, soon reached the land. I
made the boat fast to a tree's stump, and commenced my ascent of the
mountain. No Gunilda, as yesterday, stood near the stone.

Musing, I sat, watching the crew on board the yacht making preparations
for our departure, should the wind shift fair. I saw them running, like
mice, up the shrouds, as they _boused_ up the mainsail, and heard them
chaunt a cheering chorus, as they heaved in the slack of the cable. It
was mid-day. I rose, and turning to the left hand, took my way through
the fir forest. I had proceeded about half a mile, when I discerned the
kneeling figure of a woman through the closely-planted trees. I
approached. It was Gunilda.

A little mound of earth, overgrown with flowers, denoted the humble
grave of some one dear to the recollection of the Norwegian girl. A
crucifix of black wood, round the top of which was wreathed a small
garland of wild flowers, was fixed at one end of the grave; and on the
cross the two Norwegian letters "G.H." signified the initials of the
dead one's name. By Gunilda's side lay a basket of fresh flowers,
culled while yet the morning's dew was sparkling on them.

"I did not think, sir, to see you again," said Gunilda, as soon as she
had perceived me; and ceasing in her dutiful care of removing the weeds
that had crept up since her last visit.

"Yes, I am here once more; but I shall not disturb you again after
to-day; though I regret my departure from Christiania, now that I have
known you."

"You regard me well," she replied sadly; "and, perhaps, it is, sir,
because you have seen me thus dutifully employed; but I do no more than
she would have done for me, had I been the first to die. This, sir, is
my mother's grave."

The girl turned away her face, and busied herself with the renewal of
her task, and plucked the weeds, one by one, from the grave. How great
was the contrast with my own country, England, where the moss and long
grass soon conceal the tomb of relative and friend, and living footstep
comes no more near the spot where the dead lie; but here, in simple
Norway, the ties between those who breathe, and those who are gone, are
still existent; nor does "death bring oblivion to the living as well as
to the dead." Strewn with the flowers of yesterday, the grave gives no
evidence that death has broken the strong links of affection; and while
I gazed and marked this young girl's sweet solicitude, a melancholy
feeling, even in the soul's desolati