ty," and _barn_ for child; and it is a curious fact, worthy of
particular note, that all the mothers in Norway think their bairns
smook--very smook! and they never hesitate to tell you so--why, I cannot
imagine, unless it be that if you were not told you would not be likely
to find it out for yourself.

Despite our difficulty of communication, my fat friend and I soon became
very amicable and talkative. He told me no end of stories, of which I
did not comprehend a sentence, but looked as if I did--smiled, nodded my
head, and said "ya, ya,"--to which he always replied "ya, ya,"--waving
his arms, and slapping his breast, and rolling his eyes, as he bustled
along beside me towards his dwelling. The house was perched on a rock
close to the water's edge. Here my host found another subject to
expatiate upon and dance round, in the shape of his own baby, a soft,
smooth, little imitation of himself, which lay sleeping in its crib,
like a small cupid. The man was evidently extremely fond of this
infant. He went quite into ecstasies about it; now gazing at it with
looks of pensive admiration; anon, starting and looking at me as if to
say, "_Did you ever, in all your life, see such a beautiful cherub_?"
The man's enthusiasm was really catching--I began to feel quite a
fatherly interest in the cherub myself.

"Oh!" he cried, in rapture, "det er smook barn!"

"Ya, ya," said I, "megit smook," (very pretty)--although I must confess
that _smoked_ bairn would have been nearer the mark, for it was as brown
as a red-herring.

I spent an agreeable, though I must confess mentally confused, afternoon
with this gentleman, who, (when he succeeded in tearing himself away
from that much-loved and megit smook barn), introduced me to his two
sisters, who were stout and good-humoured like himself. They treated me
to a cup of excellent coffee, and to a good deal more of
incomprehensible conversation. Altogether, the natives of the Esse
Fjord made a deep impression on us, and we parted from their grand and
gloomy but hospitable shores with much regret.

I had hoped, good reader, to have jotted down some more of my personal
reminiscences of travel--in Algiers, the "Pirate City," at the Cape of
Good Hope, and elsewhere--but bad health is not to be denied, and I find
that I must hold my hand.

Perchance this may be no misfortune, for possibly the "garrulity of age"
is descending on me!

Before closing this sketch, however, I would say bri