xx Norway

The world then, strains fascinating lands beckoneth, with us revel in our exotic splendors. Come with us as we head for ports of coal.

Go to the Northland. Go to the land of Leep Erikson and his crew, of Harold the Parehair, of all of Crik person and many of I King and Rude Armoured Rest.

Let's go to Norway, her fjords and forests, her scalds and sagas, her mountains, her midnight sun, her flashing boriolas. Norway, our port of calm. It is to Oslo, splendid modern capital of Norway that our steamer has brought us.

First in commerce, as in population among Norwegian cities, Oslo lies at the head of a picturesque pjord, reaching inward some 50 miles and dotted with innumerable small islands. For many years Oslo was called Christianity, in honor of the Danish king, who rebuilt the original city after the inhabitants had bred it, with edits being taken by the Swedes.

The lettuce paws and peruse those ancient Bellum pages, inscribed by Snorae Storlson, a great Icelandic historian of the 12th century, who collected these heroic tales, passed on for generations by the scalds or bards of the Northland, and saved for all posterity in in the words of Stollason himself.

Now it came to pass in the eighth century that King Harold ruled over a part of Norway. And Harold sought the hand of the Lady Geeva of Hautilam, and sent his heralds and messengers across the waters.

Three ships have landed, and messengers are at the door, craving on it with you Lady Geeva. Whenst do they come? From Norway they have said, It's the men to the hogs. Fill the hogs with mead and let venison be brought.