The Argosy — page 386: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

About Norway. 367 Nature had put on a more smiling mood ; and, as we neared, disclosed a small colony of picturesque houses with red roofs and green shutters ; a church with a quaint little spire—all surrounded by sloping hills, smiling and fertile ; a picture of quiet prosperity, of tranquillity and repose, such as they who live out in the great bustling world of life dream of, perhaps, but know not. A small pier shot out into the water, for which the rowers made. ‘The inn stood out just above the landing, cool and white in the sunshine, small and of no pre- tension, but kept by two of the honestest men in Norway—Jens Klingenberg and his son Jens. A stalwart man, no longer young, came hurrying down. This, thought I, is the landlord; and remembering the lesson I had learnt from Herr Lindstrom, ‘‘ Klingenberg ?” said I, as we landed: meaning thereby, ‘‘ Are you the innkeeper ?” “Ja! ja! Klingenberg!” cried he, with a perfect shout of delight at another proof that his reputation had preceded him into the world. His face shone with honesty and good-will, and grasping my hand to assist in hoisting me up from the boat, he wrung it with a force that brought tears to the eyes—though not, I fear, tears of gratitude. You see, he altogether mistook the question—we were at cross-purposes. A younger man now came out of the house, strong and well made, with an open, intelligent face: too much like the old man to be anyone but Jens Klingenberg junior. ‘“‘Klingenberg, I suppose?” I repeated, as before. Ja!ja!” he cried, just as his father had done, a broad grin upon his honest face, and hastening to welcome us. So in we went, cramped by our four or five hours’ seat in the boat, and glad to shake out some of the stiffness by a climb up the stairs to the first floor. The rooms were light and cheerful, and the view from the windows was glorious. Before us the little pier, the boatmen now leaning against the sides, and glad enough of a rest: still more glad of some beer, for which they developed unlimited capacities, and Klingenberg inexhaustible stores. Far away beyond the pier stretched the calm deep waters of the fjord; the stately mountains on either side narrowing more and more towards Aardal, until, away behind the house, they closed in the view. It was now past one o'clock, and we were only half-way on our journey. From here to the Vettifos was an almost continual ascent, and the road was steep and rugged. Luckily a horse was to be had, or the journey would have been as much beyond my powers as the possession of Aladdin’s lamp, or any other of the cherished impossi- bilities of youth. Happily, too, A.’s powers of walking and climbing were unlimited : there was no need to draw lots for the ‘‘ fiery steed.” We started about two o’clock, with young Klingenberg as guide—a necessary accompaniment. Passing through the village, by the little white church and the cottages, we reached the borders of a small ECOnnicloooks (GO