At a short distance beyond the blacksmith’s shop, as our donkeys were in advance, they strayed off the road into an open fir wood. Two young ladies, and a man had followed us for a short distance; they seemed to think we were going to halt in the wood, and as they stood watching us, we thought they seemed disappointed, when the donkeys were driven back to the road, and continued their journey. It was rather too early in the day for rest. Sauntering quietly along, we at length came to an open space having a wooden seat; this accommodation we particularly noticed in Norway at some points on the wayside. Generally, in a pleasant romantic spot, the ground is gravelled from the road, and a long wooden seat is placed for the convenience, and rest of the weary wayfarer. In selecting this spot, care is taken that it is near water, and close by, we usually found a deliciously clear stream, to slake the travellers’ thirst. On this occasion we at once commenced unloading our baggage near the wooden seat, and as we did not intend to remain very long, Noah left the pockets girthed on two of the donkeys, who soon after wandered off to graze.
When we looked round we were struck with the beauty of the scene. Not far above us, on the opposite side the road, a log cottage stood lonely on the side of a steep rising hill. A brawling stream passed underneath the road near us; we saw it again, as it issued from a narrow brick arch, and was soon lost in the bushes of the declivity, which formed the bank of the Logan just below.
The picturesque summit of a mountain closed the narrow valley from the world beyond.
Leaving our things by the seat, we went down to the stream at the arch below the road, and crossed to a small patch of green sward on the other side. It was quiet and sheltered, and our fire was soon lighted. Tea, sardines, bread and cheese, formed our repast. A woman from the log cottage came down and stood near looking at us. We gave some biscuits to a small child in her arms; Zachariah was sent off to fish. It was about 10 o’clock when we arrived; the view was charming; Noah lounged on the grass with the violin; as he was tuning it up, a young man came and leaned over the rails of the road above, in silent contemplation. He is expecting some music. You little think, my young friend, the treat you are going to have, thought we. When Noah began to scrape, the effect was marvellous; we turned, and the young man was gone. The sounds ceased, for Noah himself fell asleep. Esmeralda had a very fair voice. It was pleasant to hear her sing at times, as we walked along the winding valley of the Gudbransdalen. Now we amused ourselves talking by the camp fire, and as we reclined on our waterproofs, we wrote down at her dictation, one of her ballads: “The Little Gipsy,” with the addition of a few words, by a gipsy aunt, where Esmeralda’s memory had failed. We now give the song in its entirety. It has been long a favourite with the country people.
THE LITTLE GIPSY.
1.
My father’s the King of the Gipsies, that’s true;
My mother, she learned me some camping to do,
With a packel on my back, and they all wish me well,
I started up to London, some fortunes for to tell.
2.
As I was a-walking up fair London streets,
Two handsome young squires I chanced for to meet,
They view’d my brown cheeks, and they liked them so well,
They said, My little gipsy girl, can you my fortune tell?
3.