LETTER XV.



I left Christiania yesterday. The weather was not very fine, and
having been a little delayed on the road, I found that it was too
late to go round, a couple of miles, to see the cascade near
Fredericstadt, which I had determined to visit. Besides, as
Fredericstadt is a fortress, it was necessary to arrive there before
they shut the gate.

The road along the river is very romantic, though the views are not
grand; and the riches of Norway, its timber, floats silently down
the stream, often impeded in its course by islands and little
cataracts, the offspring, as it were, of the great one I had
frequently heard described.

I found an excellent inn at Fredericstadt, and was gratified by the
kind attention of the hostess, who, perceiving that my clothes were
wet, took great pains procure me, as a stranger, every comfort for
the night.

It had rained very hard, and we passed the ferry in the dark without
getting out of our carriage, which I think wrong, as the horses are
sometimes unruly. Fatigue and melancholy, however, had made me
regardless whether I went down or across the stream, and I did not
know that I was wet before the hostess marked it. My imagination
has never yet severed me from my griefs, and my mind has seldom been
so free as to allow my body to be delicate.