NORWAY IN 1865 119 



ancient mariner buttonholed, " hear the loud bassoon," 

 there was no instrumental music whatever, but the 

 dancers trod their measures to the time I can hardly 

 call it the tune of an air hummed by a gawky lad 

 who sat with his legs dangling on a table which had 

 been moved into the corner. When we asked in the 

 morning for our " recnung," we were told there was 

 none. Our hosts were keeping open house in honour 

 of the newly-wedded couple. A small donation to- 

 wards their housekeeping expenses was however 

 gratefully accepted, with the shake of the hand with 

 which Norwegians still acknowledge any gift however 

 small. 



I strain my memory to try to fix upon the points 

 of difference between ithis, my first journey in Norway, 

 and those of forty years later over the same ground ; 

 for twice; in this twentieth century have I driven 

 along the- Romsdal valley between Dombaas and 

 Vaeblungsnaest. In the first place, if my recollec- 

 tion serves me right, the road was narrower, steeper, 

 and more winding in 1865. Now a coach or a heavy 

 motor can pass along the broad high-road that runs 

 parallel to the Rauma past the Witches Peaks, to- 

 wards the foot of the beautiful Romsdal Horn, yet I 

 seem to remember many steep pitches and narrow 

 places on my first visit. I expect also that bears 

 were more common than they are now. In certain 

 places just outside the houses bear skins pegged out 

 to dry were a common object. We met a few English 

 upon the journey, among others two Eton friends, 

 Lord Albert Clinton and Haynes, who were travelling 

 with a " talk," who besides his skill as an interpreter 

 was an accomplished cook, and gave us the benefit of 



