s considered necessary for health. They seldom consist of
more than two or three rooms, but make up in number what they lack in
size. Thus a single farming establishment often comprises some ten or
a dozen little cabins, besides the large barn, which is the nucleus
around which they all centre; with smaller cribs for pigs, chickens,
etc., and here and there a shed for the cows and sheep, all huddled
together among the rocks or on some open hill-side, without the least
apparent regard to direction or architectural effect. The roofs are
covered with sod, upon which it is not uncommon to see patches of
oats, weeds, moss, flowers, or whatever comes most convenient to form
roots and give consistency and strength to this singular overtopping.
The object, I suppose, is to prevent the transmission of heat during
the severe season of winter. Approaching some of these hamlets or
farming establishments during the summer months, the traveler is
frequently at a loss to distinguish their green-sodded roofs from the
natural sod of the hill-sides, so that one is liable at any time to
plunge into the midst of a settlement before he is aware of its
existence. Something of a damp, earthy look about them, the weedy or
grass-covered tops, the logs green and moss-grown, the dripping eaves,
the veins of water oozing out of the rocks, give them a peculiarly
Northern and chilling effect, and fill the mind with visions of long
and dreary winters, rheumatisms, colds, coughs, and consumptions, to
which it is said these people are subject. Nothing so wild and
primitive is to be seen in any other part of Europe. A silence almost
death-like hangs over these little hamlets during a great part of the
day, when the inhabitants are out in the hills attending their flocks
or cultivating their small patches of ground. I passed many groups of
cabins without seeing the first sign of life, save now and then a few
chickens or pigs rooting about the barn-yard. The constant impression
was that it was Sunday, or at least a holiday, and that the people
were either at church or asleep. For one who seeks retirement from the
busy haunts of life, where he can indulge in uninterrupted reflection,
I know of no country that can equal Norway. There are places in the
interior where I am sure he would be astonished at the sound of his
own voice. The deserts of Africa can scarcely present a scene of such
utter isolation. With a rod in his hand, he can, if given to the
gentle