e. One of the most singular things I saw was a specimen (said
to be the only one in existence) of a fish called the "herring-king,"
about twelve feet in length by one in thickness, and with something of
the serpent in its appearance. The old Kraaken has not shown himself for
a number of years, possibly frightened away by the appearance of
steamers in his native waters. In spite of all the testimony which
Capell Brooke has collected in favour of his existence, he is fast
becoming a myth.

Bergen, we found, is antiquated in more respects than one. On sending
for horses, on the morning fixed for our departure, we were coolly told
that we should have to wait twenty-four hours; but after threatening to
put the law in force against the _skyds-skaffer_, he promised to bring
them by one o'clock in the afternoon. In this city of 30,000
inhabitants, no horses are kept in readiness at the post-station; but
are furnished by farmers somewhere at a distance. In the matter of
hotels, however, Bergen stands in the front rank of progress, rivalling
Christiania and Drontheim. The fare is not so good, and the charges are
equally high. There are two little inns, with five or six rooms each,
and one boarding-house of the same size. We could only get one small
room, into which all three were packed, at a charge of a dollar and a
quarter per day; while for two wretched meals we paid a dollar and a
half each. The reader may judge of our fare from the fact that one day
our soup was raspberry juice and water, and another time, cold beer,
flavoured with pepper and cinnamon. Add tough beafsteaks swimming in
grease and rancid butter, and you have the principal ingredients. For
the first time in my life I found my digestive powers unequal to the
task of mastering a new national diet.

CHAPTER XXX.

A TRIP TO THE VORING-FOSS.

After waiting only five hours, we obtained three horses and drove away
from Bergen. It was a superb afternoon, spotlessly blue overhead, with
still bluer water below, and hills of dark, velvety verdure throbbing
and sparkling in the sunshine, and the breezes from off the fjord. We
sped past the long line of suburban gardens, through the linden avenues,
which, somehow or other, suggested to me the days of the Hanseatic
League, past Tivoli, the Hoboken of Bergen, and on the summit of the
hill beyond stopped to take a parting look at the beautiful city. She
sat at the foot of her guardian mountain, across the lake, her