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Land of the Midnight Sun
Marvin F. Beeson, Student in University of Leipzig, Germany,
Traveling Norway During Vacation,
LETTER No. 1.
Sevik, Norway.
Void, Remsdalen (Norway.)
March 10, 1912.
We arrived at Molde night before
last, and slept in the mission-hotel.
The next morning was beautiful and
we took a walk up to Rookneshang,
above the little town of 1,600 inhabit
ants, where we had a most beautiful
view of the fjords and snow-capped
peaks and crags of the surrounding
country. Then we took the boat at
11 o’clock for Void. We stopped at
several little fishing settlements along
the fjords and arrived at Void about
2:30. Mr Sevik’s father and uncle,
met us at the boat. The former is
a typical Norweigian farmer, largely
built, a long dark beard and hair
hanging down his neck, great Nor
weigian shoes, and thick home-spun
suit. Mr Sevik’s little 11 year old
nephew, Ansgar, met us with his sled
and we pulled our baggage on, Ansgar
and I, over the snow to Sevik, a little
settlement about two miles off. Void
is situated on one of the prettiest lit
tle fjords that we have seen. It is a
typical Norweigian village comprising
a pretty little church and a few scat
tered houses. A great mass of rock
rises straight out of the water on one
side, and then snowy peaks on all oth
er sides. The Norweigians do not live
in villages like the Germans, but in
little thin settlements.
When we arrived at the house we
were served dinner, a thick soup, then
boiled fish with melted butter and
flakbred (a very thin kind of crust
that tastes very good. It is not known
in other countries.) And “lefte,”
which I can hardiy describe. It is
made of potatoes in thin layers, like
a huge batter cake, but folded like
a napkin and you fold it several times
over with the hand and eat it wflth
the fingers. It is too tough to eat
with a knife. I am very fond of it
and it is one of the most frequent
forms of bread. It tastes altogether
different from any thing else I have
ever eaten, perhaps a little like the
unleavened bread used in the sacra
ment. Then they gave us a kind of
fruit gelatine made of gooseberries
mixed with apples and served with
milk and sugar. It is delicious. Yes
terday they had instead of soup, a
kind of grits (not like ours, but simi
lar), served with oil and sugar. It
was good, too. They eat a great deal
of oil, butter and milk and goat
cheese. The latter is almost choco
late colored sweet cheese that tastes
very much like peanut butter, as
strange as it may seem. I should
never have taken it for cheese. It
is served in a large tall cake stand
and is cut in slices off of the top as
it is wanted. Butter is served in an
oval dish and is cut not from the
sides, but from the center in an oval
(Continued from Page 9.)
fast. Den dot frau she vakes up and
scraps mit me. You has nutting to
do hut play all tay, ut I has plendy
of vork unt trouble. Ven you ties
you is schust dead, but ven I ties I
cot to go to hell yit.”
The dutchman was a typical pes
simist. To all such life has only a
gloomy side. To be sure evil exists
and human nature is still perverse,
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shape, so that the hole in the butter
is kept rounded and in the shape of
the dish. To cut it differently would
not be good etiquette.
For breakfast they have a regular
meal, not just coffee like most other
European nations. This morning we
had oatmeal with milk and sugar,
then coffee with bread, butter, goat
cheese and lefte.
For supper we had smoked meat,
goat cheese, lefte, flakbred, small
butter cakes (seryed cold here) and
small waffleds (also served cold).
These last two dishes I have not found
anywhere else in Europe. Then we
had jelly and tea.
In the afternoon, between dinner
and supper, they served coffee with
little round sweet cakes, and shaped
tea cakes, which are rolled into little
cones which you unroll as you eat
them. They are not brittle, like cakes
but more like unleavened and sweet
ened butter cakes. Good, too. We
take breakfast at 8:30, dinner at
about 2:00; coffee about 4:00 or 5:00,
and supper at 8:00 or 9:00 o’clock.
Yesterday was Sunday and a beau
tiful day. At 10 o’clock we left for
Void to service which is held there
every third Sunday. Mr. Seviks’ fath
er put on a great thick red home-spun
shirt and thick home-spun coat and
trousers and shaved the upper part of
his face, trimmed the edges of his
flowing hair, and we left. The hair
of the men here remind me of that
of the people at Oberamergau. It is
well-kept, however, only long behind.
The Church is an excellent little
building. They have it nicely built
and varnished. They have a large
painting of Christ on the altar, and
have the altar rail lined with red vel
vet. The posts or columns of the
Church are shaped into pretty, dainty
forms and the chancel is raised and
approached by steps as in the German
churches. (The Norweigian State
Church is the Lutheran as in Ger
many).
After the Church service, there
was a funeral service in the little
church-yard on the banks of the rug
ged fjord. The graves were marked
by neat wooden crosses with simple
date of the birth and decease. The
women wore their red or black head
shawls or hoods as is tne custom here
and the men with strong, expressive
faces and long hair and beard stood
reverently among the little wooden
crosses of the graves, and listened to
the words of the preacher as he read
from the Book. The snowy peaks of
the mountains glittered in the morning
sun and the waves of the fjord beat
against the great bald rocks that rise
across the fjord from Void. Near the
pastor stood the mother of the son
who had received an injury while in
America that had caused his death.
(To Be Continued.) •
but not every man who yells him
up his hat at a horse race or yells,
self hoarse at a ball game, throws
“sic,” at a dogfight is necessarily de
praved. God is in his heavens and
his immutable purposes are good. This
is the best world the sun has shone
on since Noah and his family and
collection of live stock left the ark.
But it will be a better world tomor
row. The comforters of Job thought
The Golden Age for June 27, 1912.
the wisdom of the world would die
with them. They have had a per
sistent progency and every generation
since Job’s has had its calamity how
lers, who preach the doctrine of de
spair. An old man laid his hand up
on the shoulder of an aspiring youth
and said; “Young man you were born
at an unfortunate time. We have
solved all the problems and settled all
the great questions so there is noth
ing left for you to accomplish.” The
old man was in his dotage, his eyes
were toward the past. Let none
think that his generation has seen the
consummation of the race’s glory. The
achievements of every tomorrow will
be greater than the dreams of today.
4. The Passion of The Prophet.
This optimistic spirit is close kin
to the phophet’s faith, and he who
would inspire others to worthy en
deavor must feel the prophet’s pas
sion. The elements of this passion
are an abiding faith in the eternal
goodness of God and an enthusiasm
for humanity.
Illustrious men have not all been
pious, but fame for its own sake is
not worth the winning. It is only
the renown that is gained by unselfish
service, inspired by a great devotion,
that is immortal and glorious. That
life comes nearest to the truth that
comes nearest to the source of truth.
The mysteries of nature and the mir
acles of science can only be rightly
interpreted in terms of God. How
ever exalted the intellectual height
upon which a man may stand, his
vision is circumscribed unless the
veil of the material has been lifted
from his eyes, and however ambitious
one may be to render a larger service
to mankind, the largest service
is not possible unless his own soul
has been touched with the divine pas-
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sion. There is but one angle from
which the problems of human life
can be viewed with any hope of see
ing their solution and that is the an
gle of faith; there is but one position
from which efficient service can be
offered to the world’s need and that
is the point of sympathy.
Carlyle said of John Ruskin: “He
is the seer that guides his genera
time exerted a wider influence upon
tion.” To be sure few men of his
the anglo-saxon world than did Rus
kin. But his fame and influence did
not rest upon his skill as an art crit
ic nor his charm as a prose writer.
In these he excelled and was admired,
but it was his self-denying service
to his fellowman, and his unceasing
emphasis upon individual worth, that
won him his place in the world’s
heart. And so every man who aspires
to be a guide to his generation must
have the enthusiasm of a great sym
pathy and the power of a great pur
pose.
A discerning woman remarked of a
certain young man: “He has no
ideals.” He had refinement and cul
ture, he had taste and imagination,
he had talent and intellect but no
ideals. Henry Drummond said: “If
you should question the first- dozen
men you met you would be astonished
to find how few have any definite pur
pose in life.” But it is the one here
and there, whose life is impelled by
the power of a great purpose, that
attains to the heights where great
men dwell. This is the man the
world needs today, and to whom the
task of the world is calling.
There is a saying that one of three
motives moves every man to toil, viz.:
love of money, love of fame or love
of truth. There is a possible philan
thropic end for each, but th elast is by
far the noblest. The tendency to
avarice is so subtle and strong in
the human heart that the desire for
money getting too often degenerates
into a base lucre-lust. Money may
be a beneficent servant but it un
doubtedly is a degrading master, and
(Continued on Page 15.)
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