CASTING FROM ROCKS AND BOATS 183 



It was a glorious amphitheatre with environment of 

 picturesque mountains, and within these towering ram- 

 parts reposed the little village of Lovdal, the prominent 

 object in which was the church, with its pure white 

 walls, gables, plain grey spire and red roof, standing 

 on a little eminence in the middle distance. Then 

 came a patch of greenery formed by the apple trees of 

 our most comfortable farmhouse. Around it clustered 

 the red-roofed wooden houses of the neighbours, and 

 there were two or three flagstaff's always conspicuous 

 in the clear air. On my arrival they had hoisted the 

 Union Jack on our flagstaff, and there was generally 

 either the Norwegian or English flag to be seen flying. 

 The farthest point of mountain would be, perhaps, a 

 couple of miles distant as we looked straight up from 

 The Rocks. 



It was my fortune to behold this entrancing scene 

 considerably transformed during my month's stay. At 

 first the immediate landscape was beautified by wild 

 flowers ; the blue of the harebells was exquisitely set 

 off by masses of golden St. John's wort, and on our 

 walk to The Rocks we would trample down meadow- 

 sweet, marsh mallow, bird's foot trefoil, and potentilla. 

 There was one little detail of the picture that was quite 

 remarkable ; it was a bright composition of harebells, 

 with the red-brown of ripening grass, and a patch of 

 Prussian blue representing a crop of oats immediately 

 behind. By and by the haymakers came, and down 

 went the harebells, and in course of time the Prussian 

 blue became yellow straw. One Sunday evening im- 

 presses itself upon my memory especially. The bells 

 were tinkling as the cows came down from the moun- 

 tains, and the voices of the women and children were 

 heard afar in the clear air ; down the valley came the 

 music of a military band in the encampment, and the 



