across deep valleys, down
which we had occasional glimpses of the blue fjord and its rocky
islands. The grass and grain were a rich, dark green, sweeping into a
velvety blue in the distance, and against this deep ground, the bright
red of the houses showed with strong effect--a contrast which was
subdued and harmonised by the still darker masses of the evergreen
forests, covering the mountain ranges. At the end of twelve or thirteen
miles we reached the first post-station, at the foot of the mountains
which bound the inland prospect from Christiania on the west. As it was
not a "_fast_" station, we were subject to the possibility of waiting
two or three hours for horses, but fortunately were accosted on the road
by one of the farmers who supply the _skyds_, and changed at his house.
The Norwegian _skyds_ differs from the Swedish _skjuts_ in having horses
ready only at the fast stations, which are comparatively few, while at
all others you must wait from one to three hours, according to the
distance from which the horses must be brought. In Sweden there are
always from two to four horses ready, and you are only obliged to wait
after these are exhausted. There, also, the regulations are better, and
likewise more strictly enforced. It is, at best, an awkward mode of
travelling--very pleasant, when everything goes rightly, but very
annoying when otherwise.

We now commenced climbing the mountain by a series of terribly steep
ascents, every opening in the woods disclosing a wider and grander view
backward over the lovely Christiania Fjord and the intermediate valleys.
Beyond the crest we came upon a wild mountain plateau, a thousand feet
above the sea, and entirely covered with forests of spruce and fir. It
was a black and dismal region, under the lowering sky: not a house or a
grain field to be seen, and thus we drove for more than two hours, to
the solitary inn of Krogkleven, where we stopped for the night in order
to visit the celebrated King's View in the morning. We got a tolerable
supper and good beds, sent off a messenger to the station of Sundvolden,
at the foot of the mountain, to order horses for us, and set out soon
after sunrise, piloted by the landlord's son, Olaf. Half an hour's walk
through the forest brought us to a pile of rocks on the crest of the
mountain, which fell away abruptly to the westward. At our feet lay the
Tyri Fjord, with its deeply indented shores and its irregular, scattered
islands, shining