STOCKHOLM, June, 1894.

Dear L.,—­You will wonder why you have not heard from me for such a long time, but we have just returned from a trip to Norway.  You know J. is accredited there as well as in Sweden, and he has to put in an occasional appearance, and we thought while he was putting that in we would put ours in with it.  Our party included Nina and Frederick.

For five days we careened over mountains and dales, driving, sailing, riding Norwegian ponies, and always enjoying ourselves to the utmost.  One who has not seen the Norwegian fjords does not know how beautiful and picturesque the scenery is.  You must come some day and see it for yourself.

We reached Bergen the 24th of June, the longest day of the year.  There is no question of its being really dark, only between 1 and 2 A.M. you cannot see to read.  It is a lovely time to travel, because you can travel the whole twenty-four hours.

Bergen is a very pretty town, with clean streets and nice shops.  The jewelry, silver, and fur shops are really quite wonderful, but—­there is always a thorn to every rose—­the smell of fish pervades the town.  Go where you will, you cannot escape it.  You don’t wonder at this when you visit the fish-markets and see the monsters which are brought out of the deep every morning.  They look like small whales.

Nina and I, with the energy of the American woman who knows what she wants and knows how to get it, were determined to see Grieg in his surroundings.  We hired a carriage in Bergen and started on our pilgrimage.  It needed not only the energy of an American, but the tongue of a Dane and the perserverance of Danaides.  The Griegs live in the most unget-at-able place that you can imagine, because he does not want any one to get at him.

However, after driving for miles and worrying the life out of our driver by poking him in the back with our umbrellas and asking him if we had not arrived and when we should arrive, and such useless questions, our poor tired steed climbed a long hill where the road suddenly ended its course.  We were obliged to leave the carriage and make the rest of the hill on foot, only to encounter, on arriving at a gate bearing these large and forbidding letters:  “Her boer Edward Grieg, som oensker at vaere fri for folk.” ("Here lives Edward Grieg, who wishes to be let alone.”)

But Nina and I were not to be balked by such a trifle as Edward Grieg’s wishes, and with some difficulty we managed to unfasten the hasp of the wooden gate.  We expected to see a dragon or a ferocious bulldog fly at us, but all was peaceful within, and we walked into the lair without being molested, and marched boldly to the front door of the villa.  There Mrs. Grieg opened the door to us and was (she said) delighted to see us.  “And,” she added, “how happy Grieg will be, too!” This, we thought, was doubtful, but Grieg pretended to be very “happy.”