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Chap. LUI.
VISIT TO THE “WHITE OVEN.”
345
into a small basin touching the sea, into which it
discharges itself.
A boat will meet you at the Holy Well by order,
for you can better judge of this wild and beautiful
coast from the water than from the cliffs above. First,
you pass a wild frontier pile of rocks, called the
Candles; one candle got, however, blown over during
last winter’s heavy storms: then close by in the
cliff’s side you may distinguish the moulds in which
they were cast, which said candle-moulds are of great
extent, and run, as these holes always do, as far as
Ham-mershuus. Ten strokes of the oar bring us to the
entrance of the “ Black Oven,” a dark, cold, slimy,
tumbledown sort of place. When once in, and after sliding
and slipping you sit on a damp, cold rock, the view
of the sea, Candles, and picturesque line of cliffs
extending towards Allinge—well encadré by the black
limestone—does repay you for your trouble. Further
on ydu pass the “White Oven,” an oven not to be
entered save in time of extreme cold, when the winter
is at its full and the Baltic frozen around the island.
Then towards Christmas-time, in the holy days, or
rather nights, when the days are short and obscure—
“ som stympede lys der have kun oyne og ender ”—like
the stump of a candle, only the beginning and the end—
the peasant girls and boys come down in large parties
with torches and lanterns to explore its wonders. They
slide and they slip along, and the girls fall down on the
ice—quite by accident, not at all for the pleasure of
being picked up again—till they come to the place
where, on raising their heads, they can see through an
aperture the moon shining and myriads of stars blazing
in the bright firmament of heaven; strange to say,
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