When you leave Umeå, the weather is rainy, and continues to be so the whole day. The
road grows more and more narrow, so that your horse goes stumbling along, among stones,
at the hazard of your life. Your path is so narrow and intricate, along so many byways, that
nothing human could have followed your track. In this dreary wilderness, you begin to feel
very
solitary
and to long for a companion. The mere exercise of a trotting horse on a good road, to set
the heart and spirits at liberty, would be preferable to this slow and tedious mode of
traveling, which you are doomed to experience. The few inhabitants you meet have a
foreign accent. Through this day’s journey, nothing occurs to your observation worth notice.