CHÂLET.
Ole shouted to some fishermen at “Fiskebod,” on the other side of the lake. It was expected they would bring some fish. One man came in his boat after we had waited quite a quarter of an hour. Ole was disappointed to find he had brought no fish. It occurred to us we should have to pay him after calling him over: a glass of aquavitæ settled matters to his satisfaction. There were two men at the “Tourists’ Châlet.” One was a tall thin fellow, draped in leather, and nothing else—coat, breeches, stockings, and a sort of skin shoe. The châlet consists of two rooms, with superior kind of “bunks,” or bedsteads,but no fittings of any kind. The windows are too low to obtain a pleasant view of the lake when standing up, and are not adapted for ventilation. Travellers staying at the châlet must take everything with them, including bedding, &c. There is a stove in one room. We must, of course, consider that this châlet of the Norwegian club, is only intended for summer residence. Travellers who avail themselves of its accommodation, must be mountaineers. It is a shelter from the storm, wind, and night-air, and is not intended for anything more. The evening was warm and sultry; at the same time we enjoyed the summer’s sun, as we made our way, as best we could, along the narrow broken track.
Except ourself, all the party were very thirsty; even Ole, seldom troubled with thirst, made frequent visits to the clear rippling mountain streams, which often crossed our path.
At evening close, we reached a green, pleasant slope, below a rising bank, covered with juniper bushes, and very near a shingly beach on the lake.
We were within five or ten minutes of the time, Ole predicted we should reach the sœter of Lortwick. The name, Ole said, meant dirty. Not from the state of the sœter, but from the prevailing bad weather of that part of the lake. If we could judge from the outside of the sœter, it might also have suited the name.
At first the gipsies did not see any dry fire-wood. “Go to the shingly beach,” said we, “you will find plenty.” There is always some rough wood, drifted up by high winds on every beach. They found plenty, and we had a good fire.
What is that we hear, as Noah is putting up the tents? Esmeralda’s voice to her brother Zachariah, in severe reproof—“Push it on, Highflyer.—What, pushing the prop the wrong way. Oh, Lucas! Lucas! you were always a mumper!”
We had tea, fladbröd, and butter, for our aftens-mad, Ole afterwards went to the sœter, and had their iron pot cleaned out for gröd in the morning.
Noah produced a meerschaum pipe, and began to smoke. What camp rules—smoking! Noah was, upon explanation, found to have picked it up at a spring, and said he was only drawing out the contents of the tobacco in it, to empty it. He very soon put it up. After reflection—Why are thoughtless tourists so careless, as to leave their pipes about, to the serious injury, and temptation of our gipsies?
Just as we were retiring to bed, Esmeralda thought she heard a toad creaking—didn’t like it. As far as we could ascertain, it was her brother Zachariah, who was fast asleep in bed snoring.
Up at half-past three O’clock; a very cold morning; there is a wintry feeling about the air. To-day is Wednesday, the 10th August, yet, after all, we can stand without inconvenience, the chilliness of an early sunrise in the mountains. The view was beautiful, as the sun rose beyond the lake, over the sharp peaks of Koldedalstinderne. We went to the Lortwick sœter. Ole was of course up. Does he sit up all night? was a question, we again asked. He had got the iron pot full of water ready to boil. When we returned Noah was sent for the gröd. How we enjoyed, notwithstanding the extreme freshness of the morning, a summer’s day iced, as we hadour matutinal splash in the lake. Noah soon brought the gröd to the tents; Ole joined us, and we had our breakfast. Gröd and milk is certainly a cheap meal, sufficient for five people scarcely exceeds the cost of ten skillings. We found the gröd very good for hard work; our cost at the Lortwick sœter was—
At six o’clock in the morning, we passed the Lortwick sœter on the Tyen Vand. Esmeralda and Noah had evidently got up on the wrong side the turf.
The Lake Tyen is picturesque, but not so wild as the Lake Bygdin. Time did not permit us to test the fishing. The view, especially from the “Tourist’s Châlet,” Tvindehougen, is very picturesque. On the opposite shore there are generally some Norwegian fishermen, at a place called Fiskebod.
As we left the shores of the lake, the gipsy storm rose higher; the hurricane of human intellect was even too great for Zachariah to swim in—Mephistopheles kept aloof with his donkey, as a mariner shuns a maëlstrom. Even Ole pushed ahead some yards farther than usual, not altogether out of reach of the wordy projectiles, which fell around.
We were used to it—ours was a kind of charmed life; it is marvellous how we sometimes escaped. Fancy the melancholy termination of our career, as a wandering gipsy, on the shores of the Tyen Vand.
The Birmingham bagman would have lost two copiesof this work. The fate of the English gipsies in Norway, would have remained an impenetrable mystery.
Esmeralda, as we passed the Lortwick sœter, would now and then advance rapidly from the rear, and fire a heavy broadside into Noah. The Romany chaff was very severe on both sides. “Isn’t Ambrose a balloshero? Oh, yes, Ambrose is like varnon, when he rockers like a galdering gorgio. Ambrose can talk, can’t he? The mumply dinlo! What a state he puts himself in, over everybody else.”
Noah was by no means wanting in ammunition. When Esmeralda fell back to the rear, we did our best to keep her there. Noah kept a running fire all the time. The tall gipsy kept his temper very well, except when severely hit, by some more than usually sarcastic allusion.
Leaving the lake, we passed down a narrow gorge. At the head of this gorge, Esmeralda again brought up all her reserve of the Romany artillery. Uncle Elijah was brought up, knocked down, and killed ten times over.
How well we remember the tall active form of the gipsy girl, rapidly bringing up her merle and baggage from the rear, her eyes flashing with indignant fire—poor Noah—what will be his fate? The battle of Dorking was nothing to it. Noah stands firm. He takes advantage of the intricacy of the narrow pathway; the broken nature of the ground separates their forces. Ole, we see, is still alive; a stray shot is only heard now and then.
Again we had calm, and quiet, on the horizon. Shortly after coming forth from the defile, we halt. Ourdonkeys are unloaded on the summit of a lofty slope. At a short distance from us there is a sœter. Below, at the bottom of the valley across a small river, we see the Bergen road. The gipsies had had their say. No one had any conception, or they themselves, what it was all about. An exhaustion of superabundant animal energy, and intense physical force. All was forgotten. A fire was quickly lighted in the now warm sunshine. Ole and ourselves were now to part. The middags-mad consisted of fried English ham, vinegar, fladbröd, butter, ovensbröd, and tea. Ole was delighted with our tea. He carefully measured the tin pannikin we had given him to use. Ole always had the same. Noah said he knew it by a dinge on the side. Our guide said he should have one made like it. All our camp arrangements had, apparently, much interested Ole. Mountaineers are naturally interested in the most portable, and convenient methods, of affording food and shelter, in those regions where accommodation is scanty and uncertain. There was very little that we had not provided; scarcely any addition necessary, beyond those things we had already brought. Such was the practical result of our camp experience.
After our middags-mad, slightly tinged perhaps with a shade of melancholy, we strolled aside with Ole. The cost of Ole’s services amounted to eight specie dollars, calculated at the rate of four marks a day, and including his return allowance. Our coat, lost on the Galdhöpiggen, was to be sent by parcel post if found. The postage would be twelve skillings per pound, and we gave him one mark twelve shillings.
Ole said he hoped to see us again; we hoped so too.With unfeigned regret we parted with our gallant Ole Halvorsen, of Rödsheim. Always punctual, even-tempered, and ever anxious to save us any unnecessary expense; possessed of much practical experience of a large region of wild country; ready to camp out on the mountain side without a tent; undaunted in the hour of difficulty; never at fault, quick in expedients, cool and calm; of few words, but full of information; we pay this parting tribute to our excellent Ole Halvorsen.
Ole said he had never fared so well in the mountains. It was a compliment to our cook and commissariat.
“Good-by, Mr. Ambrose, good-by, Miss daughter, and master Zâkēē,” said Ole.
“Good-by, Mr. Rödsheim,” said our gipsies as we shook hands, and with our parting farewell, and good wishes, Ole was soon far up the mountain side.
Our donkeys were already loaded. In a very short time we had crossed the river, and had reached the Bergen road. Our party came forth from the deep recesses of the Horungerne mountains with new energy; issuing forth, as it were, from the vast wilderness of peak, glacier, lake, and river, to the civilized world. The distance to Christiania was yet considerable; the time we could allow ourselves was short; the summer fast waning, yet we had gathered renewed energy. Our donkeys pricked their ears when they found themselves on the hard road. Nothing could exceed the health and spirits of our party. A few forced marches would accomplish all we required. Mephistopheles said it could not be done in the time, and was quickly snuffed out.
It is necessary to push on in this world. Splangy when he goes out to hunt, will always be in somewhere.It is true his weight may be a stone or two more than his hunter can well carry. It is equally certain that Splangy’s mare is disinclined to jump if it can bore through a fence. If she stumbles into the first ditch, Splangy tumbles into the second. Still Splangy never looses the reins; he pulls through, and is always in somewhere.
Then there are Johnson and Toboys, men of business. Johnson is said to sleep with one eye open, and Toboys never sleeps at all. They have business all over the world. For instance, when an order is given, it is sent in to the day. It is pushed through. The set of chairs are in the drawing-room, never mind if the owner, a few days afterwards, sits on one with a defective leg, and is flat on the floor, with the chair upon him. He is painfully reminded of Johnson and Toboys’ address. Well, after all, says he, they were delivered in time for me to receive the Prussian Ambassador. With many other firms, says the owner, I should have had to wait two years, when the chintz would be faded, and the fashion gone. Johnson and Toboys, of course, get the order for his dining-room. The furniture van dashes up; all is delivered on the day. What matter if one chair is afterwards discovered legless. Ah! says the owner, holding it up, it is well cushioned, and comfortable. What matter if, forgetting the legs, he sits down, turning an acrobatic back-somersault in the air? Carpets are thick now-a-days; no bones are broken. The owner is only painfully reminded of Johnson and Toboys’ address. Never mind, says the owner, after all, they were in time for me to receive my friend Fitful and his wife from India. It soon turns out the workman who had the legs,had no head; they were only forgotten. Johnson and Toboys have made their fortune, whilst some firms are thinking about it. Let us push on.
The Bergen road was reached by our party, at a point between Nystuen and Skogstad. The trout of Nystuen are said to be exceedingly good. We were at the foot of the Fille Fjeld. The scenery was charming as we followed the road down to Skogstad; all down hill, and an excellent road. Groves of birch, mountain willow, and alder trees, alternating with rock scenes, and fir wood. The Findal’s Horn rises to our right. Allons donc! How gaily the Puru Rawnee, with her jingling bells stepped out; ever leading; head well up, as if in her pride, she knew she was always admired. We shall never see another donkey like her; such fine long legs, clean, and admirably shaped, stepping under her heavy load, as if it was nothing.Allons donc!as we rapidly followed the winding road, and our party soon reached Skogstad Station. We had parted from Ole at the sœter, at twenty minutes past twelve o’clock, and reached Skogstad at half-past one. In we went to get some fladbröd. Whilst the pige was getting the fladbröd, we went into a very small comfortable side room. Seeing a curiously inlaid violin hanging up, we asked the pige the price. She brought the master of the station; he called the ostler. It now appeared the ostler was a fabricator of violins; a musical genius. The short old man, who wore breeches on very bow legs, reached out another violin from a cupboard. This was of more recent manufacture, and far better tone. The station-master, who was a very pleasant obliging man, prevailed on the ostler to play a tune. “An ancient Norwegian air,” saidthe station-master. We can only say the composer must have been far from lively at the time of composition. The old man sawed away in a slow methodical manner. As contrasted with our camp music, it was lugubrious. How delighted Ole Bull, the celebrated Norwegian violinist, would have been with his countryman’s performance. Mephistopheles was nearly in a fit. We ordered a bottle of excellent ale, and gave the ostler a glass to drink gamle norge. The ostler had exhausted his inspiration, and the ale had no reviving effect. The gipsies and myself, therefore, finished the rest. Ah! what about strict camp rules? We are not in camp, we are in the Skogstad Station. Then Mephistopheles played some rather stirring airs on the new violin and the old one. We understood it was one of the Hardanger violins, and asked the price. The station-master and the two pige stood by, whilst Mephistopheles played. Then the station-master said, “English,” and smiled. The ostler wanted three dollars. We were considering, trying, discussing, when up drove some carrioles to the station; English travellers in knickerbockers. Out went the old ostler; out went the station-master. We paid the pige for the fladbröd and öl. Noah took the Hardanger violin, if it was one, under his arm. The ostler was outside, standing by the pony of the first carriole just put in. We handed three paper dollars to the old man. “Fire,” said the old fellow, showing four fingers. “Nei! Nei!” said Noah. “No,” said we, finding the old man had suddenly raised his price. “Tre,” and we put out our hand with our three dollars. The two young girls were close by him with anxious countenances, evidently expecting we should give up the purchase.
THE NORWEGIAN VIOLIN.
THE NORWEGIAN VIOLIN.
The scene was famous, Skogstad Station, and its picturesque scenery. Carrioles before the entrance with ponies just put in, and ponies just taken out. Jolly station-master; English travellers in knickerbockers just getting into carrioles. Two rather pretty Norwegian girls standing beside the old ostler; old ostler, the picture of irresolution. His melancholy countenance, expressing anxiety to get one dollar more. Esmeralda at our elbow, telling us not to let the gorgio do Mandy. Her tall gipsy brother waiting for the ancient violin, Mephistopheles saying: “Maw kin the Bosh, sir, if he don’t lel the three dollars.”111We were just going off; the old man suddenly clutched the three dollar notes. Noahquickly placed the ancient violin and bow under his arm. Away we went from the road side scene, and soon joined our animals and baggage.
The violin as represented still remains a souvenir of Skogstad.
Scarcely had we left, when a tall powerful man, in breeches, came running after us in breathless haste; taking off his hat, we found he wished to see the donkeys; staying a few moments to gratify his curiosity, he exclaimed many times Peen giœre!!! peen giœre!! “Ya, ya,” said Noah, and we again continued our journey, wishing him god morgen.
The gipsies are not destitute of good qualities. They have a species of honour; so that, if trusted, they will not deceive or betray you.The Gipsies.BySamuel Roberts.
The gipsies are not destitute of good qualities. They have a species of honour; so that, if trusted, they will not deceive or betray you.
The Gipsies.BySamuel Roberts.
CAMP ON LILLE MJÖSEN—THE SKJYRI FJELD—AN ACQUAINTANCE FROM EISBOD—CAMP RULES CONFIRMED—OUR GIPSY NOAH—ENGLISH SPOKEN—SINGULAR STONE—ILOE STATION—OUR FRIEND FROM EISBOD—ARTIST SOUVENIRS—ZACHARIAH’S SPORT—FAST TRAVELLING—HARVEST TIME—SECLUDED CAMP—ABLE PLEADING—THE STEE STATION—OBLIGING-HOSTESS—TETHER ROPE LOST—THE KINDLY WELCOME—AN ENGLISHMAN’S WISH—AN OPEN AIR CONCERT—ESMERALDA’S FLOWERS—ADIEU, BUT REMEMBERED—A MID-DAY REST.
A wild river on the left of the road soon found its outlet in a small lake. A man and woman, in a boat upon the lake, were fishing with a net; soon afterwards we came to Oye on the “Lille Mjösen Vand.” We purchased five eggs at a house near the road, for five skillings; and the young Norwegian girl showed us a curious violin they had in the house. The Lille Mjösen is a very beautiful and picturesque lake; the road lay through wooded slopes, on the right bank, steep rocky cliffs towered above us. Before reaching Tune, we came to a charming grassy knoll, immediately above the road; the small stony gully, on one side, was convenient for the donkeys to graze. A large forest of spruce fir surrounded the knoll on all sides, except towards the road, belowwhich the stony shingly shore of the lake extended; above the forest slope were some lofty picturesque rocks. From the knoll, we had a delightful view across the lake, which was not very broad at this part. On the opposite shore, the Skjyri Fjeld rose in very lofty steeps, almost immediately from the waters of the lake. We noticed also, on the other side, one small gaard, lonely by itself, on a narrow slip of reclaimed land, a few acres, between the water, and the base of the precipice, which rose almost straight to lofty summits, covered here and there by fir wood.
Our knoll was delightfully shut in and secluded; the lofty trees of the spruce fir stretched to the base of the cliff above. So steep were they, that verdure could not exist. Although only four o’clock, the camp ground was so tempting, we determined to halt. Noah and Zachariah fished in the lake without success. The evening was very warm and sunny. Our aftens-mad consisted of tea, fladbröd, eggs, and butter.
At the Skogstad Station, we had had one mark’s worth of fladbröd, and the bottle of ale cost twelve skillings, the usual price. Our violin three dollars, the price at first asked. A few carrioles passed underneath during the evening, but the travellers did not observe us. Our music in the stillness of evening sounded across the lake, In the dim light, we could see a fire on the other shore. The evenings now get more damp, night begins sooner. Quite late, as Noah was putting up our tent, a Stolkjœre came by; the traveller pulled up, and, to our surprise, we again met our acquaintance of the Bygdin Lake, the young gentleman who wore the uniform tunic. We welcomed him as an old friend; he said he had come to acertain point on the route with the ladies, and they had met Ole. Our friend said he had parted from the other visitors we met at the “Poet’s House,” and hoped to be in Christiania on Sunday. We gave him one of our best cigars, which he said were not often met with in the mountains. A short chat, of course, about the war, and we parted, probably to meet again in Christiania.
Near our tents there was an exceedingly large nest of creas (gip., ants), as my people called them. Their communistic ideas were at once apparent; they swarmed about our camp, taking away all they could carry.
They had three large tracks diverging from their nest to the road, down which thousands were hastily hurrying to and fro; it was very interesting to watch them. Nature has an ever-varied, and instructive page to set before you at every step.
Going out of our tents the last thing, we were astounded at what we saw by the camp fire. The appearance of a Huldre (fairy), or a Jotul (giant), could not have astonished us more. Noah was seated, and actually smoking a pipe; it was as the French say, “un peu trop fort,” camp rules infringed, laws broken, what next? we of course spoke upon the subject.
We shall not trouble our readers with our Nicotian lecture. It was in vain Noah advanced that smoking was better than chewing; we were firm. He had given his word, knew the camp rules, and we could not have any future confidence in any man who broke his word with us. Noah, with a melancholy look, slowly put out his pipe, and it disappeared. “You shall not say I am a liar, sir; I shall keep my word, as I have promised.” After all, Noah, in his wild way, is not a bad fellow; he hasbeen thrown into all kinds of temptation, without care, or instruction of any sort, leading a wild wandering life, yet, throughout our campaign, we never heard him once utter an oath. It is more than we can say with regard to many others we have met, persons more educated, and with better opportunities. Yes, Noah is tolerably steady; notwithstanding, a few cigars, and a little brandy, might be much imperilled if placed in his way. We must however give Noah his due, to us he was ever ready to do his share in the rough work of our Norwegian wanderings. We must ever take an interest in Noah’s fate.
It is Thursday the 11th of August, the morning is very fine, our party up at twenty minutes past four o’clock. Our fladbröd was exhausted; nineteen college biscuits were allowed to each, with butter and tea for breakfast. The morning was cold till we had the sun upon the valley. The Lille Mjösen is a charming lake. Our party were soon off.
We had not long left our camp, when we met a gentleman carrying an umbrella to shade himself from the morning sun. He was a Norwegian clergyman, who spoke English very well, and had been staying with an English family in Christiania. Evincing much interest in our expedition, he kindly gave us some very useful suggestions with regard to our future route. The route he suggested as best suited for camping purposes, and as also being very picturesque, wasviâKrœmmermoen, the Spirilen Lake and the Krogkleven. When he left us to continue his walk, we immediately afterwards reached an inn, which appeared very comfortable; several travellers were staying there. They were attired in their best wearing apparel, and were evidently enjoying asummer tour. We tried to get some Kagebröd; all they could offer us were some very seedy pieces of bread, rather mouldy, and one piece of fladbröd, which Noah could have demolished at a mouthful. The bread we left, but a pound of fresh butter, at twenty-two skillings, we took with us.
Soon afterwards a man came running after us in breathless haste; our donkeys were the object of attraction; great was his admiration before he left us.
In a roadside churchyard we soon after passed, we believe it was Vang, there is a singular stone, carved with an interesting relief, and an inscription.
In some churchyards we passed in Norway, a mere cross of wood marks the grave. Now and then we observed a railing round a grave, and occasionally, but very seldom, a marble head-stone, with an inscription. Then we came to birch woods, and a beautiful road along the side of the lake. Sometimes, as we journeyed close to the water edge, shaded by lofty rocks, our gipsies, as they caught sight of the large trout, would exclaim—“Dawdy, what a borrieck matcho!”112
In the Lille Mjosen, we observed nets set with floats. Spruce fir is the predominant tree of this district. The scenery is very beautiful; wood, mountain, rock, and water in great perfection.
Our gipsies pushed the donkeys on rapidly; some- times on the trot. About one o’clock we saw to the right of the road “Öiloe Station.”
We were delighted with the scenery of this place. Sending Esmeralda and Zachariah on with the baggage, with instructions to halt at the first convenient place, we went with Noah up the road to the station.
We had to forage for bread. The mistress of the station, a portly good-natured woman, looked out of an upstairs window, as we came up. When we entered the old house, we were surprised to meet our friend, from the “Poet’s House,” at the Bydgin Lake. It seems he was waiting for a carriole to take him on. Through his kind assistance, the mistress spared us part of a loaf, six eggs, and some fladbröd, for sixteen skillings. Noah at once took possession of the provisions.
The mistress, who was a fine-looking woman, possessing some remains of former beauty, took us upstairs. It was a sort of large guest room, with two windows, and three or four beds. The station seemed to have been a perfect nest of artists. We were not surprised. The scenery around was lovely. Not that it was as impressive, as that we had lately left; but all the elements which entrance, and captivate the mind, of those who seek nature, were there. The artists had left their marks. One artist of the name of Lorck, had, on the morning of his departure, painted his watch on the wall, above the head of his bed. When he had left, the pige, thinking he had forgotten it, attempted to take it down. Another had painted a key on the wall, almost, if not quite equal to the one on the wall of Wiertz’s celebrated, and singular Musée at Bruxelles. There was also a landscape scene painted on the wall, of another part of the room, over one of the beds.
Of course the pencil of an industrious countryman wasbusy- “W.J. Phillips, Prestwich, 20-7-70.” Then we were shown a small likeness of Eckersberg the artist, which represented him as dressed in a red coat; the portrait had been painted by himself. We were told he had died three weeks before our visit, and the artist would never again visit the scenes which had afforded so many subjects for his pencil.
Then the hostess produced two girdles for sale, the owners being poor and wanting money. We at last bought one of the girdles as a souvenir—a Norwegian maiden’s girdle.
NORWEGIAN MAIDEN’S BELT, ÖILOE.
NORWEGIAN MAIDEN’S BELT, ÖILOE.
An engraving is now given of the belt. The ornaments and fastening are all in brass. The only similar belt we saw in Norway, was worn by the little dark woman, who visited our tents at Laugaard.
The hostess afterwards brought us some milk, for which she would not make any charge. In fact, our Bygdin friend, the hostess, ourself, and Noah, had quite a delightful conversazione. Vague news was of course given about the war.
When we had just descended the extremely primitive stairs, and were going out of the door, the husband metus. He gave a sort of suppressed shriek, when he saw Noah with the provisions. Our friend from the Bygdin Lake, and the man’s tall wife, said some words to him. Noah had certainly not taken the watch and key painted on the guest-room wall. Whatever they said, the effect was magical; the husband disappeared. With kindly salutations, we left the abode of artists.
What a charming spot Esmeralda had selected for the mid-day’s halt, at a short distance from the station, where the road traversed some new-mown, parky-looking ground, open to the road; they had unloaded near a clump of trees.
The river from the Lille Mjösen Lake, broken into picturesque rapids, was close to us. Esmeralda was seated midst the baggage, and the donkeys were grazing near. Zachariah was at once started to fish for the commissariat, and afterwards returned with seven delicious trout; one was a very fine one, one foot three inches long; beautifully pink. For our middags-mad, we had eggs, potatoes, fladbröd, and cheese. Our friend from the Bygdin Lake, soon after passed along the road,en routeto Christiania, and waved hisadieux. Several carrioles and carriages passed along the road towards Bergen. Some were apparently English travellers, and seemed rather astonished to see a party of gipsies near the roadside.
Occasionally the travellers looked with curious interest, as they contemplated,en passant, our mode of travelling. It was a glorious warm sun, and we enjoyed our halt amid the lovely scene.
The animals are reloaded, and we are odd at half-past three o’clock. Shortly afterwards we were overtaken bya German smoking in his stolkjœrre. Very much interested he seemed in our cavalcade, and evidently took us for strolling players and musicians. He passed, and then pulled up; stared, lingered, and ultimately offered Esmeralda a seat in his stolkjœrre. She declined his offer. Then he pressed it. We then came up, and told him our party always preferred walking. He asked us what we performed, and begged our pardon when he was told we travelled for our pleasure, with our tent, and baggage, to see the country.
The German said—“You are looking well; it agrees with you. I prefer to travel faster. I do fourteen Norsk miles a day (ninety-eight English). Wish you all a pleasant journey.” And he drove off towards Christiania.
The road was very pleasant. Sometimes through forest, sometimes through the cultivated enclosure of a gaard. A young Norwegian passed us at one place, who spoke English. In passing through a forest, Noah picked up a small spruce fir which was uprooted, and was lying by the way. This replaced his broken alpenstock. It was carefully peeled, and made into a respectable walking staff.
At a short distance from Stee, we came in sight of the river, and a fall of water, near some saw-mills, apparently closed during the absence of the workmen at the harvest. All were now busy in the fields. In Norway the summer is short. To harvest quickly is a matter of pressing necessity. Everything gives place to the harvest. A tolerably quick man on a farm, we were told, earned about twenty dollars a year wages—rather more than four pounds English—his food lodging, twopairs of shoes and two pairs of stockings, and two shirts. Men engaged by the day receive, we were told, about one mark twelve skillings.
Near the mills, a stream of water crossed the road from a thick wood on the left. The stream afterwards joined the river near the mills. Through the wood, there was a pathway leading to some open broken ground surrounded by trees. It was a pleasant secluded spot, not far from the road. Here we camped. Our aftens-mad consisted of fried trout, tea, and barley-meal cakes made in the frying pan. Zachariah caught seven trout, and Noah three trout, in the river. We went after tea to fish, but it was almost dark, and we returned to our camp.
In the early morning, at twenty minutes to four o’clock, when we got up, the air was rather cold. Our fire being lighted, we had for breakfast fried trout, fladbröd, and tea. Zachariah went fishing, whilst Noah was having his matutinal wash. Esmeralda, seated near the fire, commenced. She was sorely grieved to think we should part with the donkeys. The poor animals would be left to be ill used in a strange country. She did not like to part with things she was used to, after they had gone with us so many miles. She looked as if we were going to have them shot immediately after we arrived at Christiania.
She pleaded so earnestly on their behalf, that she would have won the heart of any one of the members of the Humane Society, if he had been present.
What could we do? One, of course, was promised to our friend the chevalier; but the other two? These were not promised. We, of course, took what our hobbenengree had said into consideration.
It was a lovely morning, when the sun was up. In the first burst of its splendour, we watched its broken rays, gild the waters of the shaded stream, near our camp. How rich in colouring, the tinted moss on the broken rocks. We could have lingered long in contemplation. Yet our party must quickly move. Our tents are struck, and we are againen route.
Zachariah tried with his rod and line, as we went along the road, but without success, and at last he put up his tackle.
Shortly afterwards we arrived at the Stee Station. The house was not far from the road on our left. Taking Noah with us, we went up to purchase for our commissariat.
The guest-chamber is tolerably large, and well lighted, but not very lofty. All the furniture was in the old Norwegian style. On the walls we noticed likenesses of Prindsesse Alexandra og Prindsen af Wales; also Eugenie Keiserinde and Napoleon 3rd Keiser af Frankrig.
Two travellers appeared below with carrioles. The very civil and obliging mistress, we supposed her to be, of the Stee Station, soon provided us with a beautifully cooked pink trout from the Slidre Fjord, fladbröd, eggs and potatoes and butter, for which we paid—
Then our young Norwegian hostess came down to theroad, with one or two piges of the house, to see our donkeys, and have a chat with us, each knowing very little of what the other said. Yet it is astonishing how we managed to make ourselves understood, with our small vocabulary of Norwegian words. They wanted us to play, but Zachariah’s violin was out of order, and time pressed. Bidding them all farewell, we were once moreen route.
The Stee Station is pleasantly situated, not far from the Slidre Fjord. Bears and game are said to be in plenty in the neighbourhood; and we are able to say that the trout are excellent. Those caught by Mephistopheles in the river, a short distance before we came to Stee, at our last camp, were delicious. Very shortly after we had left Stee, the melancholy discovery was made, that our donkey’s tether-rope, and neck-strap, had been left behind at the last camp.
General recrimination among our gipsies. Esmeralda had unloosed the Puru Rawnee the first thing in the morning, to give it more liberty, and the rope was left on the ground. Noah thought it was put up. Well, after all, it may be of some use to those who found it. They had no chance of restoring it, and we managed without, during the rest of our travels.
Now we were again in enclosures. The road lay along the left shore, and a short distance along the length of “Slidre Fjord.” It is a long, and considerable extent of water.
Our party had not gone very far, when we passed an excellent house on the right of the road—much better than those generally seen. Soon after, when we had partly passed down the short descent beyond the house,a gentleman came after us. As he came up and addressed us, we at once called a halt.
Two ladies then joined him. The gentleman was a pale, and exceedingly intellectual-looking man. We understood him to say that he had seen some account of us in theTimes. Afterwards, we heard him addressed as Doctor.
Directly after, some more ladies came down the hill from the opposite direction, accompanied by one or two young gentlemen. One, a tall, gentlemanly, amiable, young Norwegian, is especially selected to converse with us in English, and act as interpreter.
In very good English he said, “I pray you, sir, speak slowly, and I can understand you.” We did so, and managed exceedingly well.
Our visitors had now increased to quite a large party of ladies and gentlemen, all surrounding our gipsies and donkeys, talking, discussing, asking questions, all in one breath. It was quite a roadside scene, as we almost blocked up the narrow part of the way at the foot of two short ascents. The sun was exceedingly hot, fiery, and bright.
Just at this moment, a lady in a carriole, driven by her skydskarl, came down the rather steep descent towards us. She was of Englishdistinguéetype of beauty, and did not appear either comfortable, or delighted with her mode of travelling. There was a pallor on her countenance; she seemed nervous and delicate.
Another carriole, coming immediately behind, was driven by a nice, good-humoured, handsome fellow, we judged to be her husband. His wife, who did not speak, had, like many who journey through life, a care-wornimpress written on every line of her thoughtful countenance.
They had scarcely gone past, when the English traveller suddenly pulled up, and we had a few minutes’ converse. We thought he seemed, half to envy our independent mode of travelling, for at parting he said, “Just the thing I should like,” and, smiling, wished us a pleasant journey.
After our English travellers had left us, we found our visitors still interested in our gipsies, animals, and baggage. Noah soon unpacked our tin box, and we presented one of our songs to the Doctor, one to the young gentleman who spoke English, and one to a very pleasant, kind, amiable lady of the party.
Whilst Noah was rearranging our baggage, the young gentleman who spoke English said, “Come further, where there is ombre.” Very shortly we came to another exceedingly comfortable, good-sized house, standing in its nice pleasant garden, with an approach from the road. The “Slidre Fjord” was below it, and the situation was delightful. There they pressed us to remain, and take rest; we would find shade and convenience. Finding we could not stay, one of the ladies ordered her servants to bring out bottled Baiersk öl and glasses, and a large jug of excellent draught beer, which at last we consented to have. We halted ’neath the shade of a tree which overhung the road. Our gipsies were very thirsty; we were obliged to be very firm as to quantity. Our kind friends pressed us much to stay with our tents, but our time was limited.
Then our guitar, and Zachariah’s violin were tuned up: the heat and knocking about had not improved theirtone. We sang for our kind entertainers our gipsy song. Afterwards, three of the young ladies (and they were very good-looking), joined by one of the young gentlemen, sang for us. Very nicely they sang; one held a small book of Norwegian songs, to assist the memory. Noah and Zachariah afterwards gave them some music, with their violin and tambourine.
The lady had fruit brought out. In all our wanderings they were amongst those whose acquaintance—alas! too short—will always be remembered with pleasure.
Time passes rapidly. The gipsies’ instruments are put up. The kind Norwegian lady gave Esmeralda a bouquet of flowers from her garden. There was much in this present, which drew us still closer, in our appreciation of her friendly thought. The heroine of our book receives a bouquet of flowers! It is not thrown down at her feet, with the grandiose air of “There, take it!” It is given her by one whose amiable spirit had our sympathy, and for whom we felt at that moment we could have risked much. She had given the bouquet to the heroine of our wanderings—Esmeralda, the true, not the fictitious, heroine of this book!
The young gentleman who spoke English expressed in English terms their good wishes. They were thoroughly good people, with all the refinement, and gentleness of those best feelings, which should predominate in our nature. As we went out of sight, in passing a turn of the road, we saw them in the distance, waving their handkerchiefs in parting adieux.
It was now midday; the sun was intensely hot. Our animals, who could stand almost anything, seemed oppressed with the heat. We had, we believe, just left“Lomen.” There were enclosures on both sides the road; no convenient place to give us shade and rest. We must push on. Each day, as we wandered on, we never knew where we should dine or sleep.
The district we now passed through was well cultivated. Many gaards on each side the road. The peasants were busy with their harvest. Even their anxiety to make provision for the winter of life did not prevent them from running, at times, with excited and unwonted energy, to the road fences to see us go by.
At one place, we observed a tall peasant running down a steep declivity; in his hurry he had left one of his shoes behind, one on and the other off. “Here comes neck or nothing,” said Esmeralda, as he nearly took a header down a steep rock.
Still we had to keep on. Small patches of hops, we noticed at some of the gaards, perhaps a few perches; never, we remember, more than a rood. Yet they seemed to grow luxuriantly. Trailing in their rich foliage, and blossoms, they are always an interesting feature in any scene. Now and then, we noticed hemp. There was a well-to-do appearance in this district.
We had gone some distance in the heat of the sun, travel-worn, and dusty; at last we descended a steep declivity, and on our left we perceived a rough piece of open ground, covered with scattered trees and bushes, sloping to a dingle. A cool, clear stream, rippled near an old mill, and crossed the road. The road descended, and again as rapidly ascended. All was secluded.
Now, where is the kettle? so hungry are we,Surely our supper the next thing must be;The fire already is blazing up high,And asking for rashers of bacon to fry;The damper is perfect, the pannikin’s found,And all laid out on the banqueting-ground;When everything’s ready, I have not a doubtA monarch might envy our “camping out.”Bush Flowers from Australia.
Now, where is the kettle? so hungry are we,Surely our supper the next thing must be;The fire already is blazing up high,And asking for rashers of bacon to fry;The damper is perfect, the pannikin’s found,And all laid out on the banqueting-ground;When everything’s ready, I have not a doubtA monarch might envy our “camping out.”Bush Flowers from Australia.
AN ENGLISH FISHERMAN—THE HAUNTED MILL—THE TOURIST’S PURCHASE—NOAH’S GOOD FORTUNE—THE STRAND FJORD—A WOMAN’S CURIOSITY—THE HEROINE OF OUR BOOK—A NORWEGIAN SEAMAN—THE MISTAKEN MANSION—THE AURDAL CHURCH—FRYDENLAND STATION—A ROADSIDE HALT—THE APPRECIATED GIFT—THE SEVERE YOUNG LADY—THE KIND-HEARTED PEASANT—KRŒMMERMOEN—IMPULSE AND REASON.
What delicious shade. Our water was soon boiling near the old mill. Our readers must not suppose the mill was a large one; it was about four times as large as a good-sized sentry-box. We may have even exaggerated the size. Norwegian mills are not on the ponderous scale of English ones.
The middags-mad consisted of our Stee trout cold. It was a fine trout, either steamed or boiled. In the heat of the day, the trout was pronounced by our gourmand gipsies excellent; some vinegar was allowed with it, besides tea, fladbröd, butter, and fried eggs.
The time had marked two o’clock when we arrived. The pleasant slope of green turf where we sat commanded the road. Whilst we were taking our midday meal, two Englishmen, one having a fishing-basket slung over his shoulder, passed in a stolkjœrre. Then we saw two young Norwegian tourists, in their high laced-up boots, one of whom carried a skin knapsack; they were pushing on at a swinging pace. Noah and Zachariah of course fell asleep. Esmeralda went to the old mill, and fancied she heard a curious moaning sound, something like groaning in it. We did not investigate it; besides, the mill was fastened; neither had we any permission from the owner to go into his mill—sit up in a haunted mill a few feet square! If the wheel should be turned by the ghost, where should we be? Ground to flour, eaten by a Norwegian for his middags-mad—made into fladbröd, and eaten by some English tourist. If we are to see ghosts, let it be in an old castle, family mansion, or the ruins of an abbey; but a mill;—besides, where was the owner?
As we sat on the green slope, we observed a wooded promontory, stretching into the fjord, below the road, and sent Noah to reconnoitre for camping ground. The Tarno Rye, we found, had a sore back; our bruise-mixture was applied. Noah reported unfavourably for remaining. The donkeys were loaded, and we quickly left the dingle, and the haunted mill. Somehow we had lingered, and lounged, in the pleasant shade, till after five o’clock.En àvantwas the word; away went tall Noah in advance, with the Puru Rawnee before him, the rest following, bag and baggage, as hard as theparty could go, Noah with his coat off and his trowsers tucked up.
In the distance we could see Ulnœs church, near the “Strand Fjord.” Now we met a party of English tourists, bent upon enjoying themselves. Donkeys are drawn up in line for them to pass as we push on, with Noah in front. One said “Hvor meget,” pointing to Noah’s stick; probably he took us for Norwegian gipsies. Noah made no demur. The fir staff was in the Englishman’s hands in two seconds, whilst the gipsy pocketed two coins, which, we believe, made him one mark two skillings richer. Our passing was so hasty, that nothing more was said, as the jovial party, with much glee, carried with them Noah’s staff, as a souvenir of the incidents of travel.
Noah was well chaffed by Zachariah and Esmeralda. Noah was in high glee; he had sold the stick he had picked up yesterday, for one mark two skillings. Mephistopheles was miserable with vexation, that he had not a fir stick, to sell at one mark two skillings, to some English tourist. A division was even suggested. As the shorengro of the party, we should have come in for the lion’s share. Nay, there is a precedent in Isaac Walton, where the gipsies divide a sovereign. Esmeralda supported the idea, but the suggestion was without result.
Very shortly after we had passed Ulnœs church, we saw a peasant standing on the roadside. His gaard was not far from the road. At first, when we asked him, he said he had no fladbröd, but afterwards said “Ya.” Esmeralda and ourself went down to his house. First, he brought down two very large rounds of fladbröd. Whenwe gave him a mark, he gave us half a mark back, and brought four more large rounds down. One large round of fladbröd generally costs two skillings.
It is difficult to purchase, even fladbröd, in harvest time: most of the peasants are away from their houses. If we had not been provided with a good commissariat, and had trusted to what provisions we could purchase, our party would have, indeed, fared very badly during their wanderings.
It was now getting dusk. We were near the shores of the Strand Fjord; nothing but inclosures met our view on either side the road; we must soon camp somewhere. It was nearly nine o’clock, when we came to a steep, barren, stony bank above the road. The upper portion was scantily wooded with birch trees and bushes. Hobson’s choice. The donkeys were unloaded, a fire lighted, and our baggage put on the only available ground, behind a low rock, just above the road.
Our aftens-mad was not lively. Midges and musketos attacked us on every side. Esmeralda got the water for tea from the fjord; she had to go from the road, across some enclosure, belonging to a cottage near. The woman shortly after came up to the road fence. Mephistopheles was interrogated in Norsk. Mephistopheles did not understand a word the woman said. Mephistopheles was extremely civil, saying “Ya, ya,” to every question she asked. At length she wound up with “Hvor fra” (where from?). To which Mephistopheles answered, “Coryadreadaminch.” The woman immediately left.
Very soon after we had halted, the loss was announced of the brass fishing-reel, from the fishing-rod, Zachariahhad been using. Zachariah had forgotten to take it off the rod in the morning.
Notwithstanding our tent was pitched on the only available spot, consisting of loose angular stones, in spite of midges and musketos, we were soon sound asleep. The English gipsies in Norway, were long past that deplorable state of modern effeminacy, when you are unable to sleep comfortably on a gorse bush, with a bundle of thorns for a pillow.
It had thundered, and lightened, and rained heavily in the night. We were all fearfully bitten with musketos. Noah had been unable to sleep; Esmeralda not much better. Mephistopheles slept the best.
Being Saturday, the 13th August, we were anxious to secure a good camping-ground for our Sunday’s rest, and another day of quiet and repose. At three o’clock in the morning our gipsies struck the tents. The frokost consisted of tea, bacon, potatoes, cheese, and fladbröd. Esmeralda was rather bilious, with a sore lip. Our anxiety was great for the health of our Hobbenengree. Supposing anything happened to Esmeralda, the heroine of this book would be lost; and what is a book without a heroine? The Birmingham bagman would at once decline the work, as not according to contract. It would have been utterly impossible to supply her loss. There is no second Esmeralda—none like her. In truth, with all her tempers, all her faults, Esmeralda was the spirit of our wanderings. The pure Romnechal of our expedition.
Our donkeys were nearly loaded, when we were surprised by the apparition of a tall seaman, standing in the road close by. He informed us he had stayed thenight at the house near—the same, probably, where our friend, the woman of the previous evening, lived. His ship had been lost near Throndhjem, and he was now going to Bergen. Had been in America; spoke English very well, with a strong American accent. We gave him a dram of brandy, and two skillings; whereupon he said, “It’s d—d bad for you not speaking Norsk,” and wishing us a good voyage, departed.
Before six o’clock we wereen route. The rain had laid the dust; the morning was cloudy. There were two fishermen’s boats on the Strand Fjord. We passed the Strand Kirke. The scenery was very picturesque, rocks towering above us on our left, the Strand Fjord on our right. Some goats were racing and jumping on the narrow crags of a steep precipice above us.
Coming to some saw-mills, we crossed a wild ravine. Shortly after passing through a fir wood, we came in sight of the Fagernœs station. A shop is said to be attached to it. Upon inquiry, we found they had no shop, and we could not purchase anything. Some people came out to look at our donkeys, and we were soonen route.
The district through which we now passed seemed more populated, and is called North Aurdal. Two English tourists overtook us; one had a fishing-basket, and said he had not had much sport. He shortly after changed horses with a post-man, opposite a large building to our right. At first we took it for a gentleman’s mansion. It was the second building of stone, we had seen, since we left Lillehammer. All was neatness, with a drive to it from the road. When the English tourist changed horses in the road, opposite the entrance, we thought it might be a very first-class station. Whenwe came up, and had some conversation with a very pleasant, well-dressed Norwegian, who was standing at the entrance, we found it was the gaol of the North Aurdal. He spoke English well, and had been in America. It is very probable he was the governor. They have a nice church at Aurdal, and a pleasant graveyard, close to the road. The wooden crosses were in the usual style. There was one simple marble monument, bearing an inscription; we notice it, for its brevity—Christopher RoggeTódt 21 April, 1863,Dod Nov., 1865.
As we came towards the Frydenland station, there were many houses along the roadside; some, apparently, for private residence. Two well-dressed young ladies passed us, and one smiled so pleasantly, that we could not omit the politeness of lifting our hat.
The Frydenland station is close to the road, and seemed very comfortable. They have a good-sized sitting-room, with a sofa, and all is exceedingly clean. The mistress was very civil and attentive. Whilst she provided us with three loaves of excellent bread, and a pound of good butter, we discussed a bottle of baiersk öl in the sitting-room. Noah and Zachariah came in for their share. Esmeralda took charge of our baggage outside. Our bread, butter, and bottle of öl cost two marks twelve skillings. As we came out into the road, the donkeys had found their admirers. A tall old gentleman with an immense hat, a stout lady, and a young lady, from a neighbouring house, and several people, were inspecting our animals and baggage. As we left, we exchangedgood-humoured salutations, and their looks implied their best wishes for ourbon voyage.
About twelve o’clock we approached to very nearly the turn from the main road towards “Krœmmermoen.” Coming to a large wooden trough on the roadside, supplied with clear water by a wooden spout from the rocks above, we called a halt. On the opposite side the road, a convenient space had been left, with a long wooden bench for travellers to sit upon. This is an excellent provision for the convenience of the wayfarer, which might be copied with advantage in England. Below the stone wall, along the roadside, the ground sloped to a valley.
Our baggage was all heaped behind the bench against the wall. A fire was lighted in the rocks above the road, and our water soon boiled for tea. A peasant, who lived at a house near, soon came down the road. He was a strong, powerful, intelligent-looking man, dressed in leather knee-breeches, woollen stockings, large shoes, one brace, and a spotted woollen shirt. The man was soon joined, by two comely, young, good-humoured females, probably his daughters. Then a peasant woman came from another house; soon after, a tall man came from we don’t know where. Peen giœre! Peen giœre! they all exclaimed, as they gazed in bewildered admiration at our donkeys. Out came the flask. We like to have our things admired. Out came the tobacco, and the man in leather breeches, borrowed a pipe from the tall man, and began to smoke. We were evidently looked upon as strolling actors of the better sort; yet the donkeys were their chief delight. Then they were much interested in our mode of making our tea in the Australian fashion,putting the tea into the boiling water, and reversing the usual mode. At length all, except one woman, and one or two children, left us. After the sardines were gone we presented the woman with the empty sardine box, whereupon she seized us by the hand, and shook hands, and immediately afterwards left, probably to place it in the strong armoire of her salle à manger.
Then, as we were at our middags-mad, a carriage and pair came in view,en routetowards Bergen. Our Tarno Rye stood in the road. Noah was detached, but the Tarno Rye took himself off to the roadside, as soon as he saw the carriage.
The skydskarl was driving. A young lady was seated in front by the driver. An old gentleman and lady, probably her parents, were behind. Never shall we forget the young lady as the carriage came near our Tarno Rye. With desperate eagerness she suddenly snatched the whip from the boy. Then she dealt with all her might one vigorous stroke at our Tarno Rye, who was quietly standing on the roadside. We were amused at the expression of determination, and serious earnestness her countenance assumed. It is dreadful to think that our gallant Tarno Rye, after all his wanderings, was so nearly annihilated. What would Esmeralda have done? Fortunately our Tarno Rye, like the little jackdaw, in the Ingoldsby legend, was never a penny the worse.
Immediately after the carriage passed us, we saw what we at once knew before, that she was English. A heavy shower of rain came on soon afterwards, and, covering our baggage with the waterproof, we all availed ourselves of the same shelter. Our friend, the Norwegian farmer, came down the road through the pouring rain, and askedus to take shelter in his house. We explained that our covering was waterproof. He said something about our being wanderers, pointing good-naturedly towards his house, and then left. He had come through the rain himself, to offer us shelter and hospitality.
The rain cleared a little at half-past four o’clock, and we left at five. The farmer came down again. We gave him one of our gipsy songs as a souvenir, and he seemed much pleased. Afterwards, he came and showed us the turn from the Bergen and “Gjövig” road to Krœmmermoen. Shaking hands, he left us, with many wishes for our prosperous journey.
The road towards Krœmmermoen was similar to one of our English country lanes, very pleasant, and picturesque. At times we passed through thick fir woods open to the road. It soon rained heavily. Noah and Zachariah had no overcoats or change, and were obliged to take their wetting philosophically. At some places we tried for fladbröd, but in vain. One woman came across a field, with wild fruit to sell us. We did not take the fruit; but as she stood in the wet, we could not help giving her some recompense. Ultimately, we came to the edge of a tremendous declivity. If you make a zigzag road down the outside of St. Paul’s, you have got it. A very small piece of broken ground lay on our right, at the edge of the steep precipitous descent. On this we drove the donkeys. Just then, up drove a carriole, and we recognised one of the young gentlemen from Lomen. The carriole was one of the best we had seen, and was drawn by a beautiful Norwegian pony. Directly the pony caught sight of our donkeys, out got our friend, with the inevitable p-r-r-rh p-r-r-r-rh. Thepony, with Noah’s assistance, was safely led past. Then our Norwegian friend came to us, and we conversed, as well as our knowledge of each other’s language would allow. When he was gone, Noah and Zachariah were dispatched to seek a camp-ground, lower down the hill, nearer to Krœmmermoen. We were now above the deep and charming valley of Lille Bang. The rain drizzled down occasionally, as we stood on the broken ground, at the edge of a deep, wooded steep. One donkey lay down with its load. Esmeralda in her long cloak, paced the wet turf, hot, and fiery. Our beautiful Puru Rawnee had given her some offence. It seldom rains but it pours. The Tarno Rye had escaped a young English lady, and now our Puru Rawnee, was to be knocked down by the heroine of our book. Very likely! Supposing our Puru Rawnee killed! what then? The Birmingham bagman will refuse his two copies. “You’ve fallen short. Don’t find the Puru Rawnee at the end; contract not complete.” Esmeralda makes a dash at our beautiful donkey; her dark eyes flash fire. The spirit of the young English lady pales before her. If the young English lady had been there, it is probable she would have learned a lesson in humanity. We interposed. Fancy a studious, thoughtful, wanderer of nature, staying, for the moment, the torrent of impetuous feeling of the tall handsome gipsy-girl, Esmeralda, about to overwhelm the beautiful Puru Rawnee, at the edge of a wooded steep, in the mizzling rain, of a Norwegian summer’s eve! Gipsies are creatures of impulse. Few words said we. Strong, and impetuous as were the passions of our heroine, she had a heart—at times, could deeply feel. The Puru Rawnee escaped unhurt.