I have been writing these last sheets at
an inn in Elsineur, where I am waiting for horses; and as they are
not yet ready, I will give you a short account of my journey from
Gothenburg, for I set out the morning after I returned from
Trolhaettae.
The country during the first day's journey presented a most barren
appearance, as rocky, yet not so picturesque as Norway, because on a
diminutive scale. We stopped to sleep at a tolerable inn in
Falckersberg, a decent little town.
The next day beeches and oaks began to grace the prospects, the sea
every now and then appearing to give them dignity. I could not
avoid observing also, that even in this part of Sweden, one of the
most sterile, as I was informed, there was more ground under
cultivation than in Norway. Plains of varied crops stretched out to
a considerable extent, and sloped down to the shore, no longer
terrific. And, as far as I could judge, from glancing my eye over
the country as we drove along, agriculture was in a more advanced
state, though in the habitations a greater appearance of poverty
still remained. The cottages, indeed, often looked most
uncomfortable, but never so miserable as those I had remarked on the
road to Stromstad, and the towns were equal, if not superior, to
many of the little towns in Wales, or some I have passed through in
my way from Calais to Paris.
The inns as we advanced were not to be complained of, unless I had
always thought of England.
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