."

Now, was there ever such a vehicle for a full-grown man to travel in?
A little thing, with a body like the end of a canoe, perched up on two
long shafts, with a pair of wheels in the rear; no springs, and only a
few straps of leather for a harness; a board behind for the
skydskaarl, or post-boy, to sit upon; and a horse not bigger than a
large mountain goat to drag me over the road! It was positively
absurd. After enjoying the spectacle for a moment, and making a
hurried sketch of it, wondering what manner of man had first contrived
such a vehicle, I bounced in, and stretched my legs out on each side,
bracing my feet against a pair of iron catches, made expressly for
that purpose. Fortunately, I am a capital driver. If nature ever
intended me for any one profession above all others, it must have been
for a stage-driver. I have driven buggies, wagons, and carts in
California hundreds of miles, and never yet killed any body. Like the
Irishman, I can drive within two inches of a precipice without going
over. Usually, however, I let the horse take his own way, which, after
all, is the grand secret of skillful driving.

My baggage consisted of a knapsack containing two shirts and an extra
pair of stockings, a sketch-book and some pencils, and such other
trifling knick-knacks as a tourist usually requires in this country. I
carried no more outside clothing than what common decency required: a
rough hunting-coat, a pair of stout cloth pantaloons, and an old pair
of boots--which is as much as any traveler needs on a Norwegian tour,
though it is highly recommended by an English writer that every
traveler should provide himself with two suits of clothes, a
Mackintosh, a portable desk, an India-rubber pillow, a few blankets,
an opera-glass, a musquito-net, a thermometer, some dried beef, and a
dozen boxes of sardines, besides a stock of white bread, and two
bottles of English pickles.

CHAPTER XXX.

A NORWEGIAN GIRL.

With a crack of the whip that must have astonished the landlord, and
caused him some misgivings for the fate of his horse and cariole, I
took my departure from Lillehammer. About half a mile beyond the town
we (the skydskaarl, myself, horse, and cariole) passed the falls--a
roaring torrent of water tumbling down from the mountain side on the
right. Several extensive saw-mills are located at this point. The
piles of lumber outside, and the familiar sounds of the saws and
wheels, reminded me of home.