ving our carrioles and part of our baggage behind us, we rowed out to
the steamer in a heavy shower. The sun was struggling with dark grey
rain-clouds all the evening, and just as we hove anchor, threw a
splendid triumphal iris across the bay, completely spanning the town,
which, with the sheltering hills, glimmered in the rosy mist floating
within the bow. Enclosed by such a dazzling frame the picture of
Drontheim shone with a magical lustre, like a vision of Asgaard,
beckoning to us from the tempestuous seas. But we were bound for the
north, the barriers of Niflhem, the land of fog and sleet, and we
disregarded the celestial token, though a second perfect rainbow
overarched the first, and the two threw their curves over hill and
fortress and the bosom of the rainy fjord, until they almost touched our
vessel on either side. In spite of the rain, we remained on deck until a
late hour, enjoying the bold scenery of the outer fjord--here,
precipitous woody shores, gashed with sudden ravines; there, jet-black
rocky peaks, resembling the porphyry hills of the African deserts; and
now and then, encircling the sheltered coves, soft green fields glowing
with misty light, and the purple outlines of snow-streaked mountains in
the distance.

The morning was still dark and rainy. We were at first running between
mountain-islands of bare rock and the iron coast of the mainland, after
which came a stretch of open sea for two hours, and at noon we reached
Bjoro, near the mouth of the Namsen Fjord. Here there was half a dozen
red houses on a bright green slope, with a windmill out of gear crowning
the rocky hill in the rear. The sky gradually cleared as we entered the
Namsen Fjord, which charmed us with the wildness and nakedness of its
shores, studded with little nooks and corners of tillage, which sparkled
like oases of tropical greenness, in such a rough setting. Precipices of
dark-red rock, streaked with foamy lines of water from the snows melting
upon their crests, frowned over the narrow channels between the islands,
and through their gaps and gorges we caught sight of the loftier ranges
inland. Namsos, at the head of the fjord, is a red-roofed town of a few
hundred inhabitants, with a pleasant background of barley-fields and
birchen groves. The Namsen valley, behind it, is one of the richest in
this part of Norway, and is a great resort of English salmon-fishers.
There was a vessel of two hundred tons on the stocks, and a few coa