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bottle of Bordeaux, and object to being the
sneering-stocks of insolent waiters if they drink beer or
water.
The Norwegian practice is to charge the wines
at about the same rate of profit as everything else.
The Norwegian hotel-keepers sell better claret at
half-a-crown per bottle than is obtainable at many
English hotels for five shillings. The duty on
such wines is now about the same in both
countries. The same applies to the sauternes, hocks,
and other true wines. Though I have travelled in
vine-growing countries, and know something
about grape juice, I do not understand the merits
of such laboratory products as “tawny port” and
“ dry sherry,” and therefore cannot compare the
Norwegian with the English varieties of these
compounds.
The short drive between Sande and Yadheim is
through a richly wooded valley, with the
parsley-fern growing in great profusion, and the waters of
the river tinged with the hydrocarbons of the
peat; weak-tea coloured in the shallows, and of
inky blackness where it forms small lakes, by
filling up the hollows it meets on its way to the
long deep notch into which the Sognefjord
thrusts an arm. Even the fjord itself is ringed at
Yadheim, where the peaty water pours into this
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