One of the first things that attracted my attention in my walks through Christiania was the peculiar sign, "Rum för Resande." Judge not, however, from appearances in this strange language of the north. It is said that not long ago an English-speaking traveler of strong prohibition principles was horrified at seeing this announcement frequently displayed.
"What does that last word 'Resande' mean?" he asked suspiciously.
"Rum for travelers!" he exclaimed. "Oh, this is terrible! What an insult to the traveling public! Now I, for one, protest against such misrepresentation. I am a traveler, but I never take a drop of rum."
"Not quite so fast," rejoined a Norwegian, who was laughing heartily; "that first word means, not _rum_, but _rooms_; the whole sentence, therefore, merely signifies, 'lodging for travelers.'" Eager to start upon our northward journey, we left some interesting features in Christiania for a later visit, and on a beautiful June morning set out for the coast. The train conveyed us in two hours to Lake Mjösen, where we embarked upon a little steamer. From that time on, although continually traveling, we saw no more railways for a month. This lovely sheet of water has a marvelous depth, its bed, in places, being one thousand feet below the level of the sea. This fact grows more mysterious when we remember that on the occasion of the Lisbon earthquake, in 1755, the waters of this lake, although so remote from Portugal, were so terribly disturbed, that they rose suddenly to the height of twenty feet, and then as suddenly subsided.
It was while sailing on the waters of Lake Mjösen that we had another curious linguistic experience. Next to Norwegian or Swedish, English is best understood and spoken by the natives, especially among the seafaring population. We did not know this fact at first, and as we had just come from Germany, it seemed more natural to address the people in the Teutonic tongue. You know the German word for bright or clear is "hell." Accordingly, desiring to ask the captain if he thought that the weather would be fine, my friend stepped up to him, and pointing to the sky, said interrogatively, "Hell?"
"No," replied the captain, in perfectly good English, "hell doesn't lie in that direction!"