STAGE TRAVELLING. 225 
March 26th.—I am again on the road, this 
time bound to Grass Valley. A clumsy railway 
with cars, or carriages, like the yellow caravans 
giants, dwarfs, and wise pigs travel in, bumps 
me out to Fulsome, about thirty miles off. Here 
I am hustled into a stage, without a chance of 
seeing anything but mud, in which the horses 
are standing knee-deep. ; 
This stage is different from any I have seen; 
loops, straps, and other contrivances, clearly 
meant to hold on by, evidence an inequality of 
motion and tendency to upset that give rise to 
disagreeable forebodings. Constructed to hold 
nine inside, the centre seat swings like a bale 
dividing horses in a stable, and being somewhat 
rounded and padded, looks very like it. Five 
passengers seat themselves. I have hardly time 
to look at them, when a loud cracking of whips, 
several voices yelling ‘Hi! git up!’ ‘Hi! git 
along!’ and a sudden jerk sends me upon the bale 
a general splash and scramble—and we are off! 
We do the first ten miles with a bearable 
amount of jolting, and stop to change horses. The 
five insiders get out, and we take a nip at the 
roadside house, or what would be such if there 
were any roads. I observe four most perverse, 
obstinate, wild-looking horses being cautiously 
VOL. I. Q 
