52 A SPRING AND SUMMER IN LAPLAND. 



to thaw under the water, and in patches, so that, 

 although it appears perfectly safe to the eye, a 

 sledge may pop through without any previous 

 warning ; and then, where are you ? I care 

 nothing for open water ; but I have a great fear of 

 being taken under the ice. I think no journey 

 can be so dreary as over a frozen lake — perhaps 

 six English miles— the monotony of the view only 

 broken by the fir branches, which are stuck up on 

 each side to mark the line of road. Many lives are 

 yearly lost in the north, just when the ice is break- 

 ing up ; and the recklessness of these peasants at 

 this time is past belief. At midnight we reached 

 &> little village called Deckneboda, where we got 

 capital night-quarters, and our whole expenses not 

 more than 2s. When we left at five next morning 

 we found that it had frozen hard in the night, 

 and the snow carried well. Bad horses, however, 

 throughout the whole day; the country flat and 

 ugly ; and I was not sorry when at night we pulled 

 up at a little village called Burea, after having 

 done our fifty English miles. The cold was 

 intense, and I quite envied the hardihood of the 

 little peasant lads who drove us. They had no 

 fur cloaks or comforters — sometimes no gloves — 

 and yet they were merry and cheerful, and their 

 little cheeks looked as rosy as apples. Bad as 

 the conveyances may be, it would be hard to find 



