The brightness of the morning favoured our _al fresco_ toilets, and one of our party (who carried a dressing-case full of wonderful things, and generally known in the list of impedimenta as “Somebody’s luggage”) became the centre of attraction. In front of his tent were laid out a waterproof sheet and a saddle-bag, partially opened and supported at the back; the latter sustained the looking-glass, in front of which knelt a figure shaving (No. 1). Now, although the Norwegians shave almost universally, there was something about our friend’s manipulations which took the fancy of all present. The girls giggled; the short ones tried to peep between the tall ones. Why? Did the performer pull his own nose to a greater length than usual in this country when he took the long sweep down his cheek? Hardly. The fact was, the good folk thought the whole thing was but an overture to some other performance, and that the dressing-case, with its numerous silver-topped glass bottles, contained all kinds of medicines, panaceas for everything—cures for gout, sciatica, tic douloureux, trichinæ spirales, hypochondria, dipsomania, and every other mania.
After the shaving came a pause. A fortunate inquiry for old silver ornaments now changed the whole scene, and for the rest of the day, at intervals, the _penates_ of the neighbourhood were being brought for our edification. Some of the old brooches were remarkably beautiful; the rings were very characteristic, some having small pendant rings, some with the usual cup ornaments; and when it was discovered that much interest was taken in old costumes, we had really a treat—embroideries on _vanter_, or winter gloves without fingers, eider-down cloaks, swaddling-bands, babies’ caps, worked aprons, the open-work at the lower part being admirable in design. A wish was expressed to see a baby ready swaddled for baptism. Unhappily, there was no such thing to be had within miles upon miles; but rather than “the Locust” should be disappointed, these good people dressed up a woollen one, which answered every purpose, and was considered a great success. The kindness of the people was very striking; a certain shy curiosity characterized their movements at first, but they soon settled down to taking every possible pains to oblige us and meet our wants. It seemed very odd, however, to see a church so near, and yet no service. How was it, when we saw almost enough people to form a congregation? It happened thus. The _præstegaard_, or clergyman’s house, is at the central church, which often has two or three _annexer_—small churches, each eighteen or twenty miles from the principal one; the services, therefore, are only held about every third Sunday in each church. Well educated, well read, and, much like the old fathers, revered and well beloved by their flocks, the clergy lead a hard life. The vast extent of their parishes or districts is very trying to their health, necessitating long drives, and in winter much severe sledge work; while on the coast there is such boat work that the minister and doctor of the locality seem more like “old salts” than members of those professions. I remember particularly one clergyman, whose _annex_ was on a group of islands off the coast. As the steamer passed she swung round a point, when a boat came off to us, with a grand figure standing up steering her. From beneath an old sou’-wester streamed his white hair, grandly blown back, and he wore silver spectacles, large muffler round his throat, oilskin coat and trousers, and long sea boots. As the boat neared the steamer and was turned to the gangway, a sailor on board said, “Now, sir, you’ll see one of the fine old sort; this, sir, is the priest, and not a better seaman will you find all along the coast—nor a better man.” No wonder religion takes so simple and earnest a form when its exponents practically exemplify, in their every-day life, its sublime teachings with a simplicity, energy, and dignity far beyond the conception of those working in densely populated districts; for the priest, although but an occasional visitor to some parts, is a source of comfort and sympathy to all in their trouble, and enters with the greatest interest into their rejoicings and pleasures, whether they be public or domestic. In this way their relations with their flocks are most “good shepherd-like,” and their constant care and solicitude for their parishioners rivet the love and confidence of all around them. No doubt these relations are materially assisted by the tolerably equal distribution of this world’s goods in spots remote from busy towns; or rather, to speak more correctly, by the absence of wealth and the even-manneredness of all such Norwegian residents.