THE AUTHOR.

Minneapolis, Minn., October, 1891.

CHAPTER I.

Ancestry and country home in Sweden--Home influences--My first school
years--Christmas--Military life--Departure for America.

My childhood passed so quietly and smoothly that it would be superfluous
to mention it at all, except for the fact that such omission would leave
a gap in these reminiscences. For this reason, and, also, in order that
the American reader may get some idea of a good country home in Sweden,
I shall relate very briefly some incidents from that time.

My parents belonged to one of those old families of proprietary farmers,
whose spirit of independence and never failing love of liberty, have,
from time immemorial, placed Sweden, as a land of constitutional
liberty, in the front rank among all the countries of the Old World.

Like the descendants of the old Scotch clans the ancestors of my father
were noted for certain physical and mental qualities, which made them
prominent among the inhabitants of the district of Villand, Skane, where
most of them had their home. They were independent freeholders and were
generally reckoned among the leading men of their district. They were
large and strong with broad shoulders, high and broad foreheads and
other family characteristics. The christian names of the male members
were generally Bonde, Trued, Lars, Matts, and Hans, and the family can
be traced back in the parish records for more than two hundred years.

My mother was born on the island of Ifoe, my father's family also came
from that island and were the owners of the estate described by Du
Chaillu in his "Land of the Midnight Sun" with the remarkable crypt
built by Bishop Andreas Suneson[1] and the estate still belongs to a
second cousin of mine. My father inherited a small sum of money for
which, at the time of his marriage, he bought a land in the parish of
Oennestad near the city of Kristianstad. On this property he built a
small house, barn, etc., and on the south side of the former a small
flower garden was laid out at either end of which my father planted a
spruce tree, one of which grew up into a fine, big tree, the only one of
its kind in the whole neighborhood, and to which I shall refer farther
on. In this unpretending little cabin I was born Dec. 23d, 1832, and
under its lowly but peaceful roof I spent the first years of my
childhood, together with an elder sister and a younger brother.

[Footnote 1: Note: Vo