of the drink traffic. Even in hotels, spirits are not to be had, and can only be obtained through a wine merchant. The strict sobriety of the people accounts also for the total absence of beggars, and for the rarity of poverty.

Though a large place (about 40,000 inhabitants) crimes of violence are almost unknown, and when they do occur it is only among foreign sailors. The men and women alike work very hard, their labour is incessant and poorly paid, yet in spite of this, they are light-hearted and merry, singularly kind and courteous in their bearing one towards another-on every hand, "Content sits basking on the cheek of toil."

There are many public buildings of rare interest to be seen. By some the museum, rich in objects of antiquarian lore will be most valued, others will find in the Cathedral, or in the numerous churches much to interest them, but one and all will find in the walks round about the mountain sides a never to be forgotten charm. It is from the heights above that Bergen is seen at its best.

Whatever route, north or south of Bergen may be chosen, plans must be carefully made. The means of getting from place to place are limited to the feet of the pedestrian, and those offered by the small steamers which make one or two journeys during the week into the interior. All the comfort of the trip will depend upon planning the proposed route, to fall in with the steamboat arrangements. North of Bergen this is especially true, southwards when the end of the Hardanger Fjord has been passed, Cariole or Stolkaere will be available. The steamers are small, and generally crowded, while the amount of freight carried (especially the living portion) is often a great inconvenience.

Leaving Bergen for the Hardanger Fjord, if possible, the traveller should arrange to stay at some, if not all, the principal stations (Eide, Ulvik, Eidford, and Odde being the chief). The Hardanger is considered in many respects the finest fjord in Norway, the beauty and the grandeur of its scenery, its infinite variety, and the comparative ease with which it is reached, render it specially attractive, while the exceptional comfort to be found at the stations is not be overlooked. The boat leaves Bergen very early in the morning, and as the city is left behind, the sight of rowing boats making for the harbour is a very pretty one; it is hard to guess where they come from, but the water being the highway the number of boats is not surprising. Every variety of shape and size is seen, four, six, to eight oar being most common; the rowing is perfect, and is mostly done by women, who in their quaint costume of blue serge, scarlet neckerchiefs, and large white caps, look very picturesque, as with arms bared to the elbow, they bend to their work with the regularity of an Oxford eight.

Many miles are traversed before the commencement of the Hardanger is reached. The beginning of the fjord is exceptionally grand, the water assuming the proportions of an inland sea; a sea, the calm of which is never disturbed except by the sudden gusts which sweep down the mountain sides. From beginning to end the Hardanger is about 70 miles long, with giant arms stretching in all directions. Its width varies from

a few hundred yards, where it runs between precipitous mountains, to six or seven miles where it is joined by other fjords. In many places the mountains rise to the height of 5,000 feet, and are snow crowned. The bleakness of the scene is frequently broken by large islands-so large that they are easily mistaken for the mainland. Though covered with wood, pine or mountain ash, no sign of habitation, occupation, or living thing is to be seen, not a sound is to be heard except that made by the swollen waterfalls which leap from precipice to precipice, only to be caught by the wind and drifted back in a cloud of spray.

The general character of the fjord is very much the same, and the journey would be slightly monotonous were it not for the calls made on the way, and the amusement afforded by the landing and receiving of cattle, it being the custom for the bonders to remove their stock from pasture to pasture by water. The Norwegian peasantry are thus seen under very favourable circumstances for observing their national characteristics, and a more interesting people it would be hard to find. It is a constant wonder how the people live who occupy the scanty houses seen wherever there is a break in the bleakness and barrenness of the mountain sides. They lead hard lives in the winter and not much less hard in the summer. It shows the straits to which they are driven, when you see wires stretched from crag to crag 1,500 feet high, and men perilling life and limb to secure the little pasture growing in almost inaccessible places. This they tie in small bundles, and pass down the wires to the farmhouses below. The remedy for this hard laborious existence the peasants are finding in emigration, and if you ask those who for the time being are your fellow-passengers, they will tell you how they toil and save for many years to get sufficient money to take themselves and their families to the far west. Not a week in the summer months passes by without some family (for they emigrate as a whole, the young people taking their parents with them), leaving to join the tide of emigration which has become so great that Norway in its rural districts is threatened with depopulation.

Long before Odde or Eidfort is reached, the bleak barren wilderness of rock and mountain is left behind, the hills become covered with pine woods, and at their base the land, low-lying, rich, and fertile, is well cultivated, the villages are larger, the people appear better cared for.

If the visitor is fortunate enough to make the journey on Midsummer Night Eve, he will never forget the group of merry folks to be seen wherever the steamer stops, or the huge bonfires lit upon the hillsides, the burning masses of pine logs floating upon the waters, or the village festival where old men and maidens, young men and little children celebrate with much rejoicing, the long-expected eve when light and twilight and dawn are so blended, that it is hard to tell where or how one is so mysteriously lost in the other.

Odde is, to people learned in Scandinavian mythology, a very interesting place. Even if it had no such associations the natural beauty of its surroundings are such that even in Norway it would command attention. What those beauties are the reader must go for himself and see. If he

cares for lonely lakes almost hidden among the hills, or for the sight of the grand waterfalls for which the country is famous, or for woods in which may be found trees of magnificent growth, lovely ferns, and rare botanical specimens; or if he cares to climb heights which are ever snowcovered, all this in rich abundance will he find.

The Buar Brae, one of the most famous glaciers in Europe, is in the immediate neighbourhood, a pleasant walk along the river side, a row across a mountain lake to a narrow ravine, the entrance to which is guarded by two giant rocks; at the far end of the ravine the glacier itself is seen. Landing, the walk runs alongside the Jordal, a river which dashing from fall to fall almost deafens with its incessant roar, while from the rocks on either side the water is bursting and forming a series of cascades well nigh lost among the abundant growth of birch, elm, and other trees. Every year the glacier advances, grinding the mountain sides, splitting off vast masses of rock, and sweeping them down the valley by its slow but irresistible power. Here Nature is seen at work, and in a glance one can learn how our valleys and river beds have been formed. Yet, though it is a moving mass of ice, underneath the huge boulders at its foot, delicate and beautiful ferns are growing. From its summit a pebble could be thrown into a barley field waiting for the sickle, or into fields which are purple, blue, and golden with wild flowers.

Many and charming are the excursions to be made from Odde-the Alpine climber will not miss the Folgefond, the mountaineer will prefer crossing the hills to Eidfort, the sportsman may choose the neighbourhood of the Lotefos for trout fishing, but he who would wish to see one of the grandest falls of water in the whole of Norway will not be deterred from visiting the Skeggesdalfoss, by the toilsome walk to be overcome before it can be seen. The first part of the journey is by water, then six miles of hill-climbing, some of which has to be done in a manner not altogether graceful, for the path is rugged, the slanting masses of almost polished granite are difficult to walk over, and though the trunks of trees afford some support they do not give sufficient to keep one from all-fours; the path, indeed, is not unlike the last quarter of a mile of Snowdon from the Bethgelert side, only it is far more dangerous, and there is just a chance of breaking one's neck. After climbing to a giddy height the descent is sudden, and to say the least unpleasant. At the end of it, surrounded by magnificent scenery, a small farmhouse is reached, here the bonder (though the proprietor of thousands of acres in the neighbourhood) will be found ready to row you across the lake, a distance of four miles, to see the great fall. The water of this mountain lake, at the head of which the Ringedalsfos descends in an unbroken leap of 530 feet, is intensely blue, on all sides the mountains rise almost perpendicularly to a great height. Through narrow ravines streams are running, and over cliffs a thousand feet high the water is falling in unbroken lines, uniting, when half-way down, and forming grand cascades. It is not possible to draw near the great fall without being wetted through by the clouds of spray, and well-nigh deafened by the noise. A narrow strip of land lies near, so fertile, that wild grasses and flowers of many colors

bloom and blossom upon it, trees, though stunted in growth, yet vividly green in foliage, grow thereon and redeem the scene from almost utter desolation. It is a sight so grand that once seen it will never be forgotten.

A pleasant journey of about four hours by water and Eide is reached. This is a place where a long stay may be made, it reminds one of Bettws, on a very large scale. The accommodation for visitors is all that can be desired; the hotels are large and comfortable, and those that keep them are kindness itself. This is true indeed of all the hotels one may chance to stay at, from the smallest to the largest, and if the friendliness and the almost painful efforts made to ensure one's comfort are a surprise, none the less it is so to find no hint of it in the bill. As a rule it is the minimum of cost with the maximum of comfort.

From Eide it is well to go to Vossevangen; this is accomplished by the help of a Stolkaere or Cariole, vehicles which are peculiar to the country--may they long remain so. One is arranged to carry two persons, the other to carry one only. These machines are fearfully and wonderfully made; a day's experience in either is quite sufficient to destroy all pleasure in sitting down, the only rational way of taking rest seems to be to lie at full length with the face to the ground. However, spite of the unpleasantness of the first day's riding, the road is so pleasant that after awhile it is only remembered as a day of walking and running, occasionally helping to push the horse and vehicle up steep places, or holding on behind to prevent it toppling over; and as a set-off are recalled the distant views of mountain ranges, intricate paths across pine-covered hills, foaming torrents along the way side, and miles and miles of sweet woodland scenery before Vossevangen is reached.

Away to Guadvangen the road continues much of the same character, except that it becomes more and more a mountain pass. Whoever made it ignored all difficulties, so that the road twists and turns in a corkscrew fashion up or down the mountain sides. In less than 20 miles the road rises and descends between 2,500 and 3,000 feet. As it nears Guadvangen, rocks rise on either side like vast sentinels, as if to guard the pass. A river gleaming like silver ripples along over its rocky bed to empty itself into the Sogne Fjord. On every side cliffs are falling and rocks crumbling. So dangerous indeed is the pass, that not a season passes without the valley being strewn and sometimes blocked with the masses of rock falling from the mountain sides.

At Guadvangen the journey may be continued by steamboat through the Sogne Fjord for the Romsdal, or Molde and for the Lafoten Islands, from which the midnight sun can be observed in all its glory. Or the trip can be diverted southward towards Christiana. Choosing the latter, the ruggedly grand Naero Fjord will be seen, and a distant glimpse of the Sogne obtained before Laerdolsoren is reached.

From Laerdolsoren to Christiana the journey is indescribably beautiful, but for the fact that this "Glimpse of Norway," has already exceeded, if not the patience of the reader the space in the Magazine allowed, it

would be a temptation to recount many pleasant reminiscences of the way. Looking backwards, memory recalls the forests of pines and their sweet fragrance as evening came on; the extensive moorlands, stretching far as the eye could reach till lost amid the eternal hills, and not to be forgotten are the curious old churches, like that of Borgund, which for centuries have withstood the changes of time, or the quiet hamlets lying deep down in the valleys where the mountain torrent, hushing for a little while its turbulance seems content to ripple and murmur a peaceful

stream.

T. C.

A

Two Queens.

LEISURE hour or two suggested a recent visit to Westminster Abbey, to refresh my recollections of the place which I had not seen for several years. To attempt a description of it would be superfluous, as few places are probably better known to Englishmen. What perhaps is most to be regretted is, that we give ourselves so little opportunity of reviving impressions which the sight of that venerable pile cannot fail to bring before the mind. At least that was what occurred to me as I traversed the ground on which it stood, sacred to so many memories. The parrot guide, who crams the heads of visitors with a description of numberless tombs, more or less illustrious, is a sad infliction, and forces me to the conclusion, which I imagine is by no means singular, that in order to appreciate the Abbey aright, it should be visited again and again. Least of all should such visits be hurried. To be brought into contact with the mighty dead is surely not a time for haste and bustle, as almost every tomb affords so much food for reflection. Is there any other fane in England that can suggest one-tenth as much? Be that as it may, a sensation is produced on the mind such as it is almost impossible to describe. The centuries of the past seem to live again, and those who prominently figure in the pages of history, the recollection of whose existence may have partially faded from the mind -filled up as it is with the absorbing pursuits of the present-are, as it were, recalled to life with startling freshness.

I will not burden the reader of this little sketch with more than two of these, each occupying a foremost place in the history of the very remarkable age in which she lived. Both Queens, and cousins, but as diametrically opposite in temperament, in circumstances, and in accomplishments, as it is possible for two most celebrated and gifted women to be. The one, the embodiment of success in all that makes a country illustrious in arms, in art, in commerce, in literature, and in song; the other, the personification of misfortune and failure. I need scarcely say that I refer to Queen Elizabeth and to Mary Queen of Scots. That the