“like his grandfather in Norway, Bishop Nordahl Brun,” for this young brother and sister were really the grandchildren of Norway's celebrated poet and bishop, Nordahl Brun, whom Norway has to thank for her best national songs. They had come hither by the usual route of the Western emigrants, by the Erie canal from New York, and then by steamer down the lakes. They complained of uncleanliness and the want of comfort in the canal boats, and that the people there were so severe with the little boy, whom they drove out of his bed, and often treated ill.
The young lady gave me a remarkably good tea, and a good bed in her room: but a terrific thunder-storm, which prevailed through the whole night, with torrents of rain, disturbed our rest, especially that of my little hostess, who was afraid, and sighed over the life in “this disagreeable country.”
Next morning the sun shone, the air was pleasant and mild; and after breakfast with the young lady, during which I did all in my power to inspire her with better feelings towards the country, and a better heart, I went out for a ramble. The parsonage, with all its homely thriftiness, was, nevertheless, beautifully situated upon a hill surrounded by young oaks. The place, with a little care, may be made pretty and excellent. I wandered along the road; the country, glowing with sunshine, opened before me like an immense English park, with a back-ground of the most beautiful arable land, fringed with leafy woods, now splendid with the colours of autumn. Here and there I saw little farmhouses, built on the skirts of the forest, mostly of log-houses; occasionally, however, might be seen a frame-house, as well as small grey stone-cottages. I saw the people out in the fields busied with their corn-harvest. I addressed them in Norwegian, and they joyfully fell into conversation.
