had a charming ride the next day
among the hills and along the inlets of the Gulf. The same bold,
picturesque scenery, which had appeared so dark and forbidding to us on
our way north, now, under the spring-like sky, cheered and inspired us.
At the station of Docksta, we found the peasant girls scrubbing the
outer steps, barefooted. At night, we occupied our old quarters at Weda,
on the Angermann river. The next morning the temperature was 25 deg. above
zero, and at noon rose to 39 deg.. It was delightful to travel once more
with cap-lappets turned up, fur collar turned down, face and neck free,
and hands bare. On our second stage we had an overgrown, insolent boy
for postillion, who persisted in driving slow, and refused to let us
pass him. He finally became impertinent, whereupon Braisted ran forward
and turned his horse out of the road, so that I could drive past. The
boy then seized my horse by the head; B. pitched him into a snow-bank,
and we took the lead. We had not gone far before we took the road to
Hernosand, through mistake, and afterwards kept it through spite, thus
adding about seven miles to our day's journey. A stretch of magnificent
dark-green forests brought us to a narrow strait which separates the
island of Hernosand from the main land. The ice was already softening,
and the upper layer repeatedly broke through under us.

Hernosand is a pretty town, of about 2000 inhabitants, with a
considerable commerce. It is also the capital of the most northern
bishopric of Sweden. The church, on an eminence above the town, is, next
to that of Skelleftea, the finest we saw in the north. We took a walk
while breakfast was preparing, and in the space of twenty minutes saw
all there was to be seen. By leaving the regular road, however, we had
incurred a delay of two hours, which did not add to our amiability.
Therefore, when the postillion, furiously angry now as well as insolent,
came in to threaten us with legal prosecution in case we did not pay him
heavy damages for what he called an assault, I cut the discussion short
by driving him out of the room, and that was the last we saw of him. We
reached Fjal as the moon rose,--a globe of silver fire in a perfect
violet sky. Two merry boys, who sang and shouted the whole way, drove
us like the wind around the hay to Wifsta. The moonlight was as bright
as the Arctic noonday, and the snowy landscape flashed and glittered
under its resplendent shower. From the last hill we