Nashville patriot. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1858-1860, 1858-03-24

reproche by means Of the delightful volume
before US, we are drawn into closer compan-
ionship with the noble-hearted and genial
traveller, and forgetting all things scientific,
statistical, or political, we journey forward in
company with this quick eye, kind heart and
happy spirit, seeing, hearing, enjoying, and
even suffering with him, at his will. Our au-
thor has lectured upon the philosophy OF
Travel it is true, but he introduces but little
philosophy into his books,-they are, for the
most part, ''simpiy artistic. pictorial,-if pos
sble, panoramic He has genius for travel,
and his works prove that "his heart Is in his
vocation" If. when he attempts philosophy,
we are sometimes forced to the conclusion
that his opinions and decisions, are often i'm
mature. and superficial we cannot deny that
as an observer he is incompatible, and that
what he sees. he gives to us with all that
comprehensiveness of outline and glow of
color, that we look for from the poet and the
artist. He is always easy, and often eloquent;
and while possessing vivid sense of the pic
turesque, and keen appreciation of the
ludicrous, he neither wearics us with his devo-
ton to the beautiful, nor bores US with too
frequent recurrence to the humorous The
style is hearty and joyous, like his own spirit.
but never coarse; often exuberant but never
meretricious always keen and enthusiastic,
his spirits never seem to flag, even when the
torpor of freezing steals over him. and he and
his companion are obliged to shout, and shake,
and thump each other, to keep off the insid-
ious sleep of death. Wherever he journeys
too, he carries us along with him captives at
his will. Sitting silent in our easy chair, we
seem to be, and yet it is not so. The warmth
of his enthusiasm and interest spreads softly
and subtly over the senses like portion of
the witch-weed, hGshih. and we are away with
him sledging it in 4 pulk through the frozen
Arctic forests where the tiny vehicle goes
singing over snow "as pure rs ivory and as
hard as marble" where our spirits rise to the
rush of the reindeer, and the landscape swims
before the soul in gorgeOusness of color I'M
rivallcd by Italian hues. The Borealis spans
our heaven with its shifting rainbows, and
then we pass away from under starlit skies,
and the midnight sun foods the landscape
with amending day. We drink hot milk fla
vorcd with cinnamon and in flaming brandy
".Skal to the Northland:" we cleave the CLASSY
ford, and climb the savage lJeld; we browse
voluptuously between sheets of snowy linen.
and coverlets of fur we chat cheerily with
the dirty and fiat-hcaded Lapps and clasp
the strong hands of the rosy, frank-faccd
Swcdes, in whose blue eyes burns the old Ber-
scrker glory. We have at one time as pos
tilion "a poke of not more than ten years old.
"a darling fellow, with face round, fresh
and sweet ns Il damask rose, the bluest of eyes,
and a cloud of silky, golden air,"-again he
is ''tall, lazy lout," and anon strong
limbcd and purple-cheeked damsel. With
Long Isaac for our guide, we 20 gliding
away over unreasonable snow-felds, swift
ly. swiftly along through the '.jeweled soli
tude", surrounded by an actual poetry far
transcending all the Lagas, and Eddas, that
ever rolled through the rough boards of the
handsome people, whose province JENNY LIND
has sung as my own. my dear Dale Carlia -
we glance in upon FREDRIKA BREMER's "Par-
sonagc Of Mora :" and we look back through
the dim centuries as standing on the mound
of the lost gods of Scandinavia, we drink, in
the aromatic and amber tinted mead. skal
"to Odin, to Bladder, and to Freja."
For the benefit of our readers we make
few brief extracts
''This was Arctic travel at last By Odin,
it was glorious! The smooth, firm road, crisp
and pure as alabaster, over which our sleigh
runners talked with the ripping. musical
murmur of summer books; the sparkling,
breathless armament the gorgeous rosy flush
of morning, slowly deepening until the orange
disc of the sun cut the horizon: the golden
blaze of the tops of the bronze frs the gilt
tering of the CLASSY birches; the long. dreary
sweep of the landscape; the icy nectar of the
perfect air; the tinglng of the reused blood
in every vein, all alert to guard the outposts
of life against the bcsieging cold-it was SUI
PERIL The tops of the trees. only, were
touched still and solid az iron, and covered
with sparkling frost-crystals, their trunks
were changed to blazing gold, and their foil
age to fiery orange-brown. The delicate
purple sprays of the birch, coated with ice,
glittered like wands of topaz, and amethyst,
and the slopes of virgin snow, stretching to-
ward the sun, shonr with the fairest saffron
CLEANS. There is nothing equal to this in the
South, nothing 30 transcendantly rich, daZ-
zling, and glorious. Italian dawns and twi- |
lights cannot surpass those we saw every day, |
not. like the former, fading rapidly into the
ashen hues of dusk, but lingering for hour
after hour, with scarce decrease OF SPLEEN |
DOR
The cold, however, played some grotesque
pranks with us. Ny beard, moustache, cap, |
and fur collar, were soon one undivided lump
hos
and heavy with frost, and it required constant
motion to keep them from freezing together. |
We saw everything through visors barred with |
IVORY. Our eyebrows and hair were hoary as !
Ihnse of an octogenarian, and our cheeks a |
mixture of crimson and orange, 20 that we |
were scarcely recognizable by each other |
Every one we met had snow-white locks, no |
matter how youthful the face, and whatever |
was the color of our horses at starting, we III |
ways drove milk-white steeds ut the close of
the post. The irritation of our nostrls oc-
casioned the greatest Inconvenience, and as
froze instantly, il soon became |
matter Of pain and difficulty to use them |
GU might as well attempt TO blow your nose |
with poplar chip. We could not bare our |
hands minute, without feeling an iron grasp
OF cold, which seemed TO squeeze the flesh like |
q vice. and turn the very blood to ice. In |
other respects we were warm and jolly, and | |
have rarely been in higher spirits"
Thus he describes his first experience in rein |
deer travelling
"a In the grey Arctic twilight, gliding noise |
less and swiftly over the snow, with the low |
huts of Muonioniska dimly seen In the dis |
lance before me, had my first true experience |
Of Lapland travelling. II was delightfully."- |
novel aud celebrating; thought of 'Afraja, |
and the song OF kulnasatz, my reindeer and |
Bryant's Arctic Lover. and whatever else |
there is Of Polar poetry, urged my deer with |
shouts, and never once look d behind me un- |
Ill bad climbed the Opposite shore, and rrach-
I'd the village. Ny companions were then no
where to I've seen. waited sometime before |
they arrived. Braisted's deer having become |