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- Letter XII
- Letter XIII
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as well as a new acquaintance." Why am I talking of
friendship, after which I have had such a wild-goose
chase. I thought only of telling you that the crows,
as well as wild-geese, are here birds of passage.
*
LETTER XIII.
I left Tonsberg yesterday, the 22nd of August. It is
only twelve or thirteen English miles to Moss, through
a country less wild than any tract I had hitherto passed
over in Norway. It was often beautiful, but seldom
afforded those grand views which fill rather than soothe
the mind.
We glided along the meadows and through the woods,
with sunbeams playing around us; and, though no
castles adorned the prospects, a greater number of
comfortable farms met my eyes during this ride than
I have ever seen, in the same space, even in the most
cultivated part of England; and the very appearance
of the cottages of the labourers sprinkled amidst them
excluded all those gloomy ideas inspired by the
contemplation of poverty.
The hay was still bringing in, for one harvest in
Norway treads on the heels of the other. The woods
were more variegated, interspersed with shrubs. We
no longer passed through forests of vast pines
stretching along with savage magnificence. Forests that only
exhibited the slow decay of time or the devastation
produced by warring elements. No; oaks, ashes, beech,
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