I have often mentioned the grandeur,but I feel myself unequal to the task of conveying an idea of the beauty and elegance of the scene when the spiry tops of the pines are loaded with ripening seed,and the sun gives a glow to their light-green tinge,which is changing into purple,one tree more or less advanced contrasted with another.The profusion with which Nature has decked them with pendant honours,prevents all surprise at seeing in every crevice some sapling struggling for existence.Vast masses of stone are thus encircled,and roots torn up by the storms become a shelter for a young generation.The pine and fir woods,left entirely to Nature,display an endless variety;and the paths in the woods are not entangled with fallen leaves,which are only interesting whilst they are fluttering between life and death.The grey cobweb-like appearance of the aged pines is a much finer image of decay;the fibres whitening as they lose their moisture,imprisoned life seems to be stealing away.I cannot tell why,but death,under every form,appears to me like something getting free to expand in I know not what element--nay,I feel that this conscious being must be as unfettered,have the wings of thought,before it can be happy.
Reaching the cascade,or rather cataract,the roaring of which had a long time announced its vicinity,my soul was hurried by the falls into a new train of reflections.The impetuous dashing of the rebounding torrent from the dark cavities which mocked the exploring eye produced an equal activity in my mind.My thoughts darted from earth to heaven,and I asked myself why I was chained to life and its misery.Still the tumultuous emotions this sublime object excited were pleasurable;and,viewing it,my soul rose with renewed dignity above its cares.Grasping at immortality--it seemed as impossible to stop the current of my thoughts,as of the always varying,still the same,torrent before me;I stretched out my hand to eternity,bounding over the dark speck of life to come.
We turned with regret from the cascade.On a little hill,which commands the best view of it,several obelisks are erected to commemorate the visits of different kings.The appearance of the river above and below the falls is very picturesque,the ruggedness of the scenery disappearing as the torrent subsides into a peaceful stream.But I did not like to see a number of saw-mills crowded together close to the cataracts;they destroyed the harmony of the prospect.
The sight of a bridge erected across a deep valley,at a little distance,inspired very dissimilar sensations.It was most ingeniously supported by mast-like trunks,just stripped of their branches;and logs,placed one across the other,produced an appearance equally light and firm,seeming almost to be built in the air when we were below it,the height taking from the magnitude of the supporting trees give them a slender graceful look.
There are two noble estates in this neighbourhood,the proprietors of which seem to have caught more than their portion of the enterprising spirit that is gone abroad.Many agricultural experiments have been made,and the country appears better enclosed and cultivated,yet the cottages had not the comfortable aspect of those I had observed near Moss and to the westward.Man is always debased by servitude of any description,and here the peasantry are not entirely free.Adieu!
I almost forgot to tell you that I did not leave Norway without making some inquiries after the monsters said to have been seen in the northern sea;but though I conversed with several captains,Icould not meet with one who had ever heard any traditional description of them,much less had any ocular demonstration of their existence.Till the fact is better ascertained,I should think the account of them ought to be torn out of our geographical grammars.
