Though we were in the open sea, we sailed more amongst the rocks and
islands than in my passage from Stromstad; and they often forced
very picturesque combinations. Few of the high ridges were entirely
bare; the seeds of some pines or firs had been wafted by the winds
or waves, and they stood to brave the elements.

Sitting, then, in a little boat on the ocean, amidst strangers, with
sorrow and care pressing hard on me--buffeting me about from clime
to clime--I felt


"Like the lone shrub at random cast,
That sighs and trembles at each blast!"


On some of the largest rocks there were actually groves, the retreat
of foxes and hares, which, I suppose, had tripped over the ice
during the winter, without thinking to regain the main land before
the thaw.

Several of the islands were inhabited by pilots; and the Norwegian
pilots are allowed to be the best in the world--perfectly acquainted
with their coast, and ever at hand to observe the first signal or
sail. They pay a small tax to the king and to the regulating
officer, and enjoy the fruit of their indefatigable industry.

One of the islands, called Virgin Land, is a flat, with some depth
of earth, extending for half a Norwegian mile, with three farms on
it, tolerably well cultivated.