Having remained in Stockholm for some time, we directed our course southward, by way of the GÖta canal, past Motala, TrollhÄttan, and Gothenburg. How great, how delightful, how glorious! Dull and coarse must that man or woman be who can make this trip without being proud of the sons of Sweden and their peaceful avocations. In school I had read the history of Sweden, but it treated chiefly of warfare and of the exploits of the kings, only incidentally touching the achievements of peaceful work and the development of social and moral culture, which, in my opinion, are of supreme importance, and deserve the greatest honor. But then, it must be remembered that Swedish history was at that time written with the assumption that royalty and a few warriors are the sun and the stars around which the whole people and the country revolve, and from which they received their light and value. A better time has now dawned on Sweden, and even common people are acknowledged to have a certain inherent worth. Still I am afraid it will take some time before old prejudices can be dispelled.

In the fall of the same year I took a trip through Finland and Russia, having secured a passport issued by Gen. C. C. Andrews, who was then United States minister in Stockholm. I went with the steamer Aura from Stockholm to Åbo, Helsingfors, and Cronstadt. The pine-clad islands and shores of the Bay of Finland afforded a beautiful panorama from the steamer. The sight of Sveaborg made me feel that I was still a Swede in soul and heart, for I was overpowered by a deep sadness when I thought of the heinous treason by which this impregnable fortress was forced to surrender.

I spent several days in St. Petersburg, during which I took in the chief sights of this grand city, such as St. Isaac’s church, the monument to Peter the Great, the winter palaces, etc. It happened to be the anniversary of the coronation of the Czar, and I had the pleasure of seeing the magnificent military parade arrayed for the occasion. My American passport opened all doors to me wherever I tried to enter, and I was treated with the greatest politeness by military as well as civil authorities. To an uninitiated eye my personal liberty and independence seemed just as great here as in Washington; but that was not the case, for I knew that my every step was being closely watched.

One day my guide conducted me to a place in one of the suburbs, where some hundred prisoners were starting on their long journey to Siberia. He also conducted me to the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul, where the Russian Czars are crowned and buried; and through the fortress and prison, in whose moist, murky dungeons the political prisoners hear the great bell in the steeple striking the hour, and the watchman crying his monotonous, “God save the Czar,” while from year to year the victims of despotism suffer and languish, often on a mere suspicion, and without a fair trial, until death finally puts an end to their sufferings. What is the reason that politically Russia has always been on the most friendly terms with the United States? How can liberty and the rankest tyranny have anything to do with each other? This has always been a riddle to me. I despise the friendship of a despotism like that of Russia, where the government orders innocent men and women to be seized in the silence of the night, torn away from their homes and families, incarcerated in dungeons, and subjected to bodily torture and social disgrace simply because they are suspected of having expressed or cherished liberal ideas.

Returning to Sweden by way of Finland I remained a few days at Helsingfors. Having presented my passport to the authorities of the city, the commander of the garrison sent an officer inviting me to visit the barracks and other places of interest. I accepted the invitation and spent two days under the guidance of my cicerone. This was of course a rare treat, and it brought me in contact with many prominent citizens and officers. We also took a ride out in the country to see the condition of the peasants. In common with all other Swedes I have always sympathized with unfortunate Finland, in the belief that its people must be very unhappy and yearn for a reunion with Sweden. This proved to be a great misconception. What a peculiar contradiction! The Russian despots treat the Fins with generosity and justice, and as far as I could understand, the people were highly pleased with Russian supremacy, and would not become subjects of Sweden again, even if they could.[4]

The following winter I had the honor of meeting King Oscar, of Sweden, at the funeral solemnities arranged by the grand lodge of Free Masons on the occasion of the death of King Charles XV. I have attended quite a number of official gatherings of different kinds in different countries, and seen persons vested with the highest authority conducting the same, but as to true dignity and lofty majesty, King Oscar excelled them all. When I compare him with the czar of all the Russias, or compare the condition of the Swedes with that of their Russian neighbors, I thank God for my old native land and its noble king.

Of my numerous trips in Sweden I must mention one in particular,—a journey by sleigh,—in company with my old friend Karl MÖllersvÄrd, from Upsala to Gefle, and from Falun south, through Dalarne, past Smedjebacken, and the lakes below this to VesterÅs. The beauty of the country of a northern clime does not show itself in its entire splendor until dressed in the garb of winter. The branches of the mighty pines loaded down by the dazzling snow; millions of snow crystals, more beautiful than diamonds, glittering from every twig as the sun sends its first morning rays through the forests; the picturesque costumes of the peasantry; the comfortable inns with their fine dishes of northern game; the neat sleighs drawn by small, swift, sure-footed horses; here and there a smelting furnace or a country church,—all these things combined left on my mind a picture of rural life more quiet, happy and beautiful than I had ever seen before.