Taking leave of these good folks, I pursued my downward course along the river, which was, however, hidden by trees and rocks. Suddenly, however, we got a sight of the torrent in an unexpected manner. The earth at our feet had sunk into a deep, well-like hole, leaving, however, between it and the stream, a great arch of living rock, crowned with trees like the Prebischthor in the Saxon Switzerland, only smaller. Soon after this, we pass a picturesque bridge (Horbro), where the river roars through a deep and very narrow chasm, terrible to look down into; and, after some hours' walking, get the first peep into the placid lake of Hildal, with two great waterfalls descending the opposite mountain, as if determined to give éclat to the river's entrance therein. Visions of Bavarian beer, fresh meat, clean sheets, &c., crowd upon my imagination, as, after catching some trout in crossing the lake, we land on the little isthmus which separates the sheet of fresh water from the beautiful salt-water Sörfjord; and with light foot I

Norway. The mighty Hardanger Fjord, after running westward out of the Northern Ocean for about eighty miles, suddenly takes a bend south, and forms the Sör (South) Fjord, which is nearly thirty miles long. At the very extreme end of this glorious water defile I now stood. To my left shoot down the sloping abutments of the mountain plateau, on which lies the vast snow-field called the Folgefond; they, with their flounce-like bands of trees, first fir, then birch, and above this mere scrub, are now immersed in shadow, blending in the distance with the indigo waters of the Fjord. But further out to seaward, as we glance over the dark shoulder of one of these natural buttresses, rises a swelling mound of white, like the heaving bosom of some queenly beauty robed in black velvet. That is a bit of "Folgo" yet glowing with the radiance of the setting sun. As I stood gazing at this wonderful scene-the snow part of it reminding me of the unsullied Jungfrau, as seen from Interlacken, only that there the water, which gives such effect to this scene, is absent-I saw a man rise from behind a

stranded boat in front of me. He was a German painter, and had been transferring to his canvas the very sight I had been looking on.

"Eine wunderschöne Aussicht, Mein Herr," remarked I.

Unvergleichbar! We've nothing like it even in Switzerland," said he.

With this observation I think I can safely leave the scenery in the reader's hands.

"That church, there," said the German, pointing to a little ancient edifice of stone, with mere slits of windows, "is said to have been built by your countrymen, as well as those of Kinservik and Ullensvang, further down the fjord. They had a great timber trade, according to tradition, with this part of the country. But, to judge from that breastwork and foss yonder, the good people of the valley were favoured at times with other visits besides those of timber merchants."

CHAPTER XIII.

Author visits a glacier-Meets with two compatriots-A good year for bears-The judgment of snow-Effects of parsley fern on horses-The advantage of having a shadow-Old friends of the hill tribe-Skeggedals foss - Fairy strings-The ugliest dale in Norway-A photograph of omnipotence - The great Bondehus glacier-Record of the mysterious ice period-Guide stories-A rock on its travels.

NEXT day I went across the Hildal Lake to visit a glacier of which I had got a glimpse the evening before. It then seemed a couple of miles off; but I never was more taken in in judging of distance before-such is the uncommon clearness of the atmosphere and the gigantic scale of objects in this country. After a sweltering walk, however, of nearly three hours, I at last stood at the spot, where a torrent of water, the exact colour of that perennial sewer that comes to the

ful appearances, and so forth. My boy-guide halted the while at a respectful distance from the convulsed mass of ice.

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Do let me go back," he had apostrophized me; "I am so frightened, I am. It is sure to fall on us.”

And it was only by yielding to his cowardly entreaties that I prevented him from imitating the trickling ice, and being dissolved in tears.

Close to the ice grew white and red clover, yellow trefoil, two kinds of sorrel, and buttercups. This fertility on the edge of a howling desert had been taken advantage of, for, as I moved my eye to the opposite cliff from taking a look at the sun, who had just hidden his scorching glare behind the tips of the glacier, I descried several men and women busily engaged, at an enormous height, making hay on a slope of great steepness. As we descended, a noise, as of a salute of cannon, greeted my ears. The above sewer, which descends with most prodigious

force, had set agoing some stones apparently of