tics
of insanity in Norway exhibit some of its effects, and that which is
most common is most destructive. There never was a greater humbug than
the praise of solitude: it is the fruitful mother of all evil, and no
man covets it who has not something bad or morbid in his nature.

By noon the central ridge or comb of the Dovre Fjeld rose before us,
with the six-hundred-year old station of Jerkin in a warm nook on its
southern side. This is renowned as the best post-station in Norway, and
is a favourite resort of English travellers and sportsmen, who come
hither to climb the peak of Snaehatten, and to stalk reindeer. I did not
find the place particularly inviting. The two women who had charge of it
for the time were unusually silent and morose, but our dinner was cheap
and well gotten up, albeit the trout were not the freshest. We admired
the wonderful paintings of the landlord, which although noticed by
Murray, give little promise for Norwegian art in these high latitudes.
His cows, dogs, and men are all snow-white, and rejoice in an original
anatomy.

The horses on this part of the road were excellent, the road admirable,
and our transit was therefore thoroughly agreeable. The ascent of the
dividing ridge, after leaving Jerkin, is steep and toilsome for half a
mile, but with this exception the passage of the Dovre Fjeld is
remarkably easy. The highest point which the road crossed is about 4600
feet above the sea, or a little higher than the Brenner Pass in the
Tyrol. But there grain grows and orchards bear fruit, while here, under
the parallel of 62 deg., nearly all vegetation ceases, and even the
omnivorous northern sheep can find no pasturage. Before and behind you
lie wastes of naked grey mountains, relieved only by the snow-patches on
their summits. I have seen as desolate tracts of wilderness in the south
made beautiful by the lovely hues which they took from the air; but
Nature has no such tender fancies in the north. She is a realist of the
most unpitying stamp, and gives atmospheric influences which make that
which is dark and bleak still darker and bleaker. Black clouds hung low
on the horizon, and dull grey sheets of rain swept now and then across
the nearer heights. Snaehatten, to the westward, was partly veiled, but
we could trace his blunt mound of alternate black rock and snow nearly
to the apex. The peak is about 7700 feet above the sea, and was until
recently considered the highest in Norway, but the Sk