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LETTER XII.
I left East Rusoer the day before yesterday. The
weather was very fine; but so calm that we loitered on
the water near fourteen hours, only to make about six
and twenty miles.
It seemed to me a sort of emancipation when we
landed at Helgeraac. The confinement which
everywhere struck me whilst sojourning amongst the rocks,
made me hail the earth as a land of promise; and the
situation shone with fresh lustre from the contrast—
from appearing to be a free abode. Here it was
possible to travel by land—I never thought this a
comfort before—and my eyes, fatigued by the sparkling
of the sun on the water, now contentedly reposed on the
green expanse, half persuaded that such verdant meads
had never till then regaled them.
I rose early to pursue my journey to Tonsberg. The
country still wore a face of joy—and my soul was alive
to its charms. Leaving the most lofty and romantic
of the cliffs behind us, we were almost continually
descending to Tonsberg, through Elysian scenes; for
not only the sea, but mountains, rivers, lakes, and
groves, gave an almost endless variety to the prospect.
The cottagers were still carrying home the hay; and
the cottages on this road looked very comfortable.
Peace and plenty—I mean not abundance—seemed to
reign around—still I grew sad as I drew near my old
abode. I was sorry to see the sun so high; it was
broad noon. Tonsberg was something like a home—
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