i68 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES 



between islands, and in continuous shelter. Sometimes 

 the narrows are not wider than the Thames at Oxford ; 

 then you steam out into what seems to be a land-locked 

 expanse of water, with precipitous mountain rocks 

 ahead. By and by you swerve to right or left, and a 

 totally different picture is presented. And so it is, hour 

 after hour, and day after day. For many a league 

 north of Bergen the mountains and island rocks are 

 bare of vegetation gloomy masses of grey and brown 

 that frown upon the waters in cloud, and cannot be 

 glad even in sunshine. Some of them are like gigantic 

 wildernesses of upheaved pudding stone. Then, as the 

 voyage progresses, the hillsides put on greenery, sombre 

 when it is pine, cheerful when the hangings are supplied 

 by the silver birch, and bright ever when the emerald 

 patches bear testimony to the industry of the farmer, 

 winning his scanty harvests against heavy odds. The 

 calling places are numerous, but often consist of some 

 half a dozen houses of the usual weatherboard, red and 

 white pattern. 



The hour is nevertheless welcome when you espy the 

 sun-browned face of a brother angler, surmounted by 

 a cap in which the flies cast upon the pools during the 

 day are regaining a dry plumage, turned towards the 

 vessel bearing you to the homely wharfage of the fiord 

 station which for the time being is your destination. 

 The rod box is no unfamiliar item of luggage in this 

 country, and it is borne ashore by men who understand 

 what it is, and who like to handle it. Norwegians have 

 a deep respect for the English gentleman who fishes 

 their salmon rivers, and when he has arrived at the 

 same place many years in succession he is most heartily 

 welcomed by natives of both sexes, who while he re- 

 mains will devote themselves to his interests, in their 

 own way which has to be understood, no doubt, but 



