Читать книгу "Gamle Norge": Rambles and Scrambles in Norway - R. T. Pritchett - Страница 6

Table of Contents

LYSTHUS—COMPONENT PARTS OF TRAVEL—HITTERDAL CHURCH—THE CHAIR—THE CAMP AT SKEJE—FLATDAL—RELICS OF THE PAST—THE ASTONISHED MAGPIE AND UNKNOWN MUSIC—THE COSTUMES OF THELEMARKEN—THE “HULDRE”—THE BEAUTIFUL TROLD—BERGE AND THE MANGLETRÆ—MOGEN—THE PLOUGH, REIN HORNS, AND SNOW SHOES—BOCKLEY AND PUKKINGS—BLACK-BROWN BEER—JAMSGAARD—A NIGHT IN THE LAAVE—CAMP BEDS AND HAMMOCK—BOTTEN—NEW ROAD-MAKING—WEIRD SCOTCH FIRS—A BLASTED FOREST.

HELEMARKEN is a large district, lying in the south-east of Norway, north of Sætersdalen, which is the most southern part of the kingdom. It is characterized by forest, costume, and wood-carving, the latter being applied on a large scale to the external decoration of houses, and especially to the storehouse, which is always a separate building of one story, and locally called the stabur. On the exterior of this structure is lavished all the carving talent and energy of the proprietor and his friends; while inside will be found good old coffers, containing the silver and the tankards, the brooches and the bridal crown, which is handed down from generation to generation amongst the bönder, or farmers. A public parochial crown is sometimes to be heard of, and may be seen at the lawyer’s, for that profession is known in Norway; and, when litigation commences, it is impossible to guess the time over which it may extend. But to return to wood-carving, so important a feature in the dwellings of the inhabitants of this part. A fine specimen of carved lintel, or side-post, is in existence near Lysthus, displaying wonderful solidity, and a flowing Runic design extremely difficult to copy. How was it originated? What was the motif of the design? After making a careful study of it, it appears to be the result of “eyes”—generally associated without hooks—being kept to themselves, and interlaced, one following the other. On trying this, it was found to be practicable and most successful. Talking over this glorious old work with the good housewife, she called her husband, who went off to the stabur, and, quickly returning, told me there was a very old and handsome pair of these lintels lying under the “provision house,” and begged me to accept them in recollection of my visit, and take them back to my own home, that they might give me pleasure there. Great was my wish to accept them, but the difficulty of transit soon flashed across my mind. Our route lay over the Haukelid, with hours of snow—ponies sinking in, and perhaps through. So the transit being impossible, I tendered my thanks for the kindly offer. It was with much regret that I did so, but what could be done hundreds of miles from home, and just starting over the roughest mountain tracts to the north-west of Norway? Nothing but a grateful negative, and a suggestion that they should be given to the next nice young couple who were starting housekeeping. The principal carving, as we have already observed, is lavished on the storehouses; and as soon as a loving couple are engaged, the man begins to build his nest, with nothing much but his axe for strong work and a knife for ornamentation. The latter instrument is most adroitly used by the peasants, cutting all sweeping curves, with the left-hand thumb used as a lever. The house-building is characterized by large timbers squared, afterwards calked with moss, and the ends crossing. As will be hereafter shown, the timbers are generally numbered externally up to twelve, so that they may be easily rebuilt should occasion arise to remove the house elsewhere. Looking at these immense solid timbers, what a contrast they present to modern work; how like their sturdy forefathers, who worked so solidly; how unlike the feather-edged boarding of the new half-civilised houses which are now being introduced near towns, and are flimsiness itself, and only carpenter’s shoddy!

Norwegian Carved Lintels.

Carved House in Thelemarken.

Kongsberg is a city of rushing waters, or rather a small town; and approaching it is suggestive of proximity to a seltzer-water bottle with the cork partially out. The river rushes, splutters, fumes, foams, and steams; huge sticks, fir poles, and stems battling their way down the broken waters to Drammen, preparatory to their being shipped for the warmer and drier sphere of civilisation and circular saws. Some three English miles below Kongsberg is the Labro Fos, which is very interesting, and well worth visiting, inasmuch as it affords an admirable opportunity of seeing the timber shoot the Fos—large fir-stems sometimes coming clean over the fall into the roar below.

Carved Houses, Bru, Thelemarken.

Kongsberg is a centre of interest, as close by are found the silver mines which have for ages supplied the raw material for the gamle sölv, such as silver crowns, belts, cups, tankards, and all the endless variety of ornament for which Gamle Norge has been, and is, so famous. However, we will not now enter into this subject, but will merely mention that interesting specimens of this class of work are to be found in England, souvenirs of travel which are highly prized by the happy possessors and their friends also. The silver is not considered very pure, but the old designs are very grand and admirable. The modern specimens, and especially those in filigree, are far inferior, being poor in design and unsubstantial.

Kongsberg: Thelemarken.

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Forests are most typical of Thelemarken, and very suggestive of bears in winter, a season much more severe here than in some other parts of Norway, as the district is away east, beyond the influence of the gulf-stream. It is a curious fact that directly an Englishman arrives in Thelemarken everybody seems to have seen bears, or, to be more precise, to have had visions of bears. That there are bears is certain. A sport-loving Oxonian last year was disappointed of a bear in the north, and, coming south on his return to shoot blackcock, had lighted his pipe and was walking quietly back when he saw a bear! He was seventy yards off, and had only one cartridge. He fired. Bruin, falling back on his haunches, put out his “embracers,” and rushed forward for the “hug,” when he gave a roll and fell backwards—dead. He was a splendid beast, judging from the skin. What a trophy to bring home! “What luck!” some said. On his return, the fortunate hunter—who, by-the bye, was a week later than he should have been—heard the momentous words from his dear parent, “Well, sir, where is the bear you went out to shoot in Norway?” “Have you not seen it? It’s in the hall.” “Oh, my dear boy, I am so delighted—so glad! Come, let us have the skin up here. Send for mamma. This is capital!” How much nicer it is to bring home a bear-skin than to have to say, “Didn’t shoot one!” Who does not know what zest there always is in success?

The costume of the district is worn in every-day life, by the farmers as well as the peasants; in fact, the farmers, or bönder, are very proud of their dress. First and foremost is the typical white jacket, with light blue facings and silver buttons; blue collars, blue pocket flaps, with silver buttons also; the jacket turned well back, with a light blue revers, as I think the ladies call it. But the great characteristic of the jacket is not to be too long; the ton only have the back to come down just below the shoulder-blade; and, as the black trousers rush up to meet the curtailed garment, one can imagine the vast area of black trouser before arriving at the foot of the figure; it really makes them all look out of drawing.

The women wear a chocolate-coloured handkerchief cleverly twisted round the head and falling down the back, with the hair plaited; and well they look with their fair hair and ribbons, their homespun or vadmel petticoats closely kilt-plaited, old silver brooches and studs, and sometimes silk handkerchiefs as aprons, with coloured cinctures, the bodice with dark ground and flowers, crewel-worked, in relief. Near Lysthus the costume is nearly all blue, a kind of short frock-coat, with dark blue trouser-gaiters, embroidered up the side with yellow and scarlet; but this is not a successful phase of costume.

On Sunday every variety is seen, and the additional interest of lake travelling is met with—namely, the raft boats, consisting of seven stems of trees, the longest in the middle, the six cut shorter, like organ pipes; midships a seat for one; while the oars are tied in with green birch twigs with the leaves on. How suggestive of early lake habitation, and yet how like a modern outrigger; for there is only room for one and a fine, or provision box, from which a Norwegian, male or female, is inseparable.

The shortness of the jackets is shown in an illustration which represents a custom peculiar to this part, namely, smoking the cows (see p. 36). Many travellers have complained of the flies in Norway, and now even Norwegian cows object to them, and the farm folk, in kindly sympathy, make fires of juniper, the smoke of which is unwelcome to the mosquitoes. Into this smoke the cows are only too glad to go, and being well flavoured with juniper, are ready to start forth for the day, regardless of their little winged enemies. We speak from practical experience when we add that the traveller likewise will be rather benefited by participating in the process.

Here, perhaps, it would be as well to refer to the hour-glass under the initial letter at the commencement of the chapter. It is composed of brass, and placed by the side of the pulpit, which is opposite to the King’s pew or box in the church at Kongsberg. There are four hour-glasses—quarter, half, three-quarters, and hour; so the domine, or minister, turns the glass before commencing his discourse, and the congregation knows how long he will continue. At Tönsberg there is a curious mural historical souvenir, consisting of the top of a stool let into the wall, on which may be read the following:—

“In the year 1589, being the 11th day of November, came the well-born gentleman, Mr. Jacobus Stuart, King of Scotland: and the 25th Sunday after Trinity, which was the 16th day of November, he sat on this stool and heard a preaching from the 23rd Psalm, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’ Mr. David Lentz preached, and he preached between 10 and 12.”

The Raft Boat: Thelemarken.

This “well-born gentleman” was evidently James the First of England and Sixth of Scotland, who married Anne of Denmark, sister of Christian IV.

Leaving Lysthus, we settled down for steady travelling in that most delightful style, namely, with our tents and luggage, sometimes in a stolkjær, or country cart, sometimes with ponies only. Such independence, such health-giving enjoyment, can hardly be obtained under different circumstances. The travellers in this case were three, happily organized in the following manner. They might for the nonce be called Brown, Jones, and Robinson, as a tribute of respect to the originals in the “Primer or Spelling Book,” published in 1790, where those now world-known names are first found associated. Let us rather go with the times, and number them—a treatment now general in hotels, both at home and abroad.

So, to commence, No. 1 was the youngest, and unanimously elected Paymaster-general. Polyglot in his knowledge of languages, he shone when asked to explain: then came such volleys of Norske, German, Danish, Swedish, French, Italian, all in one flowing Norskey catena, that, if people did not understand them, they felt they ought to, and acted accordingly. All this was carried out with the dash of a Zouave, and garnished with a profound knowledge of music and brilliant execution on the piano. How we longed sometimes for a pocket piano! No. 1’s great forte was enthusiasm for fishing—trout, salmon, greyling, and split-cane fly-rods. Tradition says that he has often in his sleep talked of “blue doctors,” “large butchers,” and “black doses,” these sounds having been heard in the small hours of the morning zephyring from his tent with nasal accompaniments; but he was always equal to the occasion, even when some one had landed with the luggage by mistake. “Never mind, my dear boy; sure to find it; most honest, charming people, these Norwegians—never lose anything.” Such were the comforting words which emanated from No. 1 when he understood that No. 3 had lost his luggage; but when he found that it was his own a change came over the spirit of his dream. The polyglot vocabulary was soon launched, the fire of the Zouave flared up, a carriole was ordered, and the pursuit commenced, which happily ended in the recovery of the wandering impedimenta, when Richard became himself again.

No. 2 was Tentmaster-general, and a sportsman to the core. Reindeer, salmon, and Gamle Norge—these he had chronically on the brain, mixed up with a great love of old tankards and a yearning for silver belts and gammelt sölv. Once in his Norfolk jacket and knickers, pua de höie fjelde, how happy was he! rejoicing in the friske luft, mountain air, and snow peaks (snebræer), ready for any amount of fatigue, and always willing to cook first and eat afterwards. A rare good man was the Tentmaster.

Hitterdal Church: Sunday Morning.

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No. 3 was generally known as “the Locust,” from his constant appetite for all kinds of food, and general thirst for knowledge about everything connected with Norway. Note-book in hand, he was ever jotting down everything, even to catching mosquitoes between the leaves of it, so as to bring home the real thing. Still No. 3 had an important duty to perform. As the travellers were three, he was allowed the casting vote—a most wholesome arrangement, as he was a married man, and consequently likely to be useful in some weighty matters. Happily, to the credit of No. 1 and No. 2, the exercise of No. 3’s prerogative was never called for, and by the end of the trip was looked on as a sinecure. Still he always travelled ready to apply “a touch of the oil feather”—one of the best companions a traveller can have ready to hand. May many such trios have a trip of such great yet simple enjoyment, such health, and such pleasing diversion of thought! It is a joy to fall back upon throughout life, and the longer the life the greater the relish of recollection.

Hitterdal Church is one of the two wooden churches of which Norway can boast, the other being that of Borgund. They are built of wood, Byzantine-Gothic, on dit, but grotesque and pagodaist in form. The old porches are grandly carved with serpents, dragons, and Runic interlacings. The church itself at Hitterdal is nothing like so quaint or picturesque as that at Borgund, neither is it so weird; still, its early carving forms a noble monument to come down to us, and at once draws forth the admiration, not only of the antiquarian, but of the casual passer-by. The lintels at the entrance are especially beautiful. The bell-tower is unusually detached, in this case being placed on the other side of the highway. Unfortunately, time prevented a more detailed sketch of the old chair or seat given on page 29: it stands in the church by the altar, and is considered episcopal, but the date is most likely circa 900. What grand solidity of form! Vikingly to a degree, and fit for Thor or Odin. There is a great air of majesty about it.

The roof of the church is also of wood, carved in the same way as many of the churches in Sussex, and covered with small wooden tiles, if that term may be used to describe the process which in that county is generally known as “shingling.”

Porch at Hitterdal: Thelemarken.

The churchyard is very interesting, and the grave-boards have a peculiar form worthy of notice; for this reason one is introduced here. The shape of the upper part is that of a cross, but below come up two horns, rising right and left. These horns have a kind of anchor form; and what could be a more appropriate emblem in a country so sea-bound as Norge? The blending of Faith and Hope is, I think, most poetically suggested. Can we do better here than pay a tribute of respect to the beautiful simplicity of the religious character of the Norwegian peasantry? Their love of God and their reverence for religion are refreshing, and offer a good lesson to many who rejoice in mere flourish of external worship. We shall have occasion to refer to the curious anomaly of Roman Catholic vestments continued in the present day in the Lutheran service, but allusion may now be made to the happy link which exists between the ministers and people. This is shown in the character of the sermons, the whole tone of which seems to aim at binding the parish together in Christian love and sympathy, bearing each other’s burdens, caring for one another, and curbing self—the most difficult of all tasks, as it comes nearest home, and is in itself so antagonistic to the inclinations of human nature. The whole climate rather tends to develop this frame of mind: there is a certain sedate expression throughout the provinces; the long darkness of winter, extending its influence even into the continuous light of the northern summer, brings every one into close and constant proximity, whilst the mountains isolate the valleys one from the other without any access. Still, when the summer comes and the whole energy of vegetation bursts out at once, how their gladdened hearts rejoice! They pluck these outbursts of beauty and revived nature, and joyously take them to the house of God—no mere form or ritual, but the wholesome outcome of heartfelt, unsophisticated joy and gratitude for brightness after lengthened gloom and months of pent-up feeling.

Chair in Hitterdal Church.

Leaving Hitterdal, we were off in earnest for the Hardanger, with a grand country before us. The first night we pulled up at Skeje. Before coming to our resting-place at the end of the lake, we noticed the saw-mills and corn-mills (seven, one above the other); not that torrents are scarce in Norway, but in this valley there was employment. Arrived at Skeje, our Tentmaster having selected his spot, tents were pitched, and everything put ship-shape for the night. The only milk we could get was goat’s milk, and fladbröd in abundance. It is, perhaps, superfluous to mention here that fladbröd can be made very toothsome by drying it before the fire: the peasants keep it in a state ready for travelling, with the means of folding it up so as not to be shaken into dust by the jolting of the stolkjær, which certainly would be the case had it been fit for eating. The smoke of our fire had gone up, and after our meal and a chat with our neighbours we turned in. A strange dog came into the Patriarch’s tent, and eventually curled himself up for the night, and, as a mark of gratitude for welcome, woke him in the morning by licking his face.

Next day brought us on to Flatdal. Looking over that grand, deep valley, we halted awhile at a picturesque wooden house: we asked for milk, which was brought forthwith, and it was goat’s milk. The daughter, as it was Saturday afternoon, was engaged plaiting her two long tails ready for the morrow. The good mother had a very fine antique silver brooch, and the proprietor one also on his shirt-front, and after we had drunk our milk they showed us their rooms, which were most interesting, and dated very far back; for traces of the fact presented themselves on all sides, especially in the harness and elaborately carved horse-collars, which bore the crest of a lion’s head on an escutcheon—evidently belonging to the days of aristocratic Norway.

Flatdal: Thelemarken.

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We had bivouacked on a green lawn near the village, close to a house which was a carriole station. Our three tents were a novelty, and our cooking at last brought a crowd around us; but we must say that the people were most kindly and considerate towards us. They had never seen such a thing before, and hated fanter, tinkers, and gipsies, which nearly included all wanderers in tents: such latter were we.

Next we inspected the loom, where a daughter was hard at work. There were a fine old bed, with inscription, and many spinning-wheels, highly coloured (green, red, and blue and white, with black). It is a pity an illustration of this room cannot be given in colour. We descended into the dal: the heat was intense, no air below, and a pandemonium of flies. Bathing under the wheel of a mill was a temporary relief: our torment was renewed at lunch. But we were out to enjoy ourselves; so we did, in spite of mosquitoes. At lunch we cooked some of the trout our chief had killed en route, which that day numbered thirty. We were immensely amused here by noticing the very comic and inquiring expression in a magpie while listening, for the first time probably, to the English snore with which one of our party favoured us on this occasion, putting his head first on one side and then on the other, then taking a hop, and, when the music broke into a staccato bass passage, hopping back still more interested, until it finally flew off. Magpies are the sacred birds of the land, and are regarded as the private property of his Satanic Majesty.

After a long day and a mid-day meal, during which we were devoured by mosquitoes until nothing was left of us but our monograms, we arrived late in the evening in front of a farmhouse at Sillejord. It was Saturday night, and no room in the house, but an open space close by, most inviting for tents. In the twinkling of an eye the Tentmaster issued his order, each man had his tent laid out, and up they went simultaneously, to the astonishment of the natives. Was it a sort of fair, only read of in books? Was it the first germ of the great Russian fair of Nijni Novgorod? Was it one of the lost tribes of Israel come down from the clouds? Or were we Germans, who, having already annexed Denmark, had just run on with a message from Prince Bismarck to say that Norway also was annexed? No; the peasants rather looked on at a respectful distance, with a certain openness of mouth and absence of expression. By this time, the tents being up, beds laid, saddle-bags in places, and guns hung on tent-pole with telescope, food had to be thought of, and the canteen business looked after. The canteen was well organized and an old traveller—almost self-acting; so accustomed to the names of Fortnum and Mason’s tinned soups, &c., that the very words “mock-turtle” made it burn and bristle up to a really good fire. That night we had good lake trout; and how welcome, with our then appetites, the mock-turtle! Three cheers for Fortnum and Mason! And then the mörbradsteg! Some of our readers have never been introduced to those satisfying and necessary pleasures of life; if not, let us explain. Mörbradsteg and other good things in tins come from Stavanger in Norway, which is great in potted meats, ryper, tins of all kinds of preserved things, soups, lobsters, &c., and these mörbrader. The inquiring mind may ask, “But mörbrader—what is it? how made?” All I can say is, that it was so good we thought we had no time to ask what it was: perfect in flavour, solid in substance, very satisfying to the most energetic of gastric juices, and wholesome. Three cheers, therefore, for Stavanger! Then came wild strawberries, brought by dear little children in costume, who had already begun to go through the process of purification ready for Sunday, biscuits and Dutch cheese, and a skaal for Gamle Norge. After this we followed the suggestion of the good motto, “Rest and be thankful,” and then some hunters’ songs.

The following day (Sunday) was a curious scene; everybody came to look at us. All the characteristics of national costume, as worn in Thelemarken, were in full force. Let us first describe the piger, or girls. They wear very short petticoats, and most becoming and picturesque they are; dark blue stockings with lovely clocks, and buckles on their shoes; the apron is embroidered with what now would be called crewel patterns of flowers; while a little below the waist is a rich many-coloured girdle, ending in knobs of tassels of the brightest colours. The top of the petticoat is bound with a bright colour, and shown, as the scarlet jacket, which is frequent in this district, is as short as the men’s, coming only a little below the shoulder-blades. Tucked inside the girdle is generally seen a rich silk handkerchief, and in some cases two. The head-dress is another silk handkerchief, and into the tail of the back hair more colour is worked. On week days they wear large gaiters, like cloth trousers, which certainly attracted our attention when first seen.

Now for the lads of the village. They are not one tittle behind the girls in the pains they take as to their points, especially these—shortness of jacket, length of trouser, and brightness of colour. At Dabord they all adopted the shaven cheek, upper lip, and chin. The jacket is generally white, very short, as in Sætersdalen, just coming below the shoulder-blades: this curious garment is turned back at the cuffs and revers with light blue, the effect being heightened by silver buttons. The trousers are very curious—a fact necessitated by the shortness of the superstructure. The expanse of back is prodigious from the shoulder-blades downwards, they are wide in the leg, and generally have a stripe down the side. The short coatee affords a grand display of tolle-knives, the handles of which, in this part, are generally made of lom (maple), smooth, and uncarved, and deep in the sheath. In most cases they are suspended from a button, and not from a belt; in fact, belts are not of very frequent occurrence here. Skull-caps and hats are worn by the men, and the richest farmers maintain the national costume of the district. In some few instances for weddings the white jacket is daintily touched up with a little worked flower here and there on the edge and corner, which gives great finish. The clocks on the men’s stockings are very rich: these are worn on fête days with breeches, which are worked in red and white round the buttons and up the seams. The garters are always objects of great taste and careful arrangement. It is when the holiday costumes are worn that the beautiful and mysterious Huldre appears, generally frequenting the mountains and forests, but sometimes joining in the festive dances of the mountaineers. When she vouchsafes this favour every young bonde is eager to dance with her—the handsome strange girl with the blue petticoat, and white handkerchief over her head. Tradition does not enlighten us much about this beauty, and the story of her sudden disappearance immediately her cow-tail is discovered is cruel. Why does she come to Thelemarken, where the skirts are so short, sometimes only reaching the knee? If she be so fond of dancing, why not frequent country balls? Or she would be safer with a train of the present fashion; even if that were trodden on, her tail would be safe. Having noticed the general costume, let us enjoy the day of rest.

The brightness of the morning favoured our al fresco toilets, and one of our party (who carried a dressing-case full of wonderful things, and generally known in the list of impedimenta as “Somebody’s luggage”) became the centre of attraction. In front of his tent were laid out a waterproof sheet and a saddle-bag, partially opened and supported at the back; the latter sustained the looking-glass, in front of which knelt a figure shaving (No. 1). Now, although the Norwegians shave almost universally, there was something about our friend’s manipulations which took the fancy of all present. The girls giggled; the short ones tried to peep between the tall ones. Why? Did the performer pull his own nose to a greater length than usual in this country when he took the long sweep down his cheek? Hardly. The fact was, the good folk thought the whole thing was but an overture to some other performance, and that the dressing-case, with its numerous silver-topped glass bottles, contained all kinds of medicines, panaceas for everything—cures for gout, sciatica, tic douloureux, trichinæ spirales, hypochondria, dipsomania, and every other mania.

After the shaving came a pause. A fortunate inquiry for old silver ornaments now changed the whole scene, and for the rest of the day, at intervals, the penates of the neighbourhood were being brought for our edification. Some of the old brooches were remarkably beautiful; the rings were very characteristic, some having small pendant rings, some with the usual cup ornaments; and when it was discovered that much interest was taken in old costumes, we had really a treat—embroideries on vanter, or winter gloves without fingers, eider-down cloaks, swaddling-bands, babies’ caps, worked aprons, the open-work at the lower part being admirable in design. A wish was expressed to see a baby ready swaddled for baptism. Unhappily, there was no such thing to be had within miles upon miles; but rather than “the Locust” should be disappointed, these good people dressed up a woollen one, which answered every purpose, and was considered a great success. The kindness of the people was very striking; a certain shy curiosity characterized their movements at first, but they soon settled down to taking every possible pains to oblige us and meet our wants. It seemed very odd, however, to see a church so near, and yet no service. How was it, when we saw almost enough people to form a congregation? It happened thus. The præstegaard, or clergyman’s house, is at the central church, which often has two or three annexer—small churches, each eighteen or twenty miles from the principal one; the services, therefore, are only held about every third Sunday in each church. Well educated, well read, and, much like the old fathers, revered and well beloved by their flocks, the clergy lead a hard life. The vast extent of their parishes or districts is very trying to their health, necessitating long drives, and in winter much severe sledge work; while on the coast there is such boat work that the minister and doctor of the locality seem more like “old salts” than members of those professions. I remember particularly one clergyman, whose annex was on a group of islands off the coast. As the steamer passed she swung round a point, when a boat came off to us, with a grand figure standing up steering her. From beneath an old sou’-wester streamed his white hair, grandly blown back, and he wore silver spectacles, large muffler round his throat, oilskin coat and trousers, and long sea boots. As the boat neared the steamer and was turned to the gangway, a sailor on board said, “Now, sir, you’ll see one of the fine old sort; this, sir, is the priest, and not a better seaman will you find all along the coast—nor a better man.” No wonder religion takes so simple and earnest a form when its exponents practically exemplify, in their every-day life, its sublime teachings with a simplicity, energy, and dignity far beyond the conception of those working in densely populated districts; for the priest, although but an occasional visitor to some parts, is a source of comfort and sympathy to all in their trouble, and enters with the greatest interest into their rejoicings and pleasures, whether they be public or domestic. In this way their relations with their flocks are most “good shepherd-like,” and their constant care and solicitude for their parishioners rivet the love and confidence of all around them. No doubt these relations are materially assisted by the tolerably equal distribution of this world’s goods in spots remote from busy towns; or rather, to speak more correctly, by the absence of wealth and the even-manneredness of all such Norwegian residents. Any stranger visiting Norway will be struck with the large Elizabethan frill worn by the priest, which, with the sombre black gown, and the two candlesticks constantly kept on the altar ready to be lighted on three occasions—generally Christmas, the end of the forty days, and Easter—imparts a very mediæval character to the service. All that we have here said of the relations of the clergy with their congregations is abundantly confirmed by the homely way in which the former give out the notices from the altar as to the working of the parish or the schools, or any extra communion, when requested by any of the parishioners.

Smoking the Cows: Thelemarken.

Jamsgaard Laave.

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Going to Berge from Sillejord, we had torrents of rain—a deluge: we now approached higher ground and a blacker country. Snow ploughs on the side of the road told tales of wintry difficulty of transit, while sledges were round most of the houses. Arrived at the station, we found one small bedroom with strong store-closet atmosphere, game lost, &c. In the vand are perch; in the river, greyling. The hunter and bonde here was building a large room, which, though still unfinished, we decided to sleep in. We soon had a roaring fire; the beds were made, the Patriarch slinging his hammock under a huge carpenter’s bench; then came the cooking, followed by a few songs; and finally stories of bears, wolves, wild cats, and lynxes from the bonde. There was a very fine old mangletræ here, two feet long. So peculiar an instrument of Norwegian household necessity is deserving of explanation: it is two feet long and four inches wide: b represents the things to be mangled; c the roller; the right hand of the mangler takes hold of the lion at d, and the left hand on a balances the mangletræ, which is worked backwards and forwards until the things are done. Mem.—Last night reindeer were seen above here; and at the vand, high over this place, the bonde had seen a glutton after a wounded or sick reindeer. The chief brought in three trout for breakfast. Now the real life was bursting on us. How we drank in the stories of the hunter, rising in the morning to delight in the health and beauties about us!

At Mogen we found more signs of winter—sledges abundant, and one pigsty kind of hut surmounted by a wonderful group: snow shoes, old reindeer horns and heads, sledges, and a plough.[1] This is primitive; but it is not all: there were the old querns, or haandkværn. In spite of this we had not shaken the influence of travelling civilisation; the bonde asked us if we would like some “Bockley and Pukking’s black-brown beer.” Certainly. “Men hvor meget?” Two and sixpence per bottle: it had been left by an Englishman. Eheu, what an anomaly!

[1] The iron of this plough is exactly the same as the hand-plough, or “casarhome,” used in the Western Highlands, and now fast disappearing.

Jamsgaard.—This was such an evening: north wind strong, bad for tents; large lawn discovered, camp inside; camp beds fitted up, cooking outside. The hammock was slung. How the north wind whistled, until we barricaded that side with hay! Then we all slept. In the morning we were to start early, and the perfect dignity with which the page entered the dormitory, with coffee for all, was truly a picture. We got a very good pony here, a true bakken, with black-centred hog mane, and zebra-marked legs, and started in lovely weather by the crystally clear Totak Vand, where we saw a large white owl; then to the larger Toftland, and on to Botten. We are now in snow-shoe land, with spills of birch-wood for pipes, and more mills, one over the other, for grinding. Grouge Kirk was interesting; and we saw a woman rowing over with homespun, to be sent to some commercial centre. Starting in a stolkjær, Botten is a good high-latitude station: bleak to a degree. The snow was close to the house, but within all one could wish: preserved meat, reindeer flesh, port wine, but no white bread; looms, spinning-wheels, snow shoes; many old ale bowls, saddles, carved boxes; and, at one end of the barn, boughs of trees brought up from the dal for the magpies to build in; at the other end a bunch of wheat, also brought up and placed on a pole for the birds. After leaving Botten we started for Haukelid Sæter, and found the men working on a new road to the Hardanger. As they progress, large monoliths are put up at intervals with the date of construction, and sometimes the elevation above the sea; here it is 2,800 feet, and at this point very large Scotch firs are found in skeleton state, monuments of a past period of giants.