"Do you wish to see the mountain Elf?" asked the Professor.

"Of all things. Yes, to see a real Norse-fairysuch as the fairy-hunter was in search ofis precisely my desire."

"There it is," said the Professor, pointing to a rock with a sort of figure apparently traced upon it. "You are very disagreeable !"

"Nay,-have you never heard of the Hulder? Well, I will tell you how it happened. When our great saint and warrior, our first Christian king, St. Olof, would make a road over this mountain for his soldiers, forth stepped the mountain Elf, and demanded why he would destroy her rock, threatening him if he did so with defeat in battle. "For this speech,' said the King, 'thou shalt remain in thy rock while I conquer the pagans; yea, and till the day of judgment. So there she has been fast enough ever since the days of King Olof, the saint of Norway; for the pagans conquered him that time; and, as no one will ever break the rock, there she must remain till the day of doom."

"Poor elf! tyrannical saint; stupid idea. Shall we go back to supper?"

The next morning we set off to Hönne-fos. I had risen early and descended the ladder, and

opened the door of the eating-room, expecting to see breakfast laid as if I had been in England. Instead of that, I saw the floor covered over with cloaks, bags, cushions, and a vast number of baskets and flask bottles, with other things, which gave one a very palpable idea that the two other parties who had arrived at Krogleven Inn had made the said eating-room their chamber of repose. Men, women, and children, provisions, pipes and bottles, seemed all to be jumbled together. I went over the dirty yard in search of some place from whence a view could be had, for I knew I was in the neighbourhood of views though I could see none. I turned into a green field, and strolled on till I saw the Professor sitting on a stile, not even smoking,-doing nothing. I hastened forward, for he did not rise, even to bow; only pulling his hat in the Norse mode, straight down from his head, and clapping it on again. He sat there till I came quite up to the stile; and then a cry of delighted surprise burst from my lips, and repaid the expectant Professor.

This spot was Dronnings Udsigt, or Queen's View; and seen thus under a morning sun, and without any fatiguing preparation, it pleased me more than the King's, which is grander perhaps, at least more extensive.

What a charming spot this would have been for an inn; but the climate, it is true, must be consulted, as well as the Norwegian taste and customs.

The Professor insisted that he knew I should find the spot, and find him there, without ever knowing anything of one or the other. I asserted that it was by the merest chance in the world I had come, but that having come by chance was much more delightful. To which he stupidly replied, "Yes, I knew all that."

And then after breakfast I went down Krogleven, quite by myself, for the Professor had enough to do to guide down the horse and phaeton. The evening before he had shown me what seemed to be a chasm or fissure in the rock, and told me we should go through it. To confess the truth, I did not believe him; for I had no notion that this fissure, as it appeared to be when viewed from the summit, with its little foamy torrent springing down its tree-clad sides, would prove be a broad and very tolerable road, where loaded carts constantly pass. The wide, open, nearly circular, and mountain-closed plain at its foot, is Ringerige; and when I came down there, there was a level road, and the phaeton and the Professor waiting.

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There is nothing very remarkable in this descent; it is bounded by wooded rocks, by no means perpendicular, and bordered by a little stream which makes pleasant music as it dashes downward. The Professor thought I was weary, which I was not, when I reached the lovely and fine plain, and took my seat in the phaeton; so he began to give me some information, by saying that the famous Harald Harfaager was brought up in this district, and that in our vicinity there was a tumulus which holds the head of Halfdan the Black, one of the best beloved kings of Norway, at a time when Norway had several kings to itself, instead of having, as now, only half a one. "Was he beheaded?" I asked, on hearing of the head.

"Yes, he was so beloved that they cut him in pieces."

"A curious proof of love."

"Yes; four countries disputed for his remains, and to prevent a war they cut the body in pieces, and distributed him; his head is somewhere hereabouts."

Somewhere hereabouts! So much is thought now of the head for which four countries would have fought!

"There is the Parsonage in which Anna Colbjörnson lived," said the Professor. "Have you heard of Anna Colbjörnson ?"

"Not much; but wherever we have stopped on this road, I have seen a print consisting of three figures—a sick priest, a woman, and an officer. This print had the name of Anna Colbjörnson underneath; and from what I have heard of the story, I think she must have been as treacherous as Jael, the wife of Sisera; for did she not keep the soldiers of Charles XII. feasting in her invalid husband's Parsonage until she despatched a messenger privately for the Norwegian dragoons that were at some distance, who came and put them all to the sword? And did she not tell their Colonel, when his ear caught the sound of the advancing cavalry, that it was the roar of Hönne-fos he heard?"

"Noble woman!" said my companion; and driving on faster, suddenly drew up in the centre of a bridge, and then silently stopped.

This was a trick which the Pyrenean guides often practised with me-leading me unexpectedly to the point of view, and then looking silently in my face to see the result. The scene from this bridge was wildly and curiously beautiful. Hönnefos, or the waterfall of Hönne, is not a high soli