I left East Rusoer the day before yesterday. The weather was very
fine; but so calm that we loitered on the water near fourteen hours,
only to make about six and twenty miles.

It seemed to me a sort of emancipation when we landed at Helgeraac.
The confinement which everywhere struck me whilst sojourning amongst
the rocks, made me hail the earth as a land of promise; and the
situation shone with fresh lustre from the contrast--from appearing
to be a free abode. Here it was possible to travel by land--I never
thought this a comfort before--and my eyes, fatigued by the
sparkling of the sun on the water, now contentedly reposed on the
green expanse, half persuaded that such verdant meads had never till
then regaled them.

I rose early to pursue my journey to Tonsberg. The country still
wore a face of joy--and my soul was alive to its charms. Leaving
the most lofty and romantic of the cliffs behind us, we were almost
continually descending to Tonsberg, through Elysian scenes; for not
only the sea, but mountains, rivers, lakes, and groves, gave an
almost endless variety to the prospect. The cottagers were still
carrying home the hay; and the cottages on this road looked very
comfortable. Peace and plenty--I mean not abundance--seemed to
reign around--still I grew sad as I drew near my old abode. I was
sorry to see the sun so high; it was broad noon. Tonsberg was
something like a home--yet I was to enter without lighting up
pleasure in any eye. I dreaded the solitariness of my apartment,
and wished for night to hide the starting tears, or to shed them on
my pillow, and close my eyes on a world where I was destined to
wander alone. Why has nature so many charms for me--calling forth
and cherishing refined sentiments, only to wound the breast that