The Argosy — page 148: what you’re looking at

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

Under Northern Skies. 133 and stables and out-houses. It looked lonely and deserted. Every- one was away working in distant fields, making and carrying hay. Here we left the carriage to pursue its way inland, on the high road, to Hammeren, the extreme point of the island. Our way led by the sea, over the wonderful cliffs of Bornholm. So we parted company. Jehu whipped up his horses and went clattering down the road in a cloud of dust and consequence. We passed beyond the farm buildings and found ourselves on long stretches of greensward, inexpressibly refreshing after the hot, white road we had lately travelled. Sheep grazed and wandered at will, the very emblem of stupidity and peace and contentment. We found ourselves overlooking the Baltic, far above the level of the sea; and to right and left stretched the high cliffs and the broken, beautiful coast of this favoured island. We went on and on, and the walk seemed to grow more and more beautiful. Far below stretched the Baltic, blue and placid as it is not often seen. Small fishing boats, with brown sails here and there upon its surface, suggested Hasle, but for the most part it was a clear, unbroken surface of water; a painted ocean ; sea, horizon and sky all mingling in one far off, hazy distance. The coast was broken and diversified even more than most rocky coasts. It stretched out in points, and circled in bays, and swept round in crescents ; a scene and series of magnificent rocks, often arching upwards like the fluted pillars and aisles of a cathedral. Small alcoves and recesses became harbours of refuge, where boats were drawn up safe and sure from the perils of winds and waves. Seagulls flew from point to point across these vast amphitheatres, whirling and clanging and filling the air with their wild cries, diving in and out of the holes and crevices of the rocks. It was awild scene. The free air was about us, bracing, exhilarating, health-giving as we had yet found it nowhere under these Northern Skies. Nor anywhere had we seen such a view, or revelled in such a walk. Wild, deserted, out of the world, away from all sight and sound of civilisation. Moors stretched above us, green and undulating. Our path lay at the edge of the cliff. It seemed so little trodden that often it was lost on the cliff side, or amongst the gorse and heather that grew around. We found ourselves overhanging deep precipices, those perpendicular walls of mighty stone, hollowed and honeycombed, that stretched down to the rugged beach, washed by the waters of the Baltic. One longed for a rough sea and a rushing wind, for the furious dash of waves beating and breaking against those mighty bulwarks. Whata glorious sight it would be, though safer as we had it to-day. This pathway, exposed and insecure, was not too easy to follow, and ina tempest would be almost impassable. Then came “St. John’s Chapel ;” an almost perpendicular descent in the rocks by means of rough steps, partly of wood, partly cut out of the rock; a sort of Jacob’s ladder. On the beach was a small cave hewn out of a detached fragment of stone, which formed the CORNICL OO KS (CO)