t, close upon the Russian
frontier, as late as the end of May, he got out of his boat upon the
ice, and drove three or four miles over the frozen sea, to reach his
destination.

The little fort of Vardohuus, on an island at the northern entrance of
the fjord, is not a recent defence, meant to check Russian plans in this
quarter. It was established by Christian IV. nearly two and a half
centuries ago. The king himself made a voyage hither, and no doubt at
that time foresaw the necessity of establishing, by military occupation,
the claims of Denmark to this part of the coast. The little fortress has
actually done this service; and though a single frigate might easily
batter it to pieces, its existence has kept Russia from the ownership of
the Varanger Fjord and the creation (as is diplomatically supposed,) of
an immense naval station, which, though within the Arctic waters, would
at all times of the year be ready for service. It is well known that
Russia has endeavoured to obtain possession of the northern side of the
fjord, as well as of the Lyngen Fjord, near Tromsoe, towards which her
Lapland territory stretches out a long arm. England is particularly
suspicious of these attempts, and the treaty recently concluded between
the Allied Powers and Sweden had a special reference thereto. The
importance of such an acquisition to Russia is too obvious to be pointed
out, and the jealous watchfulness of England is, therefore, easy to
understand. But it is a singular thing that the conflicting forces of
Europe find a fulcrum on a little corner of this dead, desolate,
God-forsaken shore.

About ten o'clock we reached Vadso, the limit of the steamer's route.
Here we had intended taking a boat, continuing our voyage to Nyborg, at
the head of the fjord, crossing thence to the Tana, and descending that
river in season to meet the steamer in the Tana Fjord on her return. We
were behind time, however, and the wind was light; the people informed
us that we could scarcely carry out the project; so we reluctantly gave
it up, and went ashore to spend the day. Vadso is a town of about 800
inhabitants, with a secure though shallow harbour, which was crowded
with fishing vessels and Russian traders from the White Sea. It lies on
the bleak hill-side, without a tree or bush, or a patch of grass large
enough to be seen without close inspection, and its only summer perfume
is that of dried fish. I saw in gardens attached to one or two houses a