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The old town of Bergen
Surroundings—The market-place is now off over our left shoulder. The harbor waters are just out of range at our left. The steep side of the Floifjeld rises only a few minutes' walk from here, at our right.
Sternly picturesque old fortress (Bergenhus)
We are looking north across to the hill known as Sverresborg, and the mountains behind it. Surroundings—The streets of the town surround us here, reaching off to the right and left and behind us. The market-place at the head of the harbor is some distance away at the right.
Farmer's field before terraced Tvindefos near Vossevangen
A few miles northeast of the farmhouse and the waterfall leaping from stair to stair over the terraced cliffs, the road runs along near a little river with rocky banks. The red 54 on Map 7 near its lower margin, indicates a place where we shall linger a few minutes to see how farmers utilize small portions of the local water-power.
A water-wheel grindstone on Stalheim River
Nobody has yet calculated how much energy—millions, billions, of horse-power—runs to waste, commercially speaking, among the Scandinavian mountains. Probably Norway's water-power is sufficient to run all the factories of continental Europe, but only the merest inconsiderable fraction of it is forced into any utilitarian scheme for industrial activity.
Stalheim's Hotel
There are several pleasant walks about Stalheim's, quite feasible for those who do not feel the fascination of adventurous mountain climbing. One such ramble would take us to a point which is now off at our left.
Stalheim's Hotel on a cliff above the Naerodal
As one goes down that road, another beautiful waterfall is seen on this side of the valley to match the gleaming ribbon of Stalheim River.
The Sevlefos, dashing and splashing, near Stalheim's Hotel
Once down in the bottom of the valley which we saw from behind Stalheim's, the highway follows the crooked lead of the river along between towering walls of mountains.
Rocky Jordalsnut
That bare, bald crown of old Jordalsnut is certainly a most extraordinary formation. It looks from here as if it would be impossible to find foothold for scaling such precipices, but the ascent is practicable in certain places. The rock is mostly silvery gray feldspar.
Gudvangen's outlook over the Naerofjord
There are some interesting short-distance walks about Gudvangen ; one is by a path along the west side of the fjord. If we take that path now we shall get a glimpse of some of the queer, strolling folk that American and English people call gipsies. The map marks their location 60, a little way around the point below the steamboat landing.
Cliffs by the waters of the Naerofjord
Those long, white streaks on the mountain opposite are more waterfalls. All along the fjord it is like that. Streams come down, as it were, from the very roof of the world, to tell of unseen icy wastes far above.
Naerofjord from near Gudvangen
We are facing northeast, the way an outward bound steamer would have to go. Surroundings —Mountains, more mountains are behind us. The place has every appearance of being an inland lake. Was there ever a clearer mirror for earth and heaven.
Looking across Essefjord from Tjugum
People who live near the fjords naturally do a good deal of fishing. As one sails through in an excursion steamer, one sees again and again a tall triangle of weather-beaten timbers rising from the edge of the water, sometimes bare, sometimes hung with huge nets like a species of giant clothes-drier.
Salmon nets at Balestrand on the Sognefjord
The tide is low just now, so a broad expanse of rock lies bare. The houses over on the farther curve of the cove, beyond the festooned fishing nets, are those of Balholm village, a popular Norwegian summer resort.
Young farmers of the Nordfjord country
Would you like to see where Thor Eide sharpens his haying tools and that sheath knife at his belt? That we can do at a spot only a short distance from a neighbor's house.
Sod-roofed grist-mill in deep Olden Valley
The valley here is so deep-set between the mountains that we should have to look much higher than this to see any horizon at all. Streams are running down the mountain-sides all around us, comparatively few of them utilized in any way, so disproportionate is the water-power to practical needs.
Mindresunde farm in the valley near Olden
Now let us see Lake Olden itself. The map shows how long and narrow it is, so we shall not be surprised to find that, when we look across it from the spot marked 67 on the east bank, it looks almost like a river—not like a Norwegian river, though, for Norse streams seldom have a chance to lie so quietly in their beds .
Grytereids Glacier glittering above drifting clouds
The lake waters at our feet have a greenish tinge, and at the same time are somewhat milky in effect, because they hold in suspension so much finely powdered rock-waste washed down from the glaciers that cap its high walls on both banks.
Yrifos pouring down from the glacier
See how clear the pearly-green waters are ! Dwelling and barns and that little boat-house down at the edge of the water are all repeated in the mirror be-low. Even the tumbling waterfalls have their reflected duplicate.
On somber Lake Olden
If it were not for the boatmen waiting there with the flrring (four-oared boat), one might think he had left all human life behind. Cliffs and ice and clouds above—cliffs and ice and clouds below—it looks as if we had come to a wall at the very end of the world, with nothing beyond but ghosts and giants and spirits of the wind and storm.
Mt. Rustoi's rugged heights
The deep pocket of the lake drops from this bank only a few rods away behind us. The Maelkevold Glacier, towards which we have just been gazing, is now at our left.
A Nordfjord bride and groom
We do not see the whole of the party assembled for the wedding, though a few neighbors stand within range. (The man in the long coat, just beyond the bridegroom, is not a Norseman, but a foreign tourist). The elderly people in the doorway are the bride's father and mother. A great many Norwegians of the elder generation wear a beard of that peculiar cut. Ibsen himself followed the same fashion.
Perilous Brigsdal Glacier
Unless one has had experience in seeing glaciers, he is likely to have an inadequate notion of the depth of the ice and the width of such fissures as that mass shows by its nearest edge. Suppose we descend into the valley and go quite close to a low arched hollow under the edge of the ice.
Cavernous mouth of huge Brigsdal glacier
There is now before the cavern more fallen ice than when we saw it from across the valley. Some of those great fragments broke off and crashed on the ground while the photographer was standing here with his camera. Evidently that ice cavern would not be a safe region to explore.
Enormous crevasses of Brigsdal Glacier
The intense light reflected from this glittering mass of ice made it necessary to cut short the time of exposing the photographic negative, hence the darkness and lack of detail in the figures of the men.
Mountain walled Loen Lake
The glaciers that we see straight ahead at the south, and high up on either side of the lake, are parts of the same vast ice-sheet to which the Brigsdalsbrae belongs. Here around Loen Lake it not infrequently happens that the midsummer sun loosens great blocks of ice at the edges of such lofty ice-fields, and broken fragments come tumbling down into the lake in sudden avalanches.
Lake Loen, fed by glaciers
The distant mountains are practically the same as we saw them before, but now we get more of the effect of lonely grandeur. Nobody knows just how deep these waters may be, filling the narrow floor of the crooked valley.
Tourists crossing rippling Loen Lake
It happens on this trip that the little steamer will not hold all the tourists, who have come in a large party to see the lake, so a number of them are being towed behind in the tender.
A Brave Mother Saves Her Child
The young mother was bent on saving the life of her child, and in doing so she saved herself. What a shelter true motherhood gives to helpless infancy! From how many material and spiritual storms imperiled childhood is saved by brave, true, consecrated Christian motherhood.
The Man Who Cursed His Country
THE unhappy result of even a momentary and heedless lapse from patriotism is well illustrated by Edward Everett Hale's story, The Man Without a Country, which, while it reads like history, has in reality no foundation on fact.
Harrison's Incorruptibility
GENERAL HARRISON'S moral sensibilities were exceedingly delicate and true. His conscience was quick as the apple of the eye. Quick to sense the right, the whole bent of his nature was toward it. There was not the least variation or prevarication about him.
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