Then we met with our friend from the Poet’s House at Eisbod, who had quite recovered. He dined with us, and whiffed his cigar in the charming smoking, and lounging-room of the Victoria.
Nor did we forget to look into Christopherson’s dining-room, or take our cup of coffee under the verandah there, with its trees before it, and the small tables and chairs under it, reminding us of the Paris boulevards.
The weather was so sunny, the atmosphere so pure and clear, and our visit rendered so pleasant by kind friends, that with much reluctance we ordered our things to be taken from the Victoria to the steamer.
Christiania, with its palace, Storthing House, Library, Museum of Northern Antiquities and zoological collection; its Oscarshall with Tiedman’s paintings, the old castle of the Agershuus, must now be left.
Our gipsies left their last camp on the Christiania Ford that morning. The wooded knoll above the Fjord to the left of our engraving was the last camp of the English gipsies in Norway.
Parting souvenirs had been given them by our friends which showed the interest they had taken in them. All our baggage was safe on board the steamer, and our Puru Rawnee and Puro Rye were on deck.
The steam is up. We say farewell to our valued friend the Chevalier. The View of Scandinavian scenery he left in our hands, as a parting gift from his lovely young wife and himself, will always be prized. Adieu, also, to our friend from the “Poet’s House” at Eisbod. Adieu, Norway, adieu!!!
Esmeralda’s and Noah’s tambourines may never again be heard in the Norwegian valleys. Zachariah’s violin is silent. Our guitar is put up. Once more we say farewell!!!
We had our usual complement of passengers, officers, tourists, and fishermen, including our former fellow passengers, the officer and his handsome wife, with the Tyrolese hat and feather, and the portly gentleman, whom we had also met at Christiania. The Birmingham bagman had, somehow, not found his way out of the Horungerne mountains, or wherever he might be.
