As for Norwegian roads, they are among the finest in the world. The majority of them are flanked with telegraph-poles; for not only are these routes magnificent specimens of man's triumph over nature, but the lightning also is controlled here, and, swift as light, thought wings its way upon a metal wire through this inland waste,—a marvel always wonderful and ever new. Nature has given to these scenes the trees and rocks which yield to nothing but the wintry blasts. Man has suspended here a thread of steel, which thrills responsive to the thoughts of thousands, transmitting through the gloomiest gorges the messages of love, hope, exultation, or despair. Hence one can never feel completely isolated here. That little wire enables him at any point to vanquish space, and by placing, as it were, a finger on the pulse of life, to feel the heart-beats of the world.
In 1888, two American gentlemen were traveling in Norway, one of whom grew depressed at his apparent isolation from humanity. His comrade, to astonish and console him, telegraphed from one of the post-houses where they had stopped for dinner, to the American consul at Christiania. The message which he sent was this:
"Who was the Democratic nominee for President yesterday in Chicago?"
Before the meal was finished, the answer had arrived:
"Grover Cleveland."
APPARENT ISOLATION.
