THE JOURNEY UP. 53 



a more careful or better class of drivers than these 

 lads. They have a curious fashion up here — no 

 whips, but the reins about six feet longer than 

 is necessary. This answers all the purpose of a 

 whip ; and that horse must indeed be a slug who 

 won't spring when he feels this drawn across his 

 quarters. The next day was Sunday. The sun 

 rose bright and clear ; the country became pret- 

 tier; and as we neared Sunnana the splendid 

 white church of Skelleftea— which place lies on 

 the other side of the river— burst suddenly upon 

 our view. The fine, deep-toned bell was tolling 

 for church ; groups of well-dressed peasants were 

 standing round the door, and all at once thoughts 

 of youth and home flashed across my mind, and I 

 could hardly suppress a sigh as I thought in how 

 far different a manner, and among what far different 

 scenes, the quiet Sabbath morning of twenty years 

 ago was spent. We breakfasted at Sunnana on 

 reindeer flesh, reindeer cheese, and a bottle of real 

 Burton ale. I crossed the river to Skelleftea, to 

 call upon an old naturalist friend in that town. It 

 was nearly half an English mile across, and, seeing 

 a large crack in the ice, I had the curiosity to 

 measure its thickness. My stick showed four feet 

 and I did not touch water, for the crack did not go 

 quite through the ice ; and this was on the 5th of 

 April, when, I suppose, at home they were gather- 



