bridge and Stewart, were now inseparably associated with that of the ship, as indeed might it almost be said was that of Hoffman, who served in her throughout the war of 1812, with the exception of the short time he was in command of the Cyane, one of her prizes.

The remainder of the career of the Constitution, down to the present time, is not without its interest, though necessarily less brilliant than her services in a time of war. As she arrived so late in the

season, she was not employed in the squadron that went against the Algerines, but was put out of commission. The good old ship, indeed, was now in want of a thorough repair. Her upper works had proved so rotten of late, that it was remarked when a shot went through them, it did not make splinters, an advantage in one respect certainly, but a very serious defect in all others.

From May 1815, until

1821, Old

Ironsides lay at her native place, Boston,

during which time she was thoroughly overhauled, and prepared for sea. Jacob Jones then hoisted a broad pennant in her, and took her to her old cruising ground, the Mediterranean. Nothing occurred worth recording on this occasion, with the exception of one somewhat painful event. One dark night, while she was in or near the Gut of Gibraltar, her officers below heard something brushing against her side, thumping along from gun to gun, as if she touched something in the line of her ports. Running on deck, it was ascertained that the old craft had rubbed somewhat hard against a small brig, which had not been seen until it was too late to avoid her. The brig was English, and, as it turned out, sunk almost immediately, her crew being saved by a vessel astern. This is almost the only serious accident that ever happened to the honest old craft, and this was serious to another, and not to herself.

VIGOROUSLY Herr Ostrom plied the

whip as we approached the town of Haparanda, and a great clatter the little Swedish horses made as they galloped over the ill-paved streets. The rumbling carriage rattled worse than ever, and the worthy burgher produced the desired effect of bringing every body to door and window, and causing open-mouthed wonder in the simple peasants. The carriage and its occupants excited so much attention that I followed almost unnoticed in the jingling "triller."

Herr Ostrom was a burgher of Stockholm, who, for love of filthy lucre, had demeaned himself so far as to become our courier and interpreter, with an express stipulation, however, that he was "not to be treated as a servant." Three days before, we had landed from the Stockholm steamer at Umeä, a village about half way up the Gulf of Bothnia, where we had taken post-horses and hurried, with all attainable speed, northward.

Well might we hasten, for we were chasing the Sun. We had learned that on the 21st of June, from Avesaxa, a mountain forty miles north of Forneä, we might behold the god of day taking unto himself supreme rule, and ousting night altogether; in other words, that the sun would remain the whole twenty-four hours above the horizon. We were three days behind time, but hoped still to catch a glimpse of the "midnight sun.'

Our progress had necessarily been slow, for posting in Sweden is conducted on decidedly different principles from that in central Europe. Certain farm-houses on the road are designated as post-stations, and the neighboring peasants take turns in supplying travellers with horses. We drive up to a post-house, and if it happens to be a "fast station," that is, one where the postmaster is bound to have horses always in readiness, we may hope to get off in an hour, that being the time allowed him to produce his animals. The readiness consists in having the horses pastured in some neighboring field, and on our arrival three or four bareheaded boys and girls set off with most encouraging haste, in different directions, to catch them. But be not too sanguine, my travelling companions, perhaps we are doomed to see the horses that, to do them justice, however lazy in harness, always exhibit amazing activity when at large, chased from field to field, at last cornered, dodging their pursuers, and with contemptuous elevation of heels, dashing off again at full speed. Whilst impatiently watching

these manoeuvres, we are fortunate if the approaching tinkling of bells (they bell their horses as we do cows), announces the successful capture of some other herd, which, with much shouting, is triumphantly driven into the yard. The required number is selected, harnessed with much letting out and taking up of straps (for travellers provide their own harness), the postillion, a peasant boy, or girl, the representative of the owner of one or more of the animals, mounts on the box beside Ostrom, and he sets off, while I drive the triller, a rude buggy, and we strive to get something more than the regulation speed, four English miles an hour, out of the clumsy brutes. They are all dun-colored ponies, with a black stripe down the back, and mane and tail enough to provide half a score of civilized horses.

As we go northward the ponies are smaller, shaggier and lighter colored; the cows, too, that we see browsing by the way-side, are very small, hornless, and pure white in color. The trees are stunted, and we traverse vast forests of dwarf pines. There is no night now. The sun pours down upon us for twenty-two hours in the day, scorching us with his oblique rays during the many hours that he but just hovers above the horizon. When he sinks behind the hills, lingeringly, as if dreading to lose sight of us, there is a clear, bright twilight. The peasants are stirring at all hours, for they take but little rest in midsummer, literally "making hay while the sun shines," and postponing sleep till the long winter nights.

We go on, stopping but twice a day to snatch a meal of "lax stake" (broiled salmon) and black Swedish bread. The worthy burgher gets wearied with sleeplessness, and the toil of urging forward lagging horses. As soon as we reach a post-house, he calls for a glass of brandy and a cup of coffee, and throwing himself on the floor, falls fast asleep. I pay for the horses, hasten the harnessing of fresh ones, and then wake him with difficulty.

Thus we hurry northward, now plunged in dreary forests, then mounting hills whence we behold the island-studded sea and the lake-dotted valleys, or crossing noble rivers, whose deep dark waters flow so gently as hardly to swerve the rude ferry-boats from their course, till we reach Haparanda. We are on the northern shore of the Gulf. We send on a "forbûd,” or avant-courier, to order horses, and stop to dine luxuriously on beef-steak. What a God-send is meat! We have been, perforce, rigid Grahamites, since leaving the

steamer, always excepting the article of fish, which is only too plenty; and we find the peasant's diet of sour milk and black biscuit, rather weakening than otherwise.

We engage an interpreter here, for we shall find only Finlanders north of this, and our communications with the natives must hereafter first be framed in French for Ostrom, by him translated into Swedish to Eric, and by Eric into the Finnish tongue.

We proceed along the shores of the Fornea river, all of us travel-wearied. We get on slowly, and at last, giving up all hopes of reaching Mount Avesaxa tonight, fix our hopes, instead, on a nearer mountain. Twelve o'clock approaches, and we fear we shall not even reach this. The lower edge of the sun touches the horizon. Watching him anxiously, we find he does not descend. "He will not

set," cries F.; "we shall see the midnight sun." We stop the horses, and in profound silence fix our eyes on the great luminary. Now we perceive he moves, but not downwards. A blood-red ball of fire, he seems to roll along the horizon. Majestically he rolls, till an intervening mountain threatens to hide him from our sight; but no, a full third of his disc shines bright upon us. He keeps on from West

to East. All nature is hushed as if in awe. The heavens are cloudless, save a few light cirri, that float a few degrees above the sun. In the north the sky is colored yellow, clear and brilliant, as in a winter's sunset.

It is twelve o'clock. The sun rests on the North Pole. We hold our breaths. Still he moves toward the east, rising almost imperceptibly. A bird in the pinewood bursts into a flood of song. The sun detaches himself from the horizon, and slowly rises into the open heaven. We pluck a flower cherished by his midnight heat. We look around on the lonely landscape. The trees are few, and so low that they seem but shrubs. The frequent hills are destitute of vegetation, and the broad Forneä river winds his way among them. We mark the prospect well, for this is an era in our lives.

We drive on along the banks of the noble river, till at two o'clock we reach the little village of Matarengi. There is no road north of this. If we wish to pursue our journey, it must be in boats. But we are too fatigued to moralize upon this, the end of civilization, the "jumping-off place," and I gladly throw myself into one of the little coffin-like boxes, which the Fins use for beds, and close my eyes in sleep. O wise Sancho Panza! to invoke a blessing on "the man that invented VOL. I.- -39

sleep!" For seventy-two hours, sleepless, with little and poor food, had I been urging forward lagging horses under the burning midsummer sun. My face, blistered with heat, felt on fire; my lips were parched and bleeding; my inflamed and haitclosed eyelids could not protect my eyes from the glare. How gladly I closed them in forgetfulness!

At one o'clock the next day (Sunday). I awoke. The yard was half full of Fins, who loitered about the inn, after having examined our carriages with the greatest curiosity. They looked upon us as wonders. While I was dressing, a group collected about my door, eagerly staring in when it was opened by the "Jungfer," who was arranging breakfast, and frequently pushing it ajar themselves for greater convenience of observation. They are large, athletic people, active and energetic. The men wear queer leather caps, coarse homespun clothes, and boots turned up at the toes, and constantly smoke bad tobacco in wooden pipes.

Late in the afternoon we set out up the river in two boats, each propelled by three men. Herr Bergstrom, the Swedish tax-collector, and the only civilized man in the neighborhood, kindly accompanied us. The boats are built very light, low in the centre, and high in the bows, and are pushed up the swift stream by "poling" along the shore. The Torneä is wide and rapid, studded with large islands. The banks are rather high, and covered with bright green grass, for here, though the summer is so short, vegetation is very luxuriant while it lasts.

We passed many salmon fisheries. The fences of poles, stretched across the stream, pushed by the current, and recoiling by their own elasticity, make a low murmuring, as if complaining of being removed from their element.

Our men stopped to rest at the dairy belonging to the postmaster. They gathered around a huge bowl of sour milk, each armed with a spoon, and soon dispatched their frugal meal.

Sour milk, hard rye cake, and fish, are. in summer, the only food of these sturdy peasants. The little white cows were assembled in a stable, from which the gnats were driven off by the smoke of a peat fire before the door. They were tended by two strapping, rosy-cheeked lasses, and every thing, from stable to dairy, was neat and clean as possible.

Our next stoppage was at the falls in the river, where we left one boat, and while the men drew the other up along the bank, we walked through the woods. Swarms of musquitoes and gnats attacked us, and, spite of handkerchiefs over our

heads, and waving pine branches, bit us furiously. We walked two miles through marshy grounds, covered with a profusion of the Linnea borealis," and other beautiful wild flowers, of kinds unknown to us, and reached a log house, in a narrow clearing. A pair of reindeer horns were nailed over the door. A barrel was sunk in the ground to collect the water from a spring. Every thing looked like our own "back woods." "This house was built, and this clearing made, but five years since," said Herr Bergstrom, "they are pushing cultivation northward." "Northward" it was indeed; north of 67° 30. We were within the Arctic circle! In no other country in the world, except Norway, can cultivation be carried on even many degrees south of this; and here we were surrounded by a forest of green trees, and treading on green grass and lovely flowers.

Taking boats again, we ascended the river till the sun sank very low, when we landed, and scrambled up the high bank to a fine point of view. We saw some wondering peasants regarding us attentively from the door of their hut.

It must have been a strange apparition to these poor Fins, to see a party of civilized beings start up on their premises at midnight, without any apparent means of getting there.

But our attention was soon fixed on the Sun, whose lower limb grazed the horizon. Now, again a huge fiery ball, he rolled on the mountain tops this time not dipping behind them. His edge touched a distant solitary pine, then showed the bare branches in dark relief against his red disc, then appeared severed by its scathed trunk, kept onward and left it behind him without rising or sinking a second. Thus swift and far he passed in right ascension, and not until some minutes past twelve did he alter his declination, and shaking off his contact with the Earth, seek again the zenith.

"Poling" on to Sortola, which consists of a few scattered huts on the Russian side of the stream, we landed and roused the inmates of a cottage.

The old woman made her appearance in the economical female costume of the country which saves all trouble with the toilet, namely, the under garment in which she had slept and a black skirt of the thick heavy material which they themselves weave, secured by a cord about the waist.

She conducted the boatmen to the kitchen, and us to a spare house (each room is a separate house and the meanest dwellings consist of several), and served them with sour milk and us with coffee. Herr Bergstrom drew off his wet boots and I ob

served that they, as well as his stockings, were stuffed with hay. This is the universal practice here, and the Laplanders even stuff all their clothes in this manner, as it keeps them from touching the skin and impairing the circulation in cold weather.

After an hour's rest we took our leave (the good people demanding but a "rix gelt dollar," sixteen cents, for all their trouble), and, re-embarking steered into the centre of the stream and rowed swiftly downwards. We had fishing tackle, long lines with large hooks having on the shank a piece of bright tin and a bit of red worsted. This was so made that as it towed far behind the boat it "shimmered" in the water looking not unlike a minnow. Three large fish were caught with this bait during the descent. Our progress was rapid and we soon reached the head of the cataract. Herr B. asked if I would descend the falls with him. I could hardly believe he would attempt such a thing, but, finding him serious and that it was not unusual, I assented. A man was obtained who makes it his business to steer boats down the falls (for it would be certain destruction to attempt it without an experienced pilot), and with two rowers we set off.

The rowers pulled lustily to give steerage way to the boat; the grizzly old steersman, his long, white hair streaming in the wind seized firmly his broad paddle; the men talked and joked in the uncouth Finnish tongue; the rapid stream hurried us along; while I sat quietly wondering, like the sailor when the ship was struck by lightning, "what the devil is coming next." Soon the roar of the cataract drowned all other sounds; the water was here a surging mass of foam, there showed through its yellow waves the rocks with which it warred. The boat shot down the first steep descent like lightning, then rocked and rose and felt like a ship in a stormy sea, then was struck by a high wave and trembled with the shock, then leaped downwards as if to plunge beneath the stream and dash the foam of the next wave far and near from her high prow. Still rushing down the torrent, the thunder of the billows in front directed our attention to a huge rock, the waters hurling themselves against it, and mounting over its very top. The pilot gave the craft a sheer, and, before we knew how or why, we had left it far behind. The water was splashing into the skiff as we took an oblique course. All was noise and confusion around us; the waters bellowed and the shores seemed hurrying away. Another roar warned us of another rock. The boat reared like an impatient

charger, plunged downward and again shot by, giving us hardly time to glance at it as we passed. She leaped over the last wave, sped through the swift rapid below the fall and safely grounded on the shore.

It was a most exciting passage, and I had plenty of leisure to meditate upon it while the men were bailing out the halffilled boat, and the rest of the party were accomplishing their slow overland pas

sage.

We rowed down stream to a salmon fishery and sent a boatman ashore to waken the fishermen.

With a loud halloo six young men and three girls rushed out helter-skelter from the rude hut, donning their clothes as they ran, and sprang, shouting and laughing, into their boats. The foremost girl, a strapping, red-haired maiden, seized the oars of the first boat, into which three men had sprung, and pulled it into the stream before the others had tumbled into their boats. A fence of upright poles driven into the bottom like stakes, stretches entirely across the river with a square inclosure fenced off at the centre. This has openings at the sides, which the salmon enter on finding their progress up the river stopped at every other point, but discover too late that they are in a cul de sac, and wander about seeking the exit.

The boats, propelled at such speed as to throw jet at stem and leave foam astern, entered the inclosure, and the rowers dropping their oars and pulling the boats along by the fence payed out the nets along the four sides. Then, all three boat's crews seized the upper net, one at the centre and one at each end, and pulled it downwards, one person in each boat constantly darting a pole into the water and catching it again as it rose, to frighten the fish and prevent their springing over the top of the net. They soon brought the upper net side by side with the lower one, and then, still thrashing the water with the pole to keep the poor fish frightened and bewildered, haul up the two nets together with three huge salmon entangled in the meshes. These were killed by blows of a club on the head to prevent their jumping out of the boat. Again with great shouting the fishers dashed around the inclosure, the men pulling while the half wild girls threw overboard the nets as fast as their arms could move. They drew them down, pulled them in, took this time but one fish, laid on their oars a moment to look at us, and then calling to one another they darted off again across the stream. Such powerful energetic GIRLS I never saw before, and indeed the whole people, in activity and

alertness, contrast agreeably with the lazy, stolid peasants of Germany.

We reached Matarengi at ten o'clock, and retired to sleep during the noon-day heat.

Toward six I rose and set off with the Burgher to visit Herr Bergstrom. He has a pleasant place on the river, and three or four little red houses built in a quadrangle after the Swedish fashion. His wife came in to welcome us and brought a bottle of punch, which we drank with many bows and flourishes, the host always insisting on our emptying our cups at one draught, then refilling and clinking glasses. The room was plainly furnished, but, of course, scrupulously neat. There was the usual rack in the corner for pipes. Among these was a pipe bowl of great size made of a knot of a wood resembling maple. It was a hundred years old, and had last belonged to the "Papa" or Parish clergy

man.

With Mrs. B. and her son, "Johann Eric," a little boy four years old, we set off in boats for an excursion to Mount Avesaxa. It was a calm, delightful evening, the river smooth as glass, and that light haze spread over the country which improves the view as a veil of gauze heightens the charms of beauty. It produced the same quiet, languid sense of pleasure that I had often felt beneath an Italian sky, and yet no land can be more different from Italy than this. We wound about among large thickly-wooded islands and along hilly but not precipitous shores to the foot of Avesaxa.

The moment we landed and commenced the ascent all languidness was put to flight by swarms of musquitoes who wage incessant war on all invaders of their haunts, and we were soon brushing away like madcaps with handkerchiefs and pine branches. The ascent was in some places steep and rocky, but the mountain was not high, and even the gosso (Anglice "small boy ") got up without much fatigue.

A barrel elevated on a pole marked the summit. It was here that some scientific measurements, having reference to the form of the Earth, were made by Maupertuis and other French astronomers in 1736.

The top of the mountain was destitute of vegetation like every hilltop in that latitude, and the surrounding elevations were so low that Avesaxa, though by no means a high mountain, overtopped them all.

On one side flowed the broad Torneä much resembling the Connecticut. Far to the north, within the Arctic circle, rose pyramidal mountains, behind which the Sun, now low down, seemed about to sink. On the eastern and precipitous side was a pretty lake with an outlet encircling