The Argosy — page 397: what you’re looking at

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

378 About Norway. the water, and soon at the other side. It was a glorious row across that lake, closely surrounded by the mountains, where sheep and goats were skipping about the green slopes. ‘The saddle was put back in the boat-house, and we went on to the village. The villagers in their Sunday costumes looked smart and happy. ‘The church was closed, for no service had been held there that day. In many parts of Norway there is perhaps one clergyman for four churches, so that each church gets a turn once a month. Again the superiority of the people was manifest ; fine, well-built men and women, with handsome, intelligent faces. At the inn old Jens Klingenberg came out and greeted us as if we had known him for six months, and had brought him some long- coveted favour. It was now two o’clock, but what with resting, -and dinner, and chatting with Jens: falling into blunders, and falling out of them again: we were not off until some time past three. Poor Jens! in spite of his strong, thick boots, his feet were sore—he had performed the journey twice in forty-eight hours—and he told us that not for a king’s ransom would he have started off again that day or the next. ‘The charge for the whole thing was very moderate. The men were ready, and we went down to the boat. A long, hard row was before them, for part of the way the tide would be contrary. Klingenberg and Jens escorted us down the pier in pro- cession, gave us a hand-grasp, bade us come again, and we pushed off. Receding gradually, we left a vision of peace and beauty behind us. The little village in the quiet rest of the Sunday; the small white houses with their red roofs and green shutters ; the tiny church with its quaint spire; the amphitheatre of hills in the back-ground: all formed a picture not to be forgotten. Jens, old and young, sat one on each side of the portico up the stone steps, watching us out of sight, until they became mere dots in the landscape, and the vision faded. Jens Klingenberg, senior and junior, I love you both for your honest, manly natures; for the traces of a quiet, straight- forward life that shone out in both your faces: natures not so common in the world that they should be passed over without a word of record. For six long hours we were rowing across the Sogne Fjord, amidst the gloomy mountains that were as grand and majestic to day as they had been yesterday, and grew more weird and mysterious as twilight fell. Something else fell too; rain in such torrents as we do not often see in England. Here and there perfect columns and spouts of water shot down from the clouds, athwart the mountains, and into the fjord. One of the men had a macintosh, and insisted on A.’s using it, whilst the man, rowing in shirt sleeves, got wet to the skin. I vow I could not have taken it. But we made it up to him after- wards, and no doubt he would be willing enough to go through a soaking again upon the same terms. At length we came in sight of Laerdal, and presently landed upon COMIECMDOOLKS,(Eeroyag)