elting into sunset without a noon--a long morning twilight,
a low, slant sun, shining on the housetops for an hour or so, and the
evening twilight at three in the afternoon. Nothing seemed real in this
strange, dying light--nothing but my ignorance of Swedish, whenever I
tried to talk.

In the afternoon, we called on the Magister Hartman, whom we found
poring over his plants. He spoke English tolerably, and having made a
journey through Lapland from Tornea to the Lyngen Fjord, was able to
give us some information about the country. He encouraged us in the
belief that we should find the journey more rapid and easy in winter
than in summer. He said the Swedes feared the North and few of them
ever made a winter journey thither, but nothing could stop the Americans
and the English from going anywhere. He also comforted us with the
assurance that we should find snow only six Swedish (forty English)
miles further north. Lat. 60 deg. 35' N., the 17th of December, and no snow
yet! In the streets, we met an organ-grinder playing the Marseillaise.
There was no mistaking the jet-black hair, the golden complexion and the
brilliant eyes of the player, "_Siete Italiano?_" I asked. "_Sicuro!_"
he answered, joyously: "_e lei anche?_" "Ah," he said, in answer to my
questions, "_io non amo questo paese_; _e freddo ed oscuro_; _non si
gagna niente_--_ma in Italia si vive_." My friend Ziegler had already
assured me: "One should see the North, but not _after_ the South." Well,
we shall see; but I confess that twenty degrees below zero would have
chilled me less than the sight of that Italian.

We were at the inn punctually at six in the morning, but our horses were
not ready. The _hallkarl_, or ostler, after hearing my remonstrances,
went on splitting wood, and, as I did not know enough of Swedish to
scold with any profit, I was obliged to remain wrathful and silent. He
insisted on my writing something (I could not understand what) in the
post-book, so I copied the affidavit of a preceding traveller and signed
my name to it, which seemed to answer the purpose. After more than half
an hour, two rough two-wheeled carts were gotten ready, and the farmers
to whom they belonged, packed themselves and our luggage into one,
leaving us to drive the other. We mounted, rolled ourselves in our furs,
thrust our feet into the hay, and rattled out of Gefle in the frosty
moonlight. Such was our first experience of travelling by _skjuts_.

The road went