a certain
simplicity of manner and kindliness of expression toward inferiors
which sometimes lead the stranger to believe that he is among a
democratic people, but they are as far from democracy as the Prussians
or the Austrians. The very affability of the superior to the inferior
is the best evidence of the inseparable gulf that lies between them.
In Russia there is the charm of barbarism, savagery, filth, and show;
the people are loose, ferocious, daring, and wild; here in Sweden, the
quiet, decent, home-aspect of the people, their rigid observance of
the rules of etiquette, their devotion to royalty, law, and order, are
absolutely depressing. In the abstract, many traits in their character
are worthy of admiration, but as a traveler I detest this kind of
civilization. Give me a devil or a savage at all times, who outrages
the rules of society and carries an advertisement of character on his
back. As an artist I can make something of him, either in the way of
copy or pencil-sketches.

Which brings me back to my situation, in the natural course of events.
The whistle blows. The little steam-boat is about to stop at the
landing-place of the Djurgaard. The engineer, smutty and oily with
hard service, gives a turn to the crank, pulls an iron bar with a
polished handle, and then pushes it; the tea-kettle boiler fizzes and
whizzes, and lets off steam; the paddles stop paddling; the gentlemen
passengers stand up and adjust their shirt collars; the ladies gather
their shawls around them, and pick up their scattered bundles; with a
whirl and a jerk we are alongside the wharf, and the captain jumps
from the bow with a rope in his hand, and makes all fast to a
logger-head. And now step ashore, if you please, ladies and gentlemen,
and let us take a stroll through the deer garden, where

"The ash and warrior oak
Cast anchor in the rifted rock."

The walks through this beautiful park (said to be the finest attached
to any capital in Europe) are broad, and handsomely graded. Grand old
forest-trees on either side make "a boundless contiguity of shade"
over the greensward. Pavilions and rustic summer-houses stand on the
high points of rock, commanding magnificent views of the adjacent
islands and waters of the lake. Flower-gardens are numerous, and every
nook and dell contains some place of refreshment, where the gay
company who frequent these delightful grounds in the long summer
evenings can drink their tea and enjo