heard better under the bergman's loft.

And we went on and on, along the Fall, towards Top Island,
continuously on smooth paths covered with saw-dust, to Polham's
Sluice. A cleft had been made in the rock for the first intended
sluice-work, which was not finished, but whereby art has created the
most imposing of all Trollhätta's Falls; the hurrying water falling
here perpendicularly into the black deep. The side of the rock is here
placed in connection with Top Island by means of a light iron bridge,
which appears as if thrown over the abyss. We venture on to the
rocking bridge over the streaming, whirling water, and then stand on
the little cliff island, between firs and pines, that shoot forth from
the crevices. Before us darts a sea of waves, which are broken by the
rebound against the stone block where we stand, bathing us with the
fine spray. The torrent flows on each side, as if shot out from a
gigantic cannon, fall after fall: we look out over them all, and are
filled with the harmonic sound, which since time began, has ever been
the same.

"No one can ever get to the island there," said one of our party,
pointing to the large island above the topmost fall.

"I however know one!" said the old man, and nodded with a peculiar
smile.

"Yes, my grandfather could!" said one of the boys, "scarcely any one
besides has crossed during a hundred years. The cross that is set up
over there was placed there by my grandfather. It had been a severe
winter, the whole of Lake Venern was frozen; the ice dammed up the
outlet, and for many hours there was a dry bottom. Grandfather has