At Hildringen, where the potato is still cultivated with success, and barley ripens every four or five years, begins the province of Nordland, which extends from 65° to 69° 30´ N. lat. The mostly uninhabited isles along the coast are called “Holme,” when rising like steep rocks out of the water, and “Väre” when flat and but little elevated above the level of the sea. The latter are the breeding-places of numberless sea-fowls, whose eggs yield a welcome harvest to the inhabitants of the neighboring mainland or of the larger islands. A well-stocked egg-vär is a valuable addition to a farm, and descends from father to son, along with the pasture-grounds and the herds of the paternal land. When the proprietor comes to plunder the nests, the birds remain quiet, for they know by experience that only the superfluous eggs are to be removed. But not unfrequently strangers land, and leave not a single egg behind. Then all the birds, several thousands at once, rise from their nests and fill the air with their doleful cries. If such disasters occur repeatedly they lose courage, and, abandoning the scene of their misfortunes, retire to another vär. Most of these birds are sea-gulls (_Maasfugl_, or _Maage_), their eggs are large, and of a not disagreeable taste. The island of Lovunnen is the favorite breeding-place of the puffin, which is highly esteemed on account of its feathers. This silly bird is very easily caught. The fowler lets down an iron hook, or sends a dog trained on purpose into the narrow clefts or holes of the rock, where the puffins sit crowded together. The first bird being pulled out, the next one bites and lays hold of his tail, and thus in succession, till the whole family, clinging together like a chain, is dragged to light. This rocky coast is also much frequented by the sea-eagle, who is very much feared over the whole province, as he not only carries away lambs and other small animals, but even assails and not seldom overpowers the Norwegian oxen. His mode of attack is so singular that if Von Buch had not heard it so positively and so circumstantially related in various places, situated at great distances from each other, he would willingly have doubted its truth. The eagle darts down into the waves, and then rolls about with his wet plumage on the beach until his wings are quite covered with sand. Then he once more rises into the air and hovers over his intended victim. Swooping down close to him, he claps his wings, flings the sand into the eyes of the unfortunate brute, and thoroughly scares it by repeated blows of his pinions. The blinded ox rushes away to avoid the eagle’s attacks, until he is completely exhausted or tumbles down some precipitous cliff. The sea-coast from Alsten to Rodoë, which is crossed by the Arctic Circle, is particularly rich in herrings, as it furnishes more than one-half of the fish exported to Bergen.