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.