hind them. We see every now and then
a clean white wooden church, and, away up on the mountain-sides we
can discern tiny specks, which, we are told, are the saeter dwellings.

Sometimes the steamer is out in the middle of the fjord, which, in
parts, is five miles or more in width, but at other times we find
ourselves close in to a rocky precipice, and wondering how it will
be possible to avoid grounding. Above us the mountain-side rises
perpendicularly to a height of, it may be, 3,000 or 4,000 feet;
and, looking down into the clear water, we can see that it is ever
so deep. As a matter of fact, the chart tells us that hereabouts it
is a little more than 2,000 feet in depth.

Soon we reach the bay in which is Rosendal, where one could spend
a very pleasant week or so, with trout fishing to be had in the
streams and lakes, and mountain walks up to the edge of the great
Folgefond snowfield. The steamer calls for a few minutes, and then
goes on up the beautiful little branch fjord known as the Mauranger,
at the extremity of which lies Sundal.

The scenery here is delightful, and especially so at the spot where
the Bondhus Valley is seen stretching down to the fjord. Half-way
up the valley a round-topped mountain appears to bar the way, and
farther off a blue-grey glacier--the Bondhus Brae--is seen falling
from the white snowfield, and choking the head of the vale.

Those who have the mind to do so can wander up to the glacier, sleep
the night at a saeter, and on the following day hire a sleigh, and
career for miles over the vast field of perpetual snow, right across
the headland to Odda. And great is the joy of plunging suddenly,
on a hot August day, into the depths of winter.

But our steamer does not stay here long--only long enough to put some
Norwegian passengers on shore, and take fresh ones on board. This
occupies some time, however, for Norse people, and especially the
ladies, refuse to be hurried. It is amusing to watch them starting
on their travels. All their friends come to see them off, although
it is quite possible that the traveller is only going to the next
station on the fjord, not a dozen miles away. Each friend bears
some small package--a pot of cranberry jam, a basket of apples or
cherries, a bag of cakes, or something of that kind. The gaily-painted
wooden trunks and the _tiners_ are stowed away on board; and then the
"farvels" commence, with kisses and handshakes, and pats on the back,
and many la