THE SEVERE YOUNG LADY.

457

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 route towards 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 asked

us 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 Kræmmermoen. Shaking hands, he left us, with many wishes for our prosperous journey.

The road towards Krommermoen 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. The

IMPULSE AND REASON.

459

The

pony, 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 Kræmmermoen. 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? 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.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Helpe me wonder, her's a booke
Where I would for ever looke.
Never did a gipsie trace

Smoother lines in hands or face;
Venus here doth Saturne move,

That you should be the Queene of Love.

Masque of Gipsies. BEN JONSON.*

THE GIPSY SIGNAL-OUR AUSTRALIAN MEAT-THE FAIR POETESS-OUR FRIEND FROM EISBOD ILL-THE RYE'S UNWELL-THE LEHNSMEND OF BANG THE FERRYMAN AND SON-WE CROSS THE BEINA-TATERSPROG -A KIND FAMILY STORSVEEN STATION -SECLUDED. VALLEY - A TOURIST LELS US-ESMERALDA'S ADVENTURE-THE PEASANT WOMEN'S SONG SORUM STATION-TENTS PITCHED BY A LAGOON-NES-NO HORSEBOAT-IMPROMPTU HORSEBOAT-HOW WE GOT ACROSS-A RIVER

SCENE.

IN a short time, Esmeralda and ourself slowly descended the steep winding road towards Krommermoen, as we heard the gipsy's whistle in the distance. Evening was fast closing. The road wound zigzag

round the head of a deep gorge. Soon afterwards, to our left above the road, we saw Noah, with a fire blazing in the rocks.

*This author, by many ranked second to Shakspeare, was born 1574, and rising by his own perseverance, and energy of mind, became, in 1619, Poet Laureate. Many of the dramatic pieces of Jonson were masques performed before the King and Court. Jonson, when he was appointed Poet Laureate, made a journey on foot from London to Scotland. When met, it is said, by Drummond of Hawthornden (to whom, amongst other friends, he paid a visit), Drummond said, "Welcome, welcome, royal Ben!" to which

It was a retired nook of the road, which had been almost made on purpose. The last of our Cheddar cheese was brought out for our evening meal. The cheese had kept good through all our wanderings. We had also tea, broiled ham, and what remained of our fladbröd. A few people passing down the road, came up to our tents. Night closed in, and the wanderers, after their long day's journey, were soon soundly asleep.

Heavy rain fell in the night. We were up in good time next morning. For frokost, we had biscuits, and butter and tea. The morning was showery; but many visitors.came to see us. Then the Lehnsmond, a brother, we think, of the Proest of Bang, came to our tents. The herre had a young lady, we believe a niece, with him. He was a pleasant, gentlemanly man, who spoke English very well. After we had shown him our tents, he said, if we stayed the next day, he should be happy to introduce us to his brother. As he left our camp, we presented him with our gipsy song, as a souvenir.

A tin of preserved Australian meat was opened. Really this meat is excellent. What could be better? Even our gipsies were perfectly satisfied, and thoroughly enjoyed it. With some boiled potatoes, we made an excellent middags-mad.

At five o'clock we sent Noah and Zachariah down to Kræmmermoen to buy bread. They met with our

"The

Jonson aptly replied, "Thank you! thank you, Hawthornden!" Masque of Matamorphosd Gypsies" was presented to King James at "Burleigh," "Belvoir," and Windsor. A printed copy we have is dated 1621. Jonson wrote to the last; but, after some years of great literary success, and prosperity, he died, 1637, in needy circumstances, and was buried in Westminster Abbey, the only inscription on the poet's tomb being "O rare Ben Jonson !"