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TRACK TO KONGSBERG.
315
boat for a long distance, as we rowed close to the other
shore.
On landing at Graver, I inquired for the track
leading to Kongsberg, by Bolkesjo; a well-defined
path was shown to me, and I was recommended to
stop at the farm of Lier, which, according to my
informant, would afford the most comfortable quarters in
the district. There is much fertile country, and some
tolerably good farms in the neighbourhood of Graver.
The first part of my walk was amidst the rich scenery
of fertile winding valleys, and then through silent forests
of tall pines, with stems so large, so high and straight,
and uniformly tapering, that Milton’s lines,—
" His spear, to equal which the tallest pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills to he the mast
Of some high admiral, were but a wand,"
haunted me continually as I walked along. After eight
or ten miles of such forests, the track passes over some
curious glacier ground,—great plains of smooth,
flaglike rock, with very slight inclination, and remarkably
deep grovings. Finally, I reached Lier, which is
situated on the flank of a curiously shaped mountain,
overlooking a melancholy lake. I should never have
found it, had I not overtaken three dirty men who
were going out a-fishing, and with whom I walked
for about an hour. They pointed out the farm, which
is not visible from the track, and is situated in a
region so hopelessly rocky that 1 could scarcely believe
any agriculture possible: I should not have thought of
looking for a house thereabouts. On reaching it, I
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