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tary torrent, descending from lofty rooks, amid the silent retreats of nature; nor a cataract, wast-, ing its power and might, as its frantic course speeds through the deep solitudes where its own tumultuous, roar is heard unmingled with any sounds of life.

Neither does Honne-fos appear to be enslaved by the art of man and tortured into his service. It seems to serve him unconsciously, or at its own free will. It rushes and rages along, just as it likes, through a scene of mortal life and labour J and a whole village of small mills sit at work on its breast. They look so very quiet, they seem SO very silent, amid its roar and din. The stream, dividing in two currents, appears to hold between its foaming jaws the narrow little bridges, mills, and houses, that are erected on these beautiful falls. At one side of the bridge, by which the high road crosses it, there is not a trace of water seen in the fall itself; it is a mass of tumbling, agitated snow, with one spot of pure amber colour seen against the face of the rock down which it falls. The height of the fall is only sixty-three feet, but the quantity of water is very great.

The people of Norway do not think so much of this fall, and perhaps it was because I had not been led to expect much that I was more pleased.

There is a very good-looking inn at Honne-fos, and we stopped at it. I looked at that fine fall in the stilly moonlight, with all its tiny mills sitting steadily on its stormy breast. Neither the view nor the effect of the torrent are here spoiled, as they are at Sarp-fos, near Frederickstadt, by enormous buildings of all kinds. I could hardly wish the little mills removed, which gave an air of singularity and of usefulness to this glorious work of nature. Wonderful power of nature, and wonderful art of man!

And the roar of that mighty torrent was beside me as I rested that night in a really handsome and comfortable room; but, like all Norwegian houses of the kind, the view was not to be seen; I had to go out of the house for that. Most beautiful looked that falling mass of snow beneath the clear moonlight, and I returned to listen when I could not see; and to think how often I had watched the burning, roaring, blazing Vesuvius,—gazing upon it through the hours of night. The cool contrast pleased my fancy. I placed the pictures side by side—the burning mountain of Italy, the foamy waterfall of Norway, and then—I went to sleep.

CHAPTER XII.

I Date now from one of the most lovely parts of Norway. How I came to get into the fair valley called Gulbrandsdal, I can tell you; but how I am to leave it, is becoming enigmatical.

Notwithstanding our break-down, my little excursion with the good old Professor gave me one cause of regret only—it was too short. I had still more than a week to spend in the Hotel de Scandinavie before I saw the sun of the twenty-eight. However, I had another good friend in Christiania as well as the Professor. And the very day we got back there, this kind gentleman sent me a note which gave me the unlooked-for and gratifying intelligence, that I was invited to the countryhouse of a celebrated personage who resided at the place I so much wished to see, and who, being led to expect the visit of some "distinguished foreigner," would be happy to convey me down there in his carriage if I consented to go.

I read over the note, which was a short and legible one, two or three times; but still I could only understand from it that I was the "distinguished foreigner," as well as the invited guest.

However, in the evening, there walked into No. 13, a little old gentleman, who announced himself as Herr Y., who was to have the honour of giving me a place in his carriage to his country-house. I asked the hour of departure on the morrow.

"I must go before him" said Herr Y., musingly. "We shall start at nine o'clock."

At nine o'clock I was ready. The word "him" made no impression on me the first time I heard it, for I thought the observation was merely the utterance of Herr Y.'s own thoughts, such as are very convenient on paper, but very insignificant when they take place in reality; and related only to some personal or domestic arrangement.

Punctuality is a failing; I have often, found it so, for one loses time in practising it. I was ready at nine o'clock, forgetful that an hour or two of Norwegian time counts for not more than a minute or two of English. As I was not summoned to the carriage, I began to tremble lest Herr Y. should depart without the "distinguished foreigner;" and I went out on the wooden gallery, and saw him sitting before the small table in the dirty yard below, which bore a coffee-cup at all hours of the day, save that particular one of the afternoon when most persons were asleep. I called over the balcony to ask when we should set out, and was answered — 0 yes, there was no danger, we should go in half-an-hour.

In half-an-hour I looked again, and saw the carriage drawn out and left in the yard. Herr Y. was standing by it, and asking for all my paraphernalia. I therefore descended to see how these could be arranged, for the aspect of affairs seemed to be singular. The carriage was standing there, and the post-horses, at a little distance from it, were eyeing it rather shyly; three or four men, with hands in their pockets, and pipes hanging from their mouths, were gazing at it less expressively. The only creatures

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