190 A SPRING AND SUMMER IN LAPLAND. 



I roused up one of the youngest of tlie foresters, 

 and we started out for the other ctiarr lake that 

 lay near to the cottage, to fish by moonlight. I 

 had a line and hooks with me ; we made a fairish 

 rod out of a long sapling, and in about half an 

 hour were seated on a rock by the lake enjoying 

 the pure night air, now rendered doubly refreshing 

 by the contrast with the heated atmosphere we 

 had just quitted. I do not care where I sleep, or 

 how hard my bed is, if I have but air. A bivouac 

 in the forest, if the night is only clear, suits me 

 quite as well as the best furnished bedroom ; and 

 I can sleep just as sound with the grass for my 

 mattress, a log for pillow, and the sky for my 

 canopy, as in the best four-poster. But I cannot 

 stand a close bedroom. These peasants, however, 

 doubtless for the sake of the warmth, cannot lie 

 too close ; and certainly there is no mock modesty 

 about the peasant women. How they escape being 

 burnt in these close cottages I cannot imagine. 

 The fire burns all night, and instead of candles 

 they use splinters of turpentine fir, which they 

 carry in their hands, the sparks dropping about 

 all over the floor ; and I observed that each man 

 who brought in a bundle of hay for our beds, 

 carried a lighted fire- stick in his mouth. 



I fished in water about ten fathoms deep, with- 

 out a float, my baits lob-worms, and a small white 



