PERIPATETIC FIS IT. 
2C7 
espied a log hut on the shore, where we might at 
least find some one to put us into the right road 
again; but on looking in at the open door, we 
only saw a Lapland gentleman fast asleep. Awaking 
at our approach he started to his feet, and though 
nothing could be more gracefully conciliatory than the 
bow with which I opened the conversation, I regret to 
say that after staring wildly round for a few minutes, 
the aboriginal bolted straight away in the most impolite 
manner and left us to our fate. There was nothing 
for it but to turn manfully back, and try some other 
opening. This time we were more successful, and about 
three o’clock A.M. had the satisfaction of landing at 
one of the wharves attached to the copper mines of 
Kaafiord. We came upon a lovely scene. It was as 
light and warm as a summer’s noon in England; upon 
a broad plateau, carved by nature out of the side of the 
grey limestone, stood a bright shining house in the 
middle of a plot of rich Englisli-looking garden. On 
one side lay the narrow fiord, on every other rose an 
amphitheatre of fir-clad mountains. The door of the 
house was open, so were many of the windows—even 
those on the ground-floor, and from the road where we 
