We passed the quiet scenes of Aak and its beautiful scenery; we saw Captain C----, and some young ladies coming down to the road from the house. The charming terrace before the house and grounds are kept in excellent neatness and order. Frue Landmark also came down to see our donkeys again. Captain C. was going south, and might probably overtake us, but we did not see him again.[76] Very useful indeed was the information he gave us. Frue Landmark, whom we saw in earnest conversation with Esmeralda, presented her with some ear-rings. So we made our adieux to all, and left a spot so pleasantly described by Lady Di Beauclerk. Her ladyship is the daughter of the ninth Duke of St. Albans, whose first wife was Mrs. Coutts, the once celebrated Miss Mellon, whose interesting memoirs were published some years since.
The sun was very warm. We were all in excellent spirits; who could be otherwise in the midst of so much free life? Herr Solberg, the photographer, met us, apparently looking for a Point de Vue. Then we passed Fiva, and a short distance beyond we halted in the old place among the green bushes, by the rippling stream, at the foot of the Romsdalshorn and Troldtinderne. Our dinner consisted of some of the boiled beef, fried with butter. It was about twelve o’clock; Zachariah was despatched trout-fishing. Esmeralda was better; some quinine in the morning had spirited her up. She was not allowed to be idle. As we bustled her about, she said she thought the Rye was in a murmuring way. Then, as we lounged note-book in hand, we had a chaff at Noah, who was half asleep, and woke up looking very wild, to be asked, what he would take for his paper front, and collar, for which he had given four skillings. The front was now all but gone. “What you like, sir,” said Noah, and heaving a deep sigh, fell back into the region of gipsy dreams sounder than ever. We looked in vain for the invalid visitor who was to take the place of Rip Van Winkle, and somnolency resulting, who knows but we ourselves might not have been there now; but the good genii of the magician’s peaks awoke us. There were the dark fantastic rocks, streaked in gilded rays of the summer’s sun. The distant roar of thunder in the lofty precipices, produced by falling snow, sounded in the narrow gorge. Our donkeys had strayed; we aroused Noah from a deep sleep, who disappeared down the valley and brought them back. On his return, he said he had seen a number of gentlemen along the Rauma near Fiva, with guns and fishing-rods. It was nearly four o’clock. The donkeys were hastily loaded, and we were again _en route_. Zachariah was overtaken before we reached Horgheim, and had succeeded in catching twenty-three small trout. A young traveller and his wife came up in a stolkjœrre, and kept behind us till we got to Horgheim. They wanted us to stay there, so that they might get first on account of the donkeys, but we were pressed for time, and when they came up afterwards, their horse passed very quietly. The traveller, who was Norwegian, spoke English, and they appeared a newly-married couple. We passed our old camping-ground beyond “Horgheim,” and bought a mark’s worth of fladbröd from the woman of the house. Our old camp near the leaning-stone was our intended destination. At one part of the road we met a number of carrioles. A lady in a green Tyrolese hat and feather, who seemed unaccustomed to driving, was one of the party. As she passed, the pony shied, and the boy who stood upon the board behind her, with great quickness, seized the reins. “P-r-r-r-h--p-r-r-r-h,” said the boy, and away they dashed past us. The boy, afterwards, reined the pony up rather sharply; the pony reared, and the lady jumped out with a small scream; the gentleman we took for her husband bringing up the rear, passed quietly enough, and as no one was hurt, we again continued our way.