and their reindeer, which all of us have
gloated over in our dreaming youthful days, sink indelibly into our
memory. While I sojourned on the Island of Tromso, learning that on the
neighboring mainland some Laplanders were encamped, I resolved to pay
them a visit. Procuring a boat, I rowed over to the opposite shore (on
the 17th July, 1850), where I met with a Nordlander, who informed me
that the Lap encampment might be found somewhere toward the extremity of
Tromsdal--a magnificent ravine commencing at no great distance from the
shore, and running directly inland. He stated that the Laps had a noble
herd of _reins_ (the name universally given to reindeer), about eight
hundred in number, and that, when the wind blew from a certain quarter,
the whole herd would occasionally wander close to his house, but a
_rein-hund_ (reindeer-dog) was kept by him to drive them back.

The entrance to Tromsdal was a rough, wild tract of low ground, clothed
with coarse wild grasses and dwarf underwood. There were many wild
flowers, but none of notable beauty, the most abundant being the white
flower of that delicious berry the _moltebaer_. The dale itself runs
with a gentle but immense curve, between lofty ranges of rock, which
swell upward with regularity. The bed of this dale, or ravine, is from
one quarter to three quarters of a mile across, and the centre was one
picturesque mass of underwood and bosky clumps. All shrubs, however,
dwindled away up the mountains' sides, and the vegetation grew scantier
the higher one looked, until, at an altitude of not more than one
hundred yards above the level of the sea, the snow lay in considerable
masses. Overhead hung a summer Italian sky! Looking backward, the
entrance to Tromsdal seemed blocked up by towering snow-clad mountains;
and, looking forward, there was a long green vista between walls of
snow, closed at the extremity by huge fantastic rocks, nodding with
accumulated loads of the same material. Down the gray rocks on each
hand, countless little torrents were leaping. They crossed the bottom of
the ravine every few yards, and all of them hurried to blend with
Tromsdal Elv--"the river of Tromsdal"--which runs through the dale, and
falls into the sea at its entrance.

I had probably wandered four or five English miles down this noble dale,
when a wild but mellow shout or halloa floated on the crisp, sunny
breeze from the opposite side. I listened eagerly for its repetition,
and soon it