JULY 193 



every little gift of this nature wiU be acknowledged by 

 a diminutive brown paw held out, not for more, but to 

 shake hands in gratitude to the donor. 



Adieu! terrible, beautiful Romsdal. Though I should 

 never visit you again, often shall I see your towering 

 crests, your mountain-walls, your hanging pine-woods, 

 glimmering birch-glades, and flower-spangled meads — 

 often hear your falling floods and roar of avalanche — 

 often muse upon your gentle, warm-hearted people and 

 solitary homes. Often, too, in my dreams shaU I feel the 

 masterful snatch of a great salmon at the fly, hear the 

 screeching reel as he turns his silver side to the torrent, 

 and fancy myself returning through the dewy glades at 

 midnight, what time the woodcocks flit darkling to their 

 favourite swamp. 



