Such is the rapidity of his course that he will overtake the swiftest wild beasts; and so violent the exercise that, during the most rigorous season of the year, when earnestly engaged in the chase, he will divest himself of his furs. A long pole with a round ball of wood near the end, to prevent its piercing too deep in the snow, serves to stop the skater’s course when he wishes to rest. The Laplander is no less expert in the use of the sledge, or “pulka,” which is made in the form of a small boat with a convex bottom, that it may slide all the more easily over the snow; the prow is sharp and pointed, but the sledge is flat behind. The traveller is swathed in this carriage like an infant in a cradle, with a stick in his hand to steer the vessel, and disengage it from the stones or stumps of trees which it may chance to encounter in the route. He must also balance the sledge with his body, to avoid the danger of being overturned. The traces by which this carriage is fastened to the reindeer are fixed to a collar about the animal’s neck, and run down over the breast between the fore and hind legs, to be connected with the prow of the sledge; the reins managed by the traveller are tied to the horns, and the trappings are furnished with little bells, the sound of which the animal likes. With this draught at his tail, the reindeer will travel sixty or seventy English miles in a day; often persevering fifty miles without intermission, and without taking any refreshment, except occasionally moistening his mouth with the snow. His Lapland driver knows how to find his way through the wilderness with a surprising certainty; here a rock, there a fir-tree, is impressed as a landmark on his faithful memory, and thus, like the best pilot, he steers his sledge to the distant end of his journey. Frequently the Aurora lights him on his way, illumining the snow-covered landscape with a magic brilliancy, and investing every object with a dream-like, supernatural beauty. But even without the aid of this mysterious coruscation, Lapland is rich in grand and picturesque features, and has all the romance of the mountain and the forest. In summer countless rivulets meander through valleys of alpine verdure, and broad pellucid rivers rush down the slopes in thundering cataracts, embracing islands clothed with pine-trees of incomparable dignity and grace. Whoever has grown up in scenes like these, and been accustomed from infancy to the uncontrolled freedom of the nomad state, receives impressions never to be erased; and thus we can not wonder that the wild Laplander believes his country to be a terrestrial paradise, and feels nowhere happy but at home.