Visit to Europe.—Reception in England.—Company in Charge.—Starts for Sweden.—Stockholm.—The Dangerous Ride.—The Severe Cold.—Arrival in Lapland.—First Experience with Canoes and Reindeers.—Becomes a Lapp.—The Extreme North.—The Days without a Sun.—“Yankee Doodle.”—The Return.—Study in Stockholm.—Return to Germany and London.—Embarks for Norway.—Meets his Friend at Christiania.—The Coast of Norway.—The Midnight Sun.—Trip across Norway and Sweden.—Return to Germany. Without bringing the living into a notoriety which they certainly do not seek, and which might be unpleasant for them, we cannot give an extended account of that summer trip of Mr. Taylor and his friends in the countries of Europe, already so familiar to him. He devoted himself to the welfare of his companions, and appeared to enjoy himself exceedingly. England appeared brighter and more attractive than he supposed it possible; and his pleasure in visiting historical places was doubled by the fact that he had others to appreciate and enjoy it with him. His sisters inherited enough of that same instinctive comprehension of vegetable nature, and enough of that fellowship with kindred human nature, to regard the landscapes and the people as he had regarded them, and made, as he wrote to his friends in Philadelphia, wonderfully[253] observing travellers. Other friends there were, who, with his brother, made up a pleasant party, over which Mr. Taylor was for the time the guide and protector. He visited many places where he had never been before, but he had studied his theme so closely during his previous visits to Europe that even in strange places he felt the gratification of one who had been there before, and to whom each scene and relic was familiar. His little party was often interrupted by the calls made upon him to attend dinner-parties and select gatherings of literary people; but he was not a neglectful escort. His acquaintance with the men and women of London whose names are known to all readers of English literature, was promoted very much by the kindness of Mr. Thackeray, who spared no pains to introduce Mr. Taylor into that “charmed circle.” No one can appreciate the pleasure there was in being introduced to the authors of whom the world has said so much, unless he has followed them like a friend through their various volumes and learned to love them there. Historians, essayists, biographers, poets, musical composers, and scientific authors clasped his hand in London and welcomed him to their homes and their love. At last he felt that he had reached the heights for which he had been striving, and was regarded as an equal by those whose plane of thought he had so long striven to reach. But that feeling had its reaction, for he often examined himself and repeated to himself his published poetry, and, as he described it[254] himself, wondered what there could be in it worthy of reproduction in Old England. His association with the master-minds of England opened to him a wider field of literature, and impressed him with the importance of writing something loftier and more artistic than anything he yet had undertaken. To that task he turned all the forces of his nature; so that on leaving England his friends noticed through all his vivacity and unceasing attention a tendency to abstraction; as though some important theme unspoken was uppermost in his mind. He was searching for an ideal which should not copy Tennyson, nor Wordsworth, nor Browning, but should equal theirs in conception and execution. He felt that irresistible yearning for the highest poetical work, which is the surest indication of genius. He was not egotistic, he was not foolishly ambitious, but all his life he had been seeking his place in the realms of poetry, feeling morally sure, notwithstanding his own temporary misgivings, that there was a great work for him to do.
 
RUSSIAN SLEDGES.
 
However, the needs of the present crowded out the dreams of the future, as they so often do in the lives of others, and after a delightful summer in the lands he loved, and a visit to those who were now dearer than the most gorgeous landscapes, he determined upon a trip to the frozen regions of Lapland. He undertook that journey with evident reluctance. His communion with the best minds of America and Europe had taught him that of the works which he had published his[255] poetry would live much longer than his travels. He found that the place of a poet in the scale of human merit was loftier than that of a journalistic traveller. He had left home with a feeling of uncertainty about his future course; but there was no longer hesitation or doubt. He would follow out the routes laid out and keep his promises to the newspapers and publishers, and was determined to acquire an insight into the Scandinavian language in view of an enterprise in the way of translation, which, however, was never fully matured nor undertaken. But his interest in travel had lost its chiefest charms. It would not, could not, satisfy his ambition. Some critics have accounted for this lack of zeal by the nearness of his marriage, which would take him from his wanderings. But the best reason is the one he gave himself; viz., that he desired to undertake some more permanent task—one that should live when his travels were forgotten.
Hence, that indescribable lack which his readers have so universally found in his books of travels published after that date. He could not rid himself of the burden, nor cease to ponder upon the subjects which seemed worthy of a great poem.
Starting from Germany Dec. 1, 1856, and embarking on a steamer which ran between Lubec and Stockholm, he entered upon an undertaking more hazardous and uncomfortable than anything he had ventured upon before. But his experience taught him to fear nothing and to move on so long as any other living[256] being had lived on the same route. He had determined to see a day without a sunrise and a night without a sunset. To be able to state that fact in a book, would, in itself, ensure its ready sale. Of this he had been assured in New York by his friend Dr. E. K. Kane, whose opinion was entitled to much consideration, as the Doctor had been far more extensively engaged in explorations, and had travelled many thousand miles further than Mr. Taylor. Having once decided to see that wonderful sight, nothing in the way of privation could prevent the accomplishment of his purpose.
The steamer from Lubec was a rough, uncouth, inconvenient craft, and the sea-sick voyage which Mr. Taylor and his friend made to Stockholm was not an auspicious beginning for a tour so long and so dangerous. But he relapsed into his old habit, acquired in Asia, of regarding no delay with surprise or impatience, and refusing to feel certain of anything until he possessed it; and as neither carelessness, neglect, lack of sleep or food was allowed to disturb him, he made the company cheerful under the most distressing circumstances.
 
LAZARETTO CHRISTIANSAND.
 
On his arrival in Stockholm he could not speak a word of the language, and had to depend mostly upon his own common-sense in the selection of an outfit. But his quick ear and tractile tongue soon caught up words and phrases, the meaning of which he learned by their effect when spoken, and when he started northward[257] he was able to ask for nearly everything he needed in the native language. Of his ride from town to town, by diligence and by lumbering sleighs, along the shores of the Bothnian Gulf, we cannot give any extended account, and it can easily be found by any reader who did not peruse it at the time of its publication. But it answers our purpose to note how he appeared and what he suffered. It was a terrible ride. Day after day and night after night he pushed on, losing many meals, and often without sleep, in a temperature creeping downward far below zero, and the sun sinking lower and lower on the southern horizon. Frequently overturned in the snow, his beard and hair a mass of solid ice, his eyelids frozen together, his nose frost-bitten, his hands and feet momentarily in danger of freezing, he kept heroically on his course, allowing no rumors of unendurable cold or impassable mountains, of snow ahead to drive him from his purpose. With a wisdom that saved his life, he fell with perfect abandon into the habits of Swedes, Finns, and Lapps, as he in turn found himself in their country and society, eating what they ate, and wearing such skins as they wore, and following their habits, excepting their dirt and their promiscuous arrangements for sleeping. Around the gulf to Tornea, and thence to Muoniovara, he sped northward with a haste which astonished the natives, and a shortness of time which has surprised many travellers who have followed him on that difficult route. He made such acquaintances[258] and such friends on his way northward that they wished him God-speed as he passed on, and welcomed him in a royal manner on his return. On the borders of Lapland he took his first lessons in reindeer-driving, and a most amusing experience he had of it. He could not at first balance himself in the narrow boat which was built for snow navigation, and he was frequently overturned in fathomless piles of snow; and as he did not fully understand how to check the speed of the animal, he flew like the wind over drifts, hollows, and around corners with a most dangerous speed. Many men would have given up the task, after being frozen, kicked, bruised, and pulled half out of joint by the first trial. But such experiences were regarded by him as a joke, and laughing over past mishaps, he tried again and again, until he could guid............