There was a very striking instance of an old custom in one of the outlying fjords, where the fashion of bygone centuries is still faithfully kept up. At the entrance of the fjord is a boat, in which is stationed the watcher, with a horn or bugle. As soon as the herrings are descried the watcher, or rather the look-out, stands up in the bow of the boat and sounds his horn. The notes are quickly caught by the anxious longing ears on the beach, the boats put off, and soon the herrings feel that they are “fish out of water,” and will ere long be adding much to the happiness and support of all the bönder and agricultural peasantry of the neighbourhood.

Making for the Fjord.

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Near our herring scene was a well-to-do but scattered hamlet, for it could scarcely be called a village; and, having visited some of the good people, who were much interested in the foreigners—N.B., it is a curious sensation when it first dawns upon the mind of an Englishman that he is a regular foreigner in the eyes of others—we came to the conclusion that, all in all, the Norwegian bönder, as a class, are more comfortably provided with the good things of this world than any other of similar position. Their outdoor life brings sound health; they work hard, especially the women; and their reward is abundance. Their farms produce all they require to eat, drink, and even wear. In the fine weather they work for internal comforts; in the bad winter weather they provide for external wants in the form of carding, combing, and weaving in their houses, and making vadmel, or homespun—a material in which “shoddy” is unknown, and for which “everlasting wear” is the best name. They have their ponies, their boats, a wholesome love of God, and veneration for true, practical religion. Their houses are of their own building—sound, solid, and warm. There is no money greed amongst them, until spoilt by tasting the fruit of the tree of civilisation, and then the reaction is all the worse. Another great blessing that remains to them is, that there is no tendency to extravagance, no wish to launch out in competition with their neighbour. A peaceful, contented, simple life seems to them the summum bonum: this they possess, and are careful not to part with. Until savings-banks were introduced they really had no use for money, and when they acquired silver, instead of investing it, they had something new made of it, in this respect strongly resembling the old Dutch farmers, who were sometimes quite at a loss to know what they should have made next. The latter, indeed, went so far as to have candle-boxes, as well as other domestic utensils, of silver. Again, Norwegian servants are in good relationship with their masters and mistresses: much kindly feeling exists, coupled with a sense of duty and a proper regard for relative position, which is never forgotten.

We have mentioned the “home-madeness” of everything in a Norwegian farmer’s house; but we have yet to refer to the woodwork supply, namely, sledges, agricultural implements, stolkjærs, rakes, scythe handles, carrioles, tankards, teenas (written tine), butter-boxes, and bedsteads. These last-mentioned items are the worst things produced in the country. The beds are all too short—never are they long enough. It seems as if the Norwegian has not quite grown out of the idea that in sleep the body should be bent up with the knees to the chin, and in the Isle of Skye tradition assigns to the Norsemen certain stone graves composed of nearly square slabs. The only way in which a tall traveller in Norway can avoid pushing his feet through the footboard is by bending his body up. The best carrioles are built at Drammen and Christiania, but they are advanced specimens, with springs; and springs are considered a little foppish, as well as liable to break, length of shaft being all the spring required. When these vehicles have to go on to steamers or large boats—a very frequent necessity, as the whole seaboard is constantly incised by fjords and arms of the sea—it is usual to take off the wheels, when the body is soon removed. Where rivers have to be crossed, and a small boat only can be procured, the best way is to bring the latter side on to the carriole, place a plank with one end on terra firma, and the other on the gunwale of the boat, where the wheel of the carriole nearest to the shore should ultimately go. The object of this is to run the wheel along on this plank to ship the carriole in the boat. This done, there is still a difficult part to be performed: the river has to be crossed, and if once the balance is lost, all is over. The rush of the river is very strong in parts, but even a kind of race makes no difference. A pull on one side, then a shoot and a pull on the other, and smooth water is reached, safety insured, and the carriole is over. Sometimes a river may be forded, but great care should be taken, as the want of local knowledge may in a moment cause a loss of life, or at all events a ducking.

We were once fording a river when Old Kyle, our blind dog, was travelling very comfortably in a dog-bag, or hund sac, under the carriole. The excitement and novelty of the ford made us forget our old pet, and the first hint we had of his discomfort was the sorry sight of the dog vainly endeavouring to stem the current, while the only way of recovering him was by wading back. The carriole is used for everything; even the post-carrier is a carriole-driver, and is provided with a huge leather bag or portmanteau, with an iron rod running through it, and padlocked at the end. The postman carries a revolver, more as a staff of office or official status than anything else, for no one ever hears of such a thing as a robbery in this part of the world. The last few years have brought about a very great facility of communication in Norway, for which all travellers are much indebted to the energy of the Government. One can telegraph to any part of Norway for tenpence, and the stations are numerous—surprisingly so, when the extent of country and sparseness of population are considered; and for English travellers the convenience is very great, because almost all the telegraph-station masters speak and write English well.

Shipping a Carriole.

The woodcut (see [page 55]), with the sea-houses close to the water and jægt lying close in, shows the character of the country round that beautiful spot in the Hardanger fjord generally known as Rosendal, a place of great interest to the historian as the last seat of the Norwegian nobility. Nestling in a wood on the rising ground beyond the seashore lies this baronial residence, the home of the “last of the barons.” Baron Rosenkrone still lives there, and in this secluded spot art has been cherished and loved, for Rosendal possesses a collection of pictures which is considered the finest in Norway. Who would expect, after trudging for nine hours over the snow expanses of the Folgefond, and rapidly descending on the Hardanger fjord, to find there such examples of highly civilised life?