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Surely the man who loves God, worships Him through nature, and traces his majesty in creation, would enjoy the spot depicted in the woodcut, where the village of Veblungsnæs is shown close to the edge of the fjord, backed by the snow range. What a neighbourhood to have round one! And what a contrast to the idea conveyed by the same word in modern acceptation! Here the sea-water of the fjord washes the edges of the hamlet, in many parts bluffly repelled by huge and mighty façades of rocks; there a ravine terminates in a waterfall into the sea itself. Valleys branch off in all directions, excursions are numerous, and many new ones still remain unexplored. The high fjeld is easy of access from Veblungsnæs, and real bear valleys are near, where Bruin exists and has met with his death at the hands of our countrymen. Natives have offered to go on the terms of “no bear, no pay.” This betokens an amount of practical confidence which is a prominent feature in all bargains between Scandinavians and our folk. Bruin is still a terror in some parts, and especially to the sæter people, or piger. For instance, near Isterdal the following circumstance occurred to a friend:—Scene, lonely sæter. English traveller approaching. Pige appears at window imploring help and beseeching traveller’s assistance. A bear has been down, and killed a cow. The pige positively dare not come out until the Englishman shoots the bear that killed the cow that frightened the pige. Now comes the sad finale. The dead cow could not be found, neither could the bear; and even had the latter been discovered, the traveller had no rifle to shoot him with. Still there can be no doubt of there being many yet left to be laid low by our enthusiastic fellow-hunters in days to come. Veblungsnæs is hardly appreciated by travellers, who are generally so bent on rushing forward to the well-known comforts of Aak, that they are blind to the beauty en route. Perhaps an innate longing to get away from villages makes them anxious to dive at once to the more placid and less populated parts. This place is generally reached by those who come from Molde by steamer, in which case the entrance to the Romsdal fjord is a grand subject, affording the most magnificent mountain and sea-scape combined. Happier far is the traveller who goes in a small sailing boat, with a good south-wester behind him, a tight sheet, and the water hissing away all round her, thrown off from her bows and rushing from her stern, as the crew lie down singing good Norske songs, some of which are as long as Gaelic ones; and that is saying a good deal.

Veblungsnæs is close to the mouth of the Rauma, which rises in Lesje Vand, and after forcing its way through rocks and every kind of obstruction, finally finishes its course among peaceful sand plains. The village can boast of many good things. First, the church, or kirke, then the post-office, telegraph office, station for carrioles, a compulsory school, a baker of white bread, præstegaard, and a pier, to say nothing of the store or shop. Having made a bouquet of these charms, let us refer to them seriatim.

The church is the old wooden structure from Gryten which was buried in the sand, and stood, as shown by the spire on the right hand side of the illustration, looking from Næss. It was moved about fifty years ago, and at that time was painted red, having only of late years assumed the more sombre hue which now characterizes its roof and spire—namely, black. The interior is plain fir; the pulpit is high up over the altar, and of a general light blue tone; while on the right side, on the ground, is the bishop’s stall, panelled up to the galleries, which go round the church. The candelabrum that hangs in the centre from the ceiling is very elegant in design, and made of pinchbeck; it is dated 1770. The silver candlesticks on the altar, one on each side, are large and massive; these are lighted three times a year—Christmas, Easter, and at the end of the forty days. The first priest appointed to Gryten commenced his work in 1514.

Here we saw a funeral, which was largely attended, as the church is on a main road. The coffin was followed by seven stolkjærs and many people, some of whom had driven on before; but there was no clergyman to officiate.

The post-office is kept in a very unofficial way. Calling one day, we found that the post kontouress (who, by the way, is a very superior person) was not at home, having left her official duties to assist at four o’clock tea—société. The postman is picturesque, with an enormous portmanteau, with irons, chains, and such fastenings, to assist in the protection of which he carries a horn and a revolver (see p. 87). He goes from this office to Dombaas, so that sometimes, from the difference of elevation, he will sledge one part regularly, and carriole the other. Before leaving the post-office we will thank the chef for all her kind attentions to us and many of our countrymen.

The telegraph office is admirable. English spoken, and every information.

The carriole station is at Herr Onsum’s, who seems to be the squire of Veblungsnæs. Here tout est Onsum—hotel, boats, land, and store. Every one has a good word for the member of the Storthing, Herr Onsum, and his musical and well-educated family.

Carriole crossing a River.