The Neva at this season of the year presents a most animated and picturesque appearance. A little above the landing-place of the Baltic steamers, a magnificent bridge connects the Wasseli-Ostrow with the main part of the city, embracing the Winter Palace, the Admiralty, and the Nevskoi, generally known as the Bolshaia, or Great Side. Below this bridge, as far as the eye can reach in the direction of the Gulf of Finland, the glittering waters of the Neva are alive with various kinds of shipping—merchant vessels from all parts of the world; fishing smacks from Finland and Riga; lumber vessels from Tornea; wood-boats from the interior; Russian and Prussian steamers; row-boats, skiffs, and fancy colored canoes, with crews and passengers representing many nations of the earth, are in perpetual motion; and while the sight is bewildered by the variety of moving objects, the ears are confounded by the strange medley of languages.

Through this confused web of obstacles, the little steamer in which I had taken passage worked her way cautiously and systematically, catching a rope here and there for a sudden swing to the right or to the left, stopping and backing from time to time, and feeling with her nose for the narrow channels of the river, till she was fairly out of danger, when, with a blast of the whistle and a heavy pressure of steam, she dashed forth into the open waters of the gulf.

As we gradually receded, I turned to take a last look at the mighty Venice of the North. The gold-covered domes of the churches, rising high above the massive ranges of palaces, were glittering brilliantly in the sunlight; the variegated shipping of the Neva was growing dim in the distance; the masses of foliage that crowned the islands were of tropical luxuriance, and the whole city, with its palaces, fortifications, and churches, seemed to rest upon the surface of the waters. It was a sight not soon to be forgotten. I turned toward the dark and stern fortresses of Cronstadt, now breaking in strong outline through the golden haze of the morning, and thought of the grim old Czar who had thus battled with Nature, and planted a mighty city in the wilderness; and thus musing, sighed to think that such a man should have lacked the warmth divine which sheds the only true and enduring lustre upon human greatness.

After the usual detention at Cronstadt for the examination of passports, the steamer once more started on her way, and in a few hours nothing was in sight save the shores of the gulf dim on the horizon, and the sails of distant vessels looming up in the haze.

I now, for the first time, had leisure to look at my fellow-passengers.

A Russian steamer during the pleasure season is a floating Babel. Here, within the limits of a few dozen feet, were the representatives of almost every nation from the Arctic circle to the tropics—Finns and Swedes, Norwegians and Danes, Tartars and Russians, Poles and Germans, Frenchmen and Englishmen, South Americans, and—I was going to say North Americans, of which, however, I was the sole representative.

It was a motley assemblage—a hodge-podge of humanity, a kind of living pot-pourri of dirty faces and dirty shirts, military uniforms, slouched hats, blowses, and big boots. There was a Russian general, who always stood at the cabin door to show himself to the rest of the passengers. I don't know for the life of me what he was angry about, but his face wore a perpetual frown of indignation, scorn, and contempt; his black brows were constitutionally knit; his eyes seemed to be always trying to overpower and knock somebody under; his lips were firmly compressed, and his mustaches stood out like a dagger on each side, with the handles wrapped in a bundle of dirty hair under his nose. So tight was his uniform around the body and neck that it forced all the blood up into his face, and wouldn't let it get back again; and it seemed a miracle that the veins in his forehead did not burst and carry away the top of his head, brains and all. Opposite to this great man, in an attitude of profound humility, stood his liveried servant—a very gentlemanly-looking person, with an intellectual baldness covering the entire top of his cranium. This deferential individual wore a coat beautifully variegated before and behind with gold lace; a pair of plush knee-breeches, white stockings, and white kid gloves; and was continually engaged in bowing to the great man, and otherwise anticipating his wants. When the great man looked at a trunk, or a carpet sack, or any thing else in the line of baggage or traveling equipments, the liveried servant bowed very low, looked nervously about him, and then darted off and seized hold of the article in question, gave it a pull or a push, put it down again, looked nervously around him, hurried back and bowed again to his august master, who by that time was generally looking in some other direction with an air of great indifference—as much as to say that he was accustomed to that species of homage, and did not attach any particular value to it. The passengers regarded him with profound awe and admiration, and seemed to be very much afraid he would, upon some trifling provocation, draw his sword and attack them. I was determined, if ever he undertook such a demonstration of authority as that, to resent it with the true spirit of a Californian, and cast about me for some weapon of personal defense, but saw nothing likely to be available in an emergency of that kind except a small bucket of slush, with which, however, it would be practicable to "douse his glim." This great man, with his attendant, was bound for the sea-baths of Revel, where he would doubtless soon be buffeting the waves like a porpoise—or possibly, in virtue of the commanding powers vested in him by nature and the Czar of Russia, would sit down by the sea-shore like Hardicanute the Dane, and order the waves to retire.

Then there was an old lady and her three daughters who sat on the camp-stools by the step-ladder; the same fat old lady, bedizened with finery, and the same three young ladies, with strong features and dismal dresses, which the traveler encounters all over the Continent of Europe. The old lady was in a state of chronic agony lest the young ladies should be forcibly seized and carried away by some daring youth of the male sex; and the young ladies were conscious that such was the general purpose of mankind, and that they were in imminent danger of being preyed upon in that way, and, consequently, must always hold down their heads and look at the seams in the deck upon the approach of any gallant-looking cavalier with a handsome face and a fine figure, to say nothing of the expressive tenderness of his eyes and the gracefulness of his manner, and many other fascinating features in the young gentleman's appearance, of which they could not be otherwise than entirely unconscious, since they had not taken the slightest notice of him, and never contemplated encouraging his advances. The old lady was a very discreet and proper old lady, and the young ladies were very discreet and proper young ladies, and they were going to the baths of Revel after their last winter's campaign in the fashionable circles of St. Petersburg; and any body could see at a glance that they were of a distinguished and fashionable family, because they had a courier and two lapdogs, and carried a coat of arms on their trunks and bandboxes, and were taken with violent headaches soon after leaving Cronstadt, and used smelling-salts.

Next was the man who belongs to no particular nation, speaks every language, and knows every body—a shabby-genteel, middle-aged man, of no ostensible occupation, but always occupied. "Sare," said he, "I perceive you are an Englishman. I always very glad am to meet with Englishmen. I two years spent in London." "Indeed!" said I; "you speak English very well, considering you learned it in England!" "Yes, sare—in London—I was in business there." "Mercantile?" said I. "No, sare; I attended to mi-lor Granby's 'orses." "Oh! that indeed!" "Yes, sare;" and so the conversation went on in a manner both entertaining and instructive. In the course of it, I gathered that my shabby-genteel friend was going to Revel to attend a 'orse-race.

Another conspicuous group on the deck soon after attracted my attention—the hungry people. This group consisted of some six or eight persons, male and female, of a very Jewish cast of features, well-dressed and lively, evidently Germans, since they spoke in the German language. Scarcely had the steamer cast loose from the quay when they opened the pile of baskets, boxes, and packages by which they were surrounded, and, taking out sundry loaves of bread, lumps of cheese, sausages, and wine-bottles, began to eat and drink with a voracity perfectly amazing. I was certain I had seen them a thousand times before. Every feature was familiar; and even their constitutional appetite was nothing new to me. I had never seen this group, or their prototype, in any public conveyance, or in any part of the world, without a feeling of envy at the extraordinary vigor of their digestive functions. Here were pale, cadaverous-looking men, and sallow women, who never stopped eating from morning till night, in rough or calm weather, in sunshine or storm; ever hungry, ever thirsty, ever cramming and guzzling with a degree of zest that the sturdiest laborer in the field could never experience; and yet they neither burst nor dropped down dead, nor suffered from sea-sickness. Doubtless they had just breakfasted before they came aboard; but, to make sure of it, they immediately breakfasted again. As soon as they were through that, they lunched; then they dined; after dinner they drank coffee and ate cakes; after coffee and cakes they lunched again; then they ate a hearty supper, and after supper whetted their appetites on tea and cakes; and before bedtime appeased the cravings of hunger with a heavy meal of sausages, brown bread, and cheese, which they washed down with several bottles of wine. I don't know how many times they got up to eat in the night, but suppose it could not have been more than twice or three times, since they were at it again by daylight in the morning as vigorously as ever. I am inclined to think that some people are physically so organized as to be insensible to the difference between a pound of food and ten pounds, as others are unconscious of the difference between wit and stupidity, sense and nonsense; such, for instance, as the humorous group, who sit by the companion-way, and keep themselves and every body around them in a continued roar of laughter. It is good to be merry; but I must confess it is not within the bounds of my capacity to discover a source of merriment in such pranks of wit as these people enjoy. A young fellow makes a face like an owl—every body roars laughing, the idea is so exquisitely comical. Another pulls his comrades by the hair, and every body shouts with uproarious merriment. One sly chap shoves another off his seat and takes possession of it—a feat so humorous that the whole crowd is convulsed. A bad orange, pitched across the deck, strikes an elderly gentleman on the bald pate—well, I had to laugh at that myself. By-and-by, a stout, florid young gentleman turns pale and groans; three or four officious friends, with twinkling eyes, seize him by the arms, and drag him over to the lee-scuppers, where he manifests still more decided symptoms of sea-sickness. His friends hold him, rub him, chafe him, and pat him on the back; one offers him a meerschaum pipe to smoke; another, a bunch of cigars; a third, a piece of fat meat; while a fourth tempts him with a bottle of some wine, all of which is uncommon fun to every body but the unfortunate victim. Thus the time passes away pleasantly enough, after all, taking into view the variety of incidents and scenes which constantly occupy the attention of a looker-on. I had taken a deck-passage for cheapness, and made out to get through the night by bundling myself up on a pile of baggage, and catching a few cat-naps whenever the noise created by these lively young gentlemen would permit of such a feat.

By seven o'clock in the morning we were steering into the harbor of Revel.



CHAPTER XXI.

REVEL AND HELSINGFORS.

Few cities within the limits of the Russian dominions possess greater historic interest than Revel. Although its commerce is limited to a few annual shipments of hemp, flax, and tallow, produced in the province of Esthonia, and the importation of such articles of domestic consumption as the peasants require, it occupies a prominent position as a naval depot for Russian vessels of war, and is much frequented in summer by the citizens of St. Petersburg as a bathing-place and general resort of pleasure. A steamer leaves daily for Revel and Helsingfors, which, during the bathing season, is crowded with passengers, as in the case of my own trip, of which I have already given you a sketch. The approach to the harbor, in the bright morning sun, is exceedingly picturesque. Beyond the forest of masts and spars, with gayly-colored flags and streamers spread to the breeze, rises a group of ancient buildings on the rocky eminence called the Domberg, comprising the castle, the residences of the governor and commandant, and various palaces and quarters of the nobility, surrounded by Gothic walls and strong fortifications. This ancient and picturesque pile has been termed the Acropolis of Revel, though beyond the fact that it overlooks the lower town and forms a prominent feature in the scenic beauties of the place, it is difficult to determine in what respect it can bear a comparison with the famous Acropolis of Athens. However, I have observed that travelers find it convenient to discover resemblances of this kind where none exist, as a means of rounding off their descriptions; and since the Kremlin is styled the Acropolis of Moscow, I see no reason why Revel should not enjoy the same sort of classic association. It is to be hoped that when Russian travelers visit San Francisco, they will, upon the principle adopted by tourists in their country, do us the justice to designate Russian Hill as the Acropolis of San Francisco; and should they visit Sacramento during the existence of a flood, I have no doubt they can find a pile of bricks or a whisky barrel sufficiently elevated above the general level to merit the distinctive appellation of an Acropolis. Revel has suffered more frequent changes of government, and passed through the hands of a greater variety of rulers, than any city, perhaps, in the whole of Northern Europe. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries it was a province of Denmark; subsequently it fell into the hands of the Swedes, and in 1347 became a possession of the Livonian Knights, a chivalrous and warlike order, who built castles, lived in a style of great luxuriance, killed, robbed, and plundered the people of the surrounding countries, and otherwise distinguished themselves as gentlemen of the first families, not one of them having ever been known to perform a day's useful labor in his life. Such, indeed, was the heroic character of these doughty knights, that, having plunged the whole country into ruin and distress, the peasants, driven to desperation, rose upon them in 1560, and completely routed and destroyed them, killing many, and compelling the remainder to seek some other occupation. This was rough treatment for gentlemen, but it happens from time to time in the course of history, and shows to what trials chivalrous blood is exposed when it can't have its own way. Finally Esthonia and Livonia fell into the hands of Charles II. of Sweden, from whom they were wrested by Peter the Great. Since that period these provinces have continued under the Russian dominion. From the time of Peter to the reign of the present emperor, Revel has been a favorite summer resort of the Czars. It has been rebuilt, patched, fortified, and improved to such an extent that it now represents almost every style of architecture known in Northern Europe since the Middle Ages. The people partake of the same characteristics, being a mixture of every Northern race by which the place has been inhabited since the reign of Eric XIV. of Denmark. I spent some hours visiting the churches and other objects of interest, a detailed description of which would scarcely be practicable within the brief limits of a letter. The Ritterschaftshaus, containing the armorial bearings of the nobility, is a place of great historical interest; but I saw nothing that afforded me so much amusement as the scenes in the Jahrmarket, where the annual summer fair is held. Here were booths and tents, and all sorts of wares, much in the style of the markets of the Riadi in Moscow, of which I have already given a description. The crowds gathered around those places of barter and trade appeared to enjoy a very free-and-easy sort of life. I could see nothing about them indicative of an oppressed condition. Most of them were reeling drunk, and such as were not drunk seemed in a fair way of speedily arriving at that condition of beatitude.

From the Jahrmarket I strolled out to the Cathermthal, a favorite resort of the citizens during the heat of the day. The shady promenades of this magnificent garden, its natural beauties, and the display of equipages and costumes, render it an exceedingly agreeable lounging-place for a stranger. Every thing is in the Russian style—the pavilions, the music, the theatrical exhibitions, and the predominance of naval and military uniforms throughout the grounds. The scarcity of flowers is remedied to some extent by the profusion of epaulettes and brass buttons, which the emperor seems to regard as superior to any thing in nature. No garden that I have yet seen in Russia is destitute of ornaments of this kind.

Gambling was going on every where—at every tea-table and in every pavilion. This department of civilization is well represented in Revel by the Russians. Horse-racing, cards, dominoes, and other amusements and games of hazard, are their ruling passion. A Russian who will not bet his head after he has lost all his valuable possessions must be a very poor representative of his country indeed. I have rarely seen such a passionate devotion to the gaming-table, even in California, which is not usually behind the nations of Europe in all that pertains to the cultivation of the human mind. Revel must be a heaven to a genuine Russian. All is free and unreserved, and morals are said to be unknown, save to a few of the old-fashioned citizens and gentry. Visitors usually leave their own behind them, and depend upon chance for a fresh supply in case of necessity.

The afternoon was warm, and it occurred to me that a stroll on the beach would be pleasant. Accompanied by my friend the horse-jockey, who seemed determined to hold on to me as long as I remained in Revel, under the conviction, no doubt, that I was secretly engaged in the horse business, and would come out in my true character before long, I sauntered down in the direction of some bathing tents, scattered along the beach a little below the port. My jockey friend was continually trying to pump out of me upon which of the horses in the approaching race it was my intention to bet, urging me as a friend not to throw away my money on the roan or chestnut, although appearances were in their favor, but to go in heavy on the black mare; and notwithstanding I assured him it was not my intention to risk any portion of my capital on this race, he was pertinacious in giving me his advice, and could not be convinced that I know nothing about the horses, and never bet on races of any kind. "Sare," said he, "you are a stranger. These Russians are great rascals. They will cheat you out of your eyes. I speakee English. I am your friend." I thanked him very cordially, but assured him there was no danger of my being cheated. He then went into a dissertation on the relative merits of the horses, to prove that it was impossible for me, a perfect stranger, to escape bankruptcy among so many sharpers. "But," said I, "the horse-race takes place to-morrow, does it not?" "Yes, sare, to-morrow at three o'clock! You will be there? I shall also be there!" "But, my good friend, I leave to-night in the steamer; therefore all your kindness is thrown away!" "Oh! you must not leave to-night. You must see the horse-race!" In vain I assured him it was impossible for me to remain. He was not to be put off on any pretext, and, having made up his mind that I must remain, I was forced to drop the subject and let him have his way. While he was enlarging upon the merits of the black mare, my attention was attracted by a group of bathers—ladies, as I judged by their voices, though, as they were dressed in rather a fantastic style, I could not perceive any other indication of the sex. One of the party—a lively young girl of sixteen or seventeen—seemed to be a perfect mermaid. She plunged and swam, ducked and dived, kicked up her delicate little feet, and disappeared under the surf in a way that struck me with awe and admiration. Never was there such an enchanting picture of perfect abandonment to the enjoyment of the occasion. A poetic feeling I took possession of me. Visions of grottoes under the deep sea waves, and beautiful princesses and maidens, filled my soul. I thought of Gulnare in the Arabian Nights, and felt disposed, like Mirza, the King of Persia, to "embrace her with great tenderness." It was really a very pretty sight. "Sare," said my companion, confidentially, "take my advice. She is blind of one eye, and has a strain in the fore leg, but you may bet on her! I jockeyed her for six months before the last race." He was still talking about the black mare. I turned away to hide my impatience. After a few words of desultory conversation, I excused myself on the plea of sickness, and bade him good-evening.

At 8 P.M. I took my departure from Revel. A new batch of passengers had come on board. We were soon steaming our way across the Gulf of Finland. I had rarely spent a more pleasant day, and, if time had permitted, would gladly have prolonged my sojourn in the quaint old city of Revel. The summer nights were still incomparably beautiful. A glow of sunshine was visible in the sky as late as eleven o'clock. At two, the rays of the rising sun began to illuminate the horizon. A dead calm gave to the sleeping waters of the Gulf the appearance of a lake; and as we approached the shores of Helsingfors, the illusion was heightened by innumerable little islands, clothed with verdant slopes of grass and groves of pine. The harbor of Helsingfors derives a peculiar interest from its system of fortifications. Nature seems to have done much to render it impregnable; and what Nature has not done has been accomplished by the military genius of the Russians. Immense masses of rock rise from the water in every direction, leaving deep narrow passages between for vessels. Every rock is a fortress. The steamer passed through a perfect maze of fortifications. Guns bore upon us from all sides—out of the forts, out of holes in the rocks—in short, out of every conceivable nook and crevice in the bay. The very rocks seemed to be alive with sentinels and to bustle with armories. Probably there is no part of the Russian dominions, except Cronstadt, more thoroughly fortified than Sweaborg. The system of engineering displayed upon this point evinces the highest order of military genius. The fortifications embrace a series of forts, castles, barracks, and military establishments of various kinds, situated on seven islands of solid rock, forming the different channels of approach to the harbor. Count Ehrensuerd, Field-marshal of Sweden, is entitled to the credit of having devised the original system of fortifications, afterward so successfully carried out by the Czars of Russia. This was the last rallying-point of the Swedes during the war with Russia. In 1808, Admiral Cronstadt, the commander of the Swedish forces, who had hitherto proved himself a brave and patriotic officer, submitted to terms of capitulation and delivered over the forts to the Russians. History scarcely furnishes a parallel to such a wanton and unaccountable act of treachery. Cronstadt had fifteen hundred men, two frigates, and all the munitions of war to hold his position against any force that could be brought against him; while the Russians were reduced to great extremities, and, it is said, had scarcely force enough left to man the forts after they were evacuated by the Swedes. Sufficient testimony has been gathered by historians to show that Cronstadt bartered his honor for money; yet, strange to say, such is the high estimation in which he was originally held by the Swedes, that many of them to this day profess to disbelieve that he was capable of such an infamous crime. It is thought by some that he must have been laboring under some mental hallucination at the time of the capitulation. Be that as it may, the success of the Russian arms was doubtless greatly facilitated by this act of treason. Cronstadt, like Benedict Arnold, died an isolated and broken-hearted man. His ill-gotten gains were but a poor recompense for the infamy entailed upon his name. Such, indeed, as all history shows, has been and must ever be the fate of all traitors to their country.

Helsingfors was founded by Gustavus Vasa in the sixteenth century. A portion of the old town is still visible, though there is little about it beyond a few ruined walls possessing much historical interest. After the Russians obtained possession they enlarged and improved the city upon its present site, and in 1819 it became the capital of Finland. In 1827 Abo suffered from a general conflagration, after which the grand University of that city was removed to Helsingfors, which now comprises the most important public buildings and institutions in Finland. Among these are the senate-house, the palace of the governor, the Museum, the Botanical Garden, the Observatory, etc. The streets in the lower parts of the city are broad and regular, and many of the houses are quite as good as the generality of private residences in Moscow or St. Petersburg. The principal church, which is built in the form of a Greek cross, is a conspicuous and imposing edifice, standing near the centre of the town on a rocky eminence, presenting on the approach up the harbor a peculiarly Russian effect with its gilded domes and crosses. The green roofs of the houses also remind one that he is still within the dominions of Russia; and if any doubt on that point should remain after landing from the steamer, it is speedily dispelled by the vast numbers of Russian soldiers and officers constantly marching about the streets.

I had two days to devote to the objects of interest in and around Helsingfors. For convenience and economy, I took a room in a Finnish hotel, on one of the back streets. Having deposited my knapsack, my first visit was to the Observatory, from which a beautiful view is to be had of the harbor and fortifications. From this point of observation a very good idea may be formed of the extent and general character of the town. It covers a large area of solid rocks, the entire foundation consisting of immense round boulders, forming a succession of ups and downs singularly varied in outline and picturesque at every point of view. Beyond the main part of the town, toward the interior, the country is mountainous, and covered for the most part with dense forests of pine. Cultivation has made but little progress beyond the immediate suburbs. A few miles from the waters of the bay the eye rests upon an apparently untrodden wilderness of rocky heights and pine forests, and toward the Gulf nothing can exceed the desolate grandeur of the scene. Rock-bound islands, upon which the surf breaks with an unceasing moan; points and promontories covered with dark forests; a rugged coast, dimly looming through the mist; innumerable sea-gulls whirling and screaming over the dizzy pinnacles, are its principal features. While I was seated on a bank of moss near the Observatory, enjoying the beauties of the scene, strains of music were wafted up on the breeze from the shady recesses of the Botanical Gardens, toward which I saw that the citizens were wending their way. It was Sunday, which here as well as in Germany is a day of recreation. I took a by-path and speedily joined the crowd. The people of every degree are well dressed and respectable, and I was somewhat surprised to find so much politeness, cultivation, and intelligence in such an out-of-the-way part of the world. The music was excellent, and the display of style and fashion in the gardens was quite equal to any thing I had seen in my European travels. From what little I saw of the Finns, I was greatly prepossessed in their favor. They seem to me to be a primitive, substantial, and reliable race, strong in their affections, kind and hospitable toward strangers, amiable and inoffensive, yet brave and patriotic—hating the Russians with a cordiality truly refreshing. I formed a casual acquaintance with several of them during my rambles about the Garden. No sooner did they discern my nationality than they gave me to understand that their Constitution had been violated, their liberties trampled under foot, their rights disregarded, and their patience under all these injuries misconstrued. "We only await an opportunity," they said, "to prove to the world that we are still a free-born people. The time is not distant. In the heart of every Finn burns the spirit of a freeman and a patriot! We are not a race doomed to slavery. You who are an American can understand us! We only want a chance to cast off the chains of despotism which now oppress us. It is coming: we are overpowered now, but not conquered! We hate the Russians! No true Finn can ever amalgamate with such a race!"

This was the strain in which I was constantly addressed. Notwithstanding the electoral privileges guaranteed to the Finns under their Constitution, and the fact that many of the municipal offices are filled by themselves, there is no more community of interest between them and their rulers than between the Italians and the Austrians. Their hatred of the government and of all its concomitants is implacable. It seemed a luxury to some of these poor people to find a sympathizing listener. I met many intelligent Finns, both in Helsingfors and Abo, who spoke good English, and never conversed with one for five minutes without hearing the same strong expressions of dislike to the present condition of affairs, and sanguine hopes for the future. There is only hope for them, that I can see—that the emancipation of the serfs may lead to the establishment of a more liberal system of government throughout the Russian dominions. All hopes based upon isolated revolutions are futile.



CHAPTER XXII.

A BATHING SCENE.

I devoted the afternoon to a stroll on the sea-shore, which presents many interesting features in the neighborhood of Helsingfors. A considerable portion of the town, as already stated, is built upon immense boulders of solid rock, and some of the streets are entirely impracticable for wheeled vehicles, owing to the rugged masses of stone with which Nature has thought proper to pave them. Indeed, it is no easy task for a pedestrian to make his way through the suburbs, over the tremendous slippery boulders that lie scattered over the earth in every direction, the trail being in some instances higher than the houses. I can not conceive how people can travel over such streets in wet weather; it seems a task only fit for goats under favorable circumstances; but the Finns are an ingenious people, and probably ride on the backs of the goats when walking is impracticable. Passing the straggling lines of fishermen's huts forming the outskirts of the town, I rambled over two or three miles of rocky fields till I found myself on the shores of the gulf, at a point sufficiently lonesome and desolate to be a thousand miles from any inhabited portion of the globe. Taking possession of a natural chair, worn in the rocks by the rains of many centuries, I seated myself upon its mossy cushion, and, baring my head to the pleasant sea-breeze, quietly enjoyed the scene. Perhaps this very seat was the throne of an old viking! Here were sea-shells, and glittering pebbles, and tufts of moss for his crown; and here were sea-gulls to make music for him, and the spray from the wild waves to keep him cool; and a thousand rock-bound islands, lying outspread to the north, with grottoes in them for his ships; and piles upon piles of rocky palaces all around, covered with golden roofs of moss; and every thing, in short, that could make glad the heart of a grim old viking residing on the edge of the arctic circle. And if this summer scene, with its blue sea, and wood-capped islands, and warm sun, and balmy breeze, could not make glad his heart, it would not be difficult to imagine what changes winter could bring over it, and how the old viking, sitting on his throne by the sea-shore, could enjoy the dead and icy waste before him; and how the winter drifts would whistle through his hair; and how cheery the jagged rocks would look peeping up out of the snow-drifts; and how balmy would be the night-air at sixty degrees below freezing-point; and how the old viking would shake his beard with laughter as he warmed his hands in a midday sun, only ten feet above the horizon, and make the icicles rattle on his chin; and sit thus laughing and blowing his fingers, and rattling his icy beard, and saying to himself, "What a blessing to be a Finlander! How horribly the natives of Spain and Italy must suffer from bad climate! What a pity it is Finland is not large enough to accommodate the whole human race." With such thoughts as these I amused myself for some time, soothed and charmed by the pleasant sea-breeze and the music of the waves upon the rocks. The air was deliciously pure, and the odor of the sea-weeds had something in it so healthful and inspiring that I was insensibly carried back to by-gone days. How short a time it seemed since I was a wanderer upon the rock-bound shores of Juan Fernandez, yet how many strange scenes I had passed through since then—how much of the world I had seen, with its toils, and troubles, and vicissitudes! Here I was now, after years of travel in every clime, among the various nations of the earth, sitting solitary and alone upon an isolated rock on the shores of Finland! Whither was I going? What was the object? Where was the result? When was it to end? Years were creeping over me; I was no longer in the heyday of youth, yet the vague aspirations of boyhood still clung to me—the insatiable craving to see more and more of the world—the undefined hope that I would yet live to be cast away upon a desolate island, and become a worthy disciple of the immortal Robinson Crusoe! Ah me! What a lonesome feeling it is to be a visionary, enthusiastic boy all one's life, in this practical world of dollars and cents, where other boys are men, and men forget that they ever were young! But this, you say, is all sentimental nonsense. Of course it is. I admit the full folly of such thoughts. It would be a pitiable spectacle indeed to see every body inspired by the vagabond spirit of Robinson Crusoe. No doubt, if you were sitting upon a rock on the Gulf of Finland, my respected Californian friend, you would be hammering off the croppings and trying to discover the indications. You consider that the true philosophy of life—to dig, and delve, and burrow in the ground, and get gold and silver out of it, and suffer rheumatism in your bones and cramps in your stomach, and wear out your life in a practical way, while we visionaries are dreaming sentimental nonsense! But, after all, does the one pay any better than the other in the long run? Will gold or silver make you see farther into a millstone, or give you a better appetite, or put youth and health into your veins, or cause you to sleep more soundly of nights, or prolong your life to an indefinite period beyond the span allotted to the average of mankind? Will you never be convinced of the truth of these inspired words, which can not be repeated too often: As you brought nothing into the world, so you can take nothing out of it?

Come, then, let us be young again, and dash into the blue waters of Finland, and buffet the sparkling brine as it seethes and boils over the rocks! Away with your gold and your silver, and your toils and cares, and let us play Robinson Crusoe and Friday here in this solitary little glen, where "our right there is none to dispute"—unless it may be the Czar of Russia. Off with your shirt, your boots, your drawers, your all, and be for once a genuine savage—be my man Friday, and I'll teach you how to enjoy life. Ye gods! doesn't it feel fine—that plunge in the foaming brine! Why, you look like a boiled lobster already; the glow of health is all over you; your eyes sparkle, your skin glistens; you shoot out the salt sea-spray from your nostrils in a manner that would surprise any porpoise; you whoop and you yell like a young devil let loose! Never in the world would I take you to be a hard, money-making, lucre-loving man! Why, my dear Friday, you are a perfect jewel of a savage! I didn't know it was you, and doubt if you knew it yourself! Isn't it glorious? I feel a thousand years younger! Don't you hear me singing,

"Oh, poor Robinson Crusoe! Tinky ting tang, tinky ting tang, Oh, poor Robinson Crusoe!"

But the water is rather fresh—considering how much salt there is in it. We had better take a race over the rocks. Run, Friday, for your life. If I catch you, overboard you go into the sea again. Run, you savage, run! Voices? you say, human voices?

Great Heavens! Where are you, Friday? Gone! disappeared behind that projecting ledge of rocks. And here am I, all alone, up to my arm-pits in the water, with a group of Finnish ladies standing there, not a hundred yards off, looking at me!—ay, gazing steadfastly at me, and, what is worse, splitting their sides laughing at my confusion! What in the world is to be done? The water seems to be growing colder and colder. I am chilled through. My jaws begin to chatter. Suppose a shark should seize me by the leg—or a sudden and violent cramp should take possession of me? My gracious! what are those women doing now? Actually seating themselves on the rocks, within ten steps of my clothes, and spreading several packages of bread, cheese, and cakes around them! They are going to enjoy a picnic while I enjoy my bath! I hear their merry voices; I can imagine the general drift of their jokes. How innocently they eat, and drink, and laugh. Possibly they take me for a seal or a walrus! Certainly nothing is visible but my head, on the crown of which, I regret to say, is a bald spot about the size of your hand. It may be very funny to see it dodging up and down among the breakers—but I can't stand it much longer. Already the spray has wellnigh strangled me; I shiver all over; a horrible presentiment is uppermost in my mind that polypi, and sea-leeches, and shiny jelly-fish are fastening their suckers upon my legs; I jump, and kick, and plunge in an agony of apprehension, while those fair creatures on the rock imagine, no doubt, that I am disporting myself in sheer exuberance of joy. If they only knew that I had been full half an hour in the water before they appeared, there might be some hope of a release; but that does not seem to have entered their heads.

Never in all my experience, reader, was I in such a predicament. This is no fancy sketch. It is true, every word of it. Had the picnickers been old ladies, I might have shut my eyes, and made a break out of the water for my clothes; but three of them, at least, were young, and, worse than that, very pretty! The courage for so daring and monstrous an act was not in me. I felt that it would be easier to die; and yet to die in this way is pretty hard when it comes to a practical test. What the deuce was to be done? I could not speak a word of Finnish, otherwise I might have implored them to retire a few hundred yards and let me get my clothes. With a shirt, or even a pocket-handkerchief, I might have charged upon the enemy; but I had nothing—not even a hat—as a shield against the battery of sparkling eyes that bore down upon me! A thousand expedients flashed through my mind in the extremity of my sufferings. I would slip out of the water on all-fours, and creep over the rocks like a seal, but that would be an extremely ungraceful way of approaching a bevy of strange ladies. Then it occurred to me if I could get hold of a bunch of sea-weeds, it might serve as a temporary substitute for a costume; but the weeds had all drifted away by this time, and not a patch was in sight. Even a large oyster-shell might have afforded some assistance; but who ever heard of oyster-shells in the Gulf of Finland? Nothing remained save to dive down and seize a big rock, detach it from the bottom, and, holding it up before me, make a break for the pile of clothes; yet when I came to consider the preposterous spectacle that a middle-aged man would present in a state of nudity charging full tilt upon a party of ladies, with a big rock in his hands and a gleam of desperation in his eye, the idea seemed too monstrous to be entertained, and I was forced to give it up. The difficulty was becoming really serious. Doubtless it appears very funny to my California friends, but I can assure them it was pretty near death to me. I would have given ten dollars for the poorest cotton shirt that was ever dealt out by an Indian agent to a Reservation Digger; nay, transparent as the blankets are, I might have made one serve my purpose by doubling it three or four times and holding it up front.

All this, however, though very well in its way, did not relieve me from my embarrassing predicament. Something must be done, and that very speedily. I was rapidly wilting under the chilling influence of the water. Ten minutes more would render me a fit subject for a coroner's inquest. I saw but one alternative: to work my course a few hundred yards up the shore, and then creep out the best way I could, and run for my life till I found some friendly nook among the rocks in which I could conceal myself till these fair Finns took a notion to depart.

Acting upon this idea, I ducked down as low as possible, and crept over the jagged and slippery rocks, in mortal dread all the time that some receding wave would leave me a dripping spectacle for these fair damsels to laugh at; till, bruised and scarified beyond farther endurance, I worked my way to a landing-place, where I paused in a recumbent position—that is to say, on all-fours—to take an observation. They must have perceived something ludicrous in my attitude. A wild scream of laughter saluted my ears. I could stand no more. What little warmth was left in my blood forced itself into my head and face as I sprang to my feet. With a groan of shame and mortification, I took to my heels; and never before, so help me Jupiter! did I run so fast in my life. Scream after scream of laughter followed me! It is impossible for me to conjecture how I looked, but I felt dreadfully destitute of sail as I scudded over the rough pathway that wound around the shore. Blushing, panting, and utterly overwhelmed with conflicting emotions of modesty and despair, I darted behind the friendly shelter of a rock, and inwardly resolved that if ever I went bathing in Finland again, I would at least perform my ablutions in a more appropriate costume than Nature had bestowed upon me.

The next question was, how long were these people going to enjoy themselves at my expense? Was I to be blockaded from my clothes all the rest of the afternoon? I could not, upon any principle of international law, undertake to break the blockade on the ground that it was not effectual, and yet it was pretty hard to do without my cotton. What I had suffered from the cold while in the water was nothing to what I now began to experience from the unobstructed rays of the sun. My skin was rapidly assuming every variety of color supposed to exist in the rainbow, and a painful consciousness possessed me that in half an hour more I would be blistered from head to foot. There was no shade on my side of the rock, and nothing any where in sight that could afford the least protection. Racked with renewed anguish, I peeped out to see if there was any earthly prospect reaching my clothes. Horror upon horror! what were they doing now? Did my eyes deceive me? As sure as fate, they were all quietly undressing themselves! Hats, scarves, parasols and dresses were scattered all around them; there they sat, on the moss-covered rocks, their alabaster necks and limbs glistening in the sun, looking for all the world like a bevy of mermaids, laughing and chattering in the highest glee, perfectly indifferent to my presence! I saw no more. A dizziness came over me. Consternation seized my inmost soul. Drawing back behind the rock. I held my face close up to it and shut both my eyes. Don't talk to me about courage! Every man is a coward by nature. Of what avail was it that I had killed whales and chased grizzly bears? Here I was now, hiding my face, shutting my eyes, trembling in the hot sun like a man with an ague, both knees knocking together, and my heart ready to pop out of my mouth from abject fear! Strange—wasn't it?—especially after having made the grand tour of Europe, in many parts of which live men and women are ranked with statuary. What harm is there, after all, in discarding those artificial trappings which disfigure the human form divine? Many a man who looks like an Apollo Belvidere in his natural condition, becomes a very commonplace fellow the moment he steps into his conventional disguise. He is no longer heroic; he may be a very vulgar-looking mortal, not at all calculated to produce classical impressions on any body. His form divine has fallen into the hands of a tailor, who may be neither an artist or a poet. And since we can admire an Apollo Belvidere, why not a Venus de Medici, or, still more, the living, breathing impersonation of beauty buffeting the waves with

"Shapely limb and lubricated joint."

But, hang it all! though not an ill-shaped man, I don't flatter myself there was any thing in my personal appearance, as I crouched behind the rock, shutting both eyes as hard as I could, to remind the most enthusiastic artist of the Apollo Belvidere! Nay, the gifted Hawthorne himself could scarcely have made a Marble Faun out of so unpromising a subject. And as for the fair bathers, who by this time were plunging about in the water like naiads, it would of course be impossible for me to say how far they were improved by lack of costume, since I looked in another direction, and kept my eyes faithfully closed from the very beginning. The question now occurred to me, Would I not be justified by the law of nations in breaking the blockade? It was now or never. If they once commenced dressing, farewell to hope! Well, I did it. Heaven only knows how I got through the terrible ordeal. I only remember that desperation gave strength and speed to my limbs, and I ran with incredible velocity. A moment of terrible confusion ensued as I grasped at my scattered habiliments. There came a scream of laughter from the wicked naiads who were sporting in the waves. I fled over the hills—my bundle in my arms—and never once stopped till I reached a small valley about half a mile distant. Breathless, mortified, and bewildered at the oddity of the adventure. I hurriedly dressed, and walked back to town. Arrived at my hotel, I called for a bottle of schnapps, retired to my room, locked the door, and fervently ejaculated, "'All's well that ends well!' Here's to the ladies of Helsingfors! But if ever you catch me in such a scrape again, my name's not Browne!"



CHAPTER XXIII.

ABO—FINLAND.

I was strongly inclined to spend several weeks in Helsingfors. The bathing is delightful, and the manners and customs of the people are primitive and interesting. My adventure on the sea-shore, as I soon discovered, was nothing uncommon. I mentioned the matter to my landlady—a Finnish woman of very sociable manners, who spoke a little English. I asked her if it was customary for the ladies to dispense with bathing-dresses. She said they generally wore something when they bathed in public, but beyond the limits of the regular bath-houses, at the end of the Botanical Gardens, they seldom troubled themselves about matters of that kind; in fact, they preferred going in without any obstruction, because "they could swim so much better."

Having procured my passport at the Bureau of the Police, I took passage in a Swedish steamer bound for Abo and Stockholm. Next morning by daylight the steamer arrived from St. Petersburg. I went on board, and in a few hours more the fortifications of Sweaborg were dim in the distance.

The accommodations on board the Swedish steamers are excellent. I took passage in the second cabin, for the sake of economy, and found every thing as clean and comfortable as I could desire. The waiters are polite and attentive, the fare is good, and the company quiet and respectable. The difference in this respect is very striking between first and second class passengers on board of American and Swedish steamers. In the latter there is no rowdyism—no incivility from officers or servants; and, so far as the passengers are concerned, I could not perceive that they were debarred from any of the privileges enjoyed by passengers of the first class. They had the entire range of the vessel, and were treated with the same respect and consideration shown to others who possessed the means of indulgence in a little more style. I have been particularly pleased with this trait in the management of public conveyances throughout Europe. In Sweden and Norway it is especially characteristic. The commonest deck-passenger on board a Swedish or Norwegian steamer is treated with courtesy. Indeed, I have seen instances of care and tenderness toward the poorer classes, whose circumstances compelled them to travel in this way, that I regret to say would excite astonishment in our own democratic country. I can scarcely understand why it is that the captain and officers of a steam-ship on our side of the water consider it their duty to harass passengers who do not pay the highest price with all sorts of vexatious restrictions, and to render their condition as uncomfortable as possible. To be overbearing, insolent, and ungentlemanly seems to be the only aim of these important functionaries, and, so far as my experience goes, they succeed so well in this respect that if they do not actually prove themselves brutes and blackguards during the passage, they are usually rewarded for their forbearance, on reaching the port of destination, by a card of thanks. I have seen no such insolence on the part of officers and slavishness on that of passengers on board of any Swedish or Norwegian steamer, as I have often seen on the Panama and California coast steamers. Yet cards of thanks are not common in Europe. In fact, they would be regarded as a reflection upon the officers rather than an evidence of complimentary appreciation.

The coast of Finland from Helsingfors to Abo abounds in small rocky islands, covered, for the most part, with a stunted growth of pine. The outline of the main land is extremely rugged and irregular, presenting a succession of promontories, bays, and inlets, weather-beaten cliffs of granite, and gloomy pine forests. No sign of habitation is to be seen during the entire voyage, with the exception of an occasional group of fishermen's huts or a custom-house station. The whole country has the appearance of an unbroken wilderness. The steamer plows her way, hour after hour, through the narrow and winding passages that lie between the islands—sometimes so close to the overhanging cliffs and rugged boulders of granite as almost to touch—and often apparently land-locked amid the maze of islands and promontories. While there is nothing grand or imposing in the scenery, the coast of Finland is certainly one of the most interesting portions of the world, in a geological point of view. The singular formation of the rocks, their rich and varied colors, and the strange manner in which Nature has grouped them together, afford an endless variety of interesting studies. The utter isolation of the inhabitants from the busy world, their rude and primitive mode of life, their simplicity, hardihood, and daring; the rigors of climate to which they are subject, and their strong attachment to their sea-girt homes and perilous pursuits, render the trip interesting to the general tourist, who, though not skilled in geology, may be supposed to possess, like myself, a fancy for gathering up odds and ends touching the condition of his fellow-beings.

The people of this coast region are a hardy race, whose wild habits of life and isolation from the great outer world develop in them many striking and peculiar traits of character. During the long winters, when the bays, inlets, and harbors are blocked with ice, they become wood-choppers or lumbermen, and spend their time chiefly in the forests. Upon the breaking up of winter they prepare their nets and fishing-gear, and, as soon as the season permits, set forth in their little smacks, and devote the principal part of the summer to catching and curing fish, for which they find a ready sale at the stations along the shore, frequented by traders from St. Petersburg. They live in small cabins, built of pine logs, rarely consisting of more than two rooms. Each family owns a small patch of ground, with an unlimited range of forest. A few cows or goats, a vegetable garden, and some chickens or ducks, constitute all they require for domestic use, and these are usually attended by the women and children during the absence of the men on their fishing expeditions. Education is at a low ebb among them, though the rudimental branches are not altogether neglected. They are a simple, hospitable, and kind-hearted people, ignorant and superstitious, yet by no means deficient in natural capacity. No better sailors than the Finns are to be found in any part of the world, and there is scarcely a sea throughout the arctic regions which has not been visited by their vessels. Although the climate is rigorous during a considerable portion of the year, the Finns prefer it to any other in the world, and conscientiously believe the garden of Paradise must have been originally located in Finland. The lower classes are contented and happy, caring little for affairs of government, unless they happen to be subjected to some peculiar or oppressive restraints. As the traveler approaches the Gulf of Bothnia, they assimilate very closely to the same classes in Sweden, and but little difference is perceptible either in their language or costume. The educated classes, such as the professional men, merchants, bankers, traders, etc., are as polished as most people throughout the North of Europe, and many of them are distinguished for their cultivated manners and general intelligence. Such of these as I conversed with on board the steamer impressed me very favorably. I found them liberal in their sentiments, and devoted admirers of our American institutions. Yet, strange to say, the only secessionist I met in the course of my wanderings in this region was a Finn. Hearing me speak English, he immediately opened a conversation on the subject of the revolutionary movement in the United States. He did not know what we were fighting for; thought the North was acting very badly; regarded the people of the South as an oppressed and persecuted race; believed in slavery; considered the Lincoln government a perfect despotism, etc. In short, his views were a general epitome of the speeches, proclamations, and messages of the leading rebels throughout the South. I listened to him with great patience. He had an interesting family on board, all of whom spoke English; and what struck me as peculiar, a species of negro English common in the Southern States. "Sir," said I, at length, "you surprise me! I had not expected to meet so strong an advocate of slavery and slave institutions in this latitude. Can it be possible that you are a Finn?" "Yes, sir," he answered, "a genuine Finn—now on a visit to my native country after an absence of twenty-five years." "Then you must have lived in the South?" "Yes, sir; in Montgomery, Alabama. I have property there. It was getting pretty bad there for a family, and I thought I had better pay a visit to Finland while the war was going on." This accounted for the peculiar sentiments of my fellow-traveler! He seemed to be a very nice old gentleman, and I was sorry to find him tinctured with the heresies of rebellion. Farther conversation with him satisfied me that if he could get his property out of Montgomery, and put it in Massachusetts, he would be a very respectable Union man. I don't think his heart was in the movement, though his pocket, doubtless, felt a considerable interest in it.

The town of Abo, formerly the capital of Finland—now a place of no great importance except as a custom-house and military station—is beautifully situated on the banks of a river called the Aurajoki, about three miles above its mouth. Vessels of medium draught, including the coasting steamers, have no difficulty in ascending as far as the bridge, where they lie alongside the wharves and receive or discharge freight. Those of larger draught usually anchor off the village of Boxholm, a picturesque gathering of red cottages, with high peaked roofs, situated at the entrance of the river. Above the village, on the summit of a rocky cliff, stands the fort of Abohus, ready at a moment's notice to pour a broadside into any enemy of Imperial Russia that may undertake to pass up the river.

Abo, since the removal of the capital and University to Helsingfors and the great conflagration of 1827, which destroyed two thirds of the town, has fallen into decay, and now does not contain a population of more than ten or twelve thousand souls. Spread over an area of several miles square, with a sufficient number of houses to accommodate twice or three times the population, its broad, stone-paved thoroughfares and numerous untenanted buildings have a peculiarly desolate appearance. Back a little from the river the pedestrian may walk half a mile at midday without meeting a single soul in the streets. A dead silence reigns over these deserted quarters, as if the prevailing lethargy had fallen upon the few inhabitants that remain. Grass grows on the sidewalks, and the basement walls of the houses are covered with moss. A dank, chilly mildew seems to hang in the air. One might become green all over, like a neglected tomb-stone, should he forget himself and stand too long in one spot. I spent a considerable portion of the day rambling through these melancholy by-ways, and must admit that the effect upon my spirits was not cheering. Now and then the apparition of some cadaverous old woman, wrinkled with age—a greenish hue upon her features—would appear unexpectedly at some unexpected opening in one of the ruinous old houses, and startle me by a gaze of wonder or some unintelligible speech addressed to herself. Probably a human being had not been seen in that vicinity for the last month. Sometimes a slatternly servant-girl would appear in the distance, her dress bedraggled with slops, a tub of water on the pavement close by, and a long-handled mop in her hand, with which she seemed to be vigorously engaged in scrubbing the green slime and tufts of moss off the window-sills; but catching a sight of the strangers, down would go the mop, and then the usual hasty attempt would be made at fixing her hair and otherwise increasing her personal charms. As I drew near, this useful member of society would naturally take a sidelong glance at the strange gentleman, and perceiving that he was uncommonly attractive in personal appearance, it was quite natural she should make a neat little courtesy and say "Got Aften!" to which, of course, I always responded in the most affable manner, not forgetting to say to myself, in an audible tone, "Sken Jumfru!"—a pretty girl. No harm in that, is there?

In the afternoon I walked out to a public garden about two miles from town, where there are some very pleasant promenades, a large building containing a ballroom, and numerous pavilions for refreshments. It was a festive occasion, and the elite and fashion of Abo were assembled there in their best attire. The music was inspiring. Dancing seemed contagious. The ballroom was crowded, and old and young were whirling about on the light fantastic toe with a zest and spirit truly inspiring. Old gentlemen with bald heads seemed to have forgotten their age and infirmities, and whirled the blooming damsels around in the dizzy mazes of the waltz as dexterously as the youngest; and young gentlemen hopped about quite frantic with joy, and altogether bewildered with the beauty of their partners. It was really a pretty sight. Rarely had I seen so many pleasant faces of both sexes, especially those of the ladies. Good-humor, simplicity, and frankness were their predominant traits. All ceremony seemed to be cast aside, and every body participated in the dance as if it were one great family frolic. The formality of introduction was dispensed with, or probably most of the guests were already acquainted. The fiddlers scraped louder and louder; wilder and faster blew the horns, and on went the dance with increasing vigor. I was getting excited—the spirit of the thing was contagious. Though not much of a dancer, yet I had occasionally in my life filled a place in a reel or a cotillon. Waltzing, to be sure, was a little beyond my experience, but I had a general idea of the figure, and could not perceive that there was any thing very difficult about it. Most of the waltzers here whirled around with great ease, and I could see no reason why it would not be entirely practicable for an active man like myself, who thought nothing of climbing high mountains or jumping across small rivers, to do the same. Besides, these people were strangers; it would be a good opportunity to try my skill. Doubtless, any of the young ladies would oblige me if I asked them to dance. They seemed to oblige every body that asked them, and showed no signs of fatigue. Indeed, they looked fresher and more vigorous after every bout. I was particularly charmed with the appearance of one young lady. Her complexion was florid, and her figure absolutely magnificent. At a rough guess she must have weighed a hundred and eighty pounds. Every time she whirled past me I could feel the floor give way. Her partner was rather small, and revolved around her like a planet round the sun. When she laughed, which was nearly all the time, her beautiful mouth opened at least two thirds of the way across her face, revealing a set of teeth to which flakes of snow, pearls, or any thing of that kind could bear no comparison. The extraordinary vigor of this girl, her tremendous powers of endurance, her weight, beauty, and good-humor, rendered her a general favorite. She was, in fact, the belle of the room. To dance with her would be an honorable distinction. Now I am naturally a modest man, but of late years that defect has been gradually disappearing from my character. I resolved to dance with this girl—if she would consent. As soon as there was a pause, therefore, I made bold to go up to her, and, with a very polite bow, solicited her hand—in English. She didn't understand English, but she understood dancing, and answered me very politely in Swedish, "Ja!" I think my dress and manner, together with my ignorance of the Swedish language, had rather a favorable effect. She certainly looked complimented and gratified. I saw her turn round her head as we stood up, and laugh at the other girls, which I interpreted to mean that she, of all in the room, had succeeded in catching the distinguished stranger. Well, the music started—it was a German waltz. I stood holding on to my partner as the ivy clings to the solid oak. Never did I feel so firm a girl. Had she been formed of lead she could not have felt more substantial. Now, thought I, away we'll spin over the floor, a living duet, altogether accidental, but beautiful to behold—

"Like the sweet tunes that wandering meet, And so harmoniously they run, The hearer dreams they are but one."

There was only one consideration that gave me any particular anxiety. Being of a light and slender figure, I had some apprehensions that in the giddy whirl of the waltz this powerful young lady might accidentally throw me out of balance and create an unpleasant scene. However, there was no time for reflection. At a given signal, away she started with tremendous energy. I did my best to whirl her round, and don't think it would be possible for any body to do any better under the circumstances; but she didn't keep time—or I didn't. Round and round the room we flew, to the inspiring strains of the music, with an undulating motion very difficult to conceive, and still more difficult to execute without danger to the other dancers. The warm blood rushed to my face; my head grew dizzy: the only thing I saw was that this style of waltzing must end in destruction to myself or somebody else. I was fairly lifted off my feet at every turn, and found myself absolutely hanging on to my partner to keep from falling. She never relaxed in her vigorous movements one moment; but as the music increased in spirit, so did she. The room was filled with waltzers. It was impossible to be flying about in this way without hitting somebody. I knew it from the very beginning, but what could I do? The first man down was an old gentleman. I begged his pardon, and helped him up again. Next I was dashed against a young lady. She and her partner both went down. I helped them up, and begged pardon again, which was granted with great good-humor. After that, most of the waltzers began to get out of the way, so that we presently had a more enlarged scope of operations. I fancy there was something uncommon in my style of waltzing that attracted attention. It was not long before we had the entire circle to ourselves, the crowd standing around and manifesting the most intense appreciation of our efforts. All went on very well for a while. Up and down the room, and round and round we whirled, and at every whirl there was a murmur of admiration and applause. My beautiful partner shook her sides as if convulsed with an earthquake—I could feel the motion, but was unable to conjecture the cause. Possibly she was getting agitated—or it might be that sentiments of tenderness were stealing over her heart. That idea, or something else, confused me. I struck out one foot a little awkwardly. She tripped against it, whirled me half round in attempting to gain her balance, and then we fell. It was very awkward. What rendered it still more unpleasant, every body began to laugh. People always do laugh at the misfortunes of others. I would have picked the young lady up at once, or at least tried it (for she was rather heavy), but the fact is, I fell underneath, and was utterly unable to move. Had I been pinned and riveted to the floor, I could not have been in a more helpless position. A man whose natural instincts are polite is surely a subject of sympathy and commiseration under such a pressure of difficulties as this. I breathed hard, but was unable to get out a single word of apology, till, with, a laugh and a bound, my fair partner regained her feet, and then she very good-naturedly assisted me in regaining mine. Mortified beyond measure, I conducted her to a seat. As I was passing out of the room soon after, a new waltz struck up. The dancers went at it again as lively as ever. I turned to see what had become of my partner. She was whirling over the floor with undiminished energy in the arms of a young gentleman in military uniform. He may have been more accustomed to waltzing than I was, but I think any person present—not excepting the young lady herself—would have been willing to admit that his style did not compare with mine in force and individuality. It certainly produced no such effect upon the audience.

I walked back to town a sober and thoughtful man. This dancing business is a very foolish pastime. It may do very well for giddy and thoughtless young persons, but for men of mature years it is the height of folly. I am surprised that they should be led aside from their customary propriety by the fascinations of beauty.

The sun was just setting. Its last rays rested upon the ruined walls of the Observatory. I followed a crowd of citizens who were slowly toiling up the stone steps, and, after a pretty hard climb, was rewarded with a magnificent view of the city and surrounding country. The rocky pinnacle upon which the Observatory stands rises some three hundred feet above the banks of the river, and overlooks a large portion of the valley of the Aurajoki. The winding waters of the river; the green fields; patches of woodland, villas, and gardens; the blue mountains in the distance, and the silent city lying like a mouldering corpse beneath, presented a scene singularly picturesque and impressive. I sat down upon the ruined walls and thought of Abo in its glory—the ancient head-quarters of Christianity in Finland; the last abiding-place of the beautiful Caroline Morsson, the peasant queen of Sweden, wife of Eric XII., who died here, and whose remains lie in the Cathedral—the city of the mighty hosts of warlike Finns who fought under the banner of Charles XII., and made a funeral pyre of their bodies upon the bloody field of Puttara. The present Finns are of this heroic race. Not less brave, yet less fortunate than the Spartans of Thermopylae, they have lost their country and their freedom, and now groan under the oppression of a despotic government.

While thus musing on the past, a strain of delicious music broke the stillness. I rambled over the granite cliffs in the direction of the sound, and soon came to a grove of trees, with an open space in the middle, occupied by a band of musicians, who were surrounded by a group of citizens, thus pleasantly passing the summer evening. Booths and tents were scattered about in every direction, in which cakes and refreshments were to be had; and gay parties of young people were seated on long planks so arranged as to make a kind of spring seats, upon which they bounced up and down to the time of the music. Children were playing upon the grass, their merry shouts of laughter mingling pleasantly with the national air performed by the band. On the moss-covered rocks sat groups of young ladies, guarded by their amiable mothers or discreet duennas, as the case might be, trying hard not to see any of the young gentlemen who lounged about in the same vicinity; and young gentlemen prowled about puffing cigars as if they didn't care a straw whether the young ladies looked at them or not—both being, of course, according to the established usages of society, natural enemies of each other. For the life of me, I can't tell why it is that young ladies and gentlemen should be thus everlastingly at war. Would it not be better to kiss and make it up, and try, if possible, to get along peaceably through the world?

But the steamer blows her whistle—the bell rings—I must hurry on board. Good-by, dear Finns, big and little, I like you all. God bless you! Good-by old Abo, with your ancient church, and your moss-grown streets, and deserts of houses—I feel sorry for you, but I can't help it! Good-by, Russia! If I don't call again, attribute it to no want of interest in the great cause of civilization. Just drop me a line and let me know when the serfs are free and a constitutional government is established, and I will strain a point to pay my respects to Alexander II. I rather like the young man, and have an idea that he is capable of noble deeds and heroic sacrifices. But he must abolish his secret police, punish them for whipping women, open universities upon a liberal basis, throw the camarilla and the aristocracy overboard, quit murdering the poor Poles at Warsaw, and do several other things before he can have my support. Should he accomplish these beneficial reforms, and at any future time think proper to settle in my neighborhood, where the climate is more genial, I shall cheerfully vote for him as mayor of the city of Oakland.



CHAPTER XXIV.

STOCKHOLM.

The passage from Abo to Stockholm occupies about eighteen hours, and in fine weather affords a constant succession of agreeable scenes. With the exception of about four hours of open sea in crossing the Gulf of Bothnia, the steamer is constantly surrounded by islands, many of them highly picturesque, and all interesting from their peculiar geological formation. Occasionally the island winds like a snake through a wilderness of naked granite boulders, round and slippery, and barely high enough out of the water to afford a foundation for a few fishermen's huts, which from time to time break the monotony of their solitude. Sometimes the channel opens out into broad lakes, apparently hemmed in on all sides by pine-covered cliffs; then passing between a series of frightful crags, upthrown, as it were, out of the water by some convulsion of nature, the surging waves lash their way through the narrow passages, and threaten each moment to ingulf the frail vessel, or dash it to atoms against the rocks. The greatest danger in making this trip arises from the number of sunken rocks, which often approach to within a few feet of the surface without being visible. The depth is usually marked by poles or buoys, and it often happens that the steamer plies her way for hours between these water-marks, where there is no other indication of danger. The Swedish and Finnish pilots are proverbially among the best in the world. We had an old Finn on board—a shaggy old sea-dog, rough and weather-beaten as any of the rocks on his own rock-bound coast, who, I venture to say, never slept a wink during the entire passage, or if he did, it was all the same. He knew every rock, big and little, visible and invisible, that lay on the entire route between Abo and Stockholm, and could see them all with his eyes shut. An uncouth, hardy, honest old monster was this Finn—a Caliban of a fellow, half human, half fish—with a great sou'wester on his head, a rough monkey-jacket buttoned around his body, and a pair of boots on his legs that must have been designed for wading over coral reefs, through seas of swordfish, shovel-nosed sharks, and unicorns. His broad, honest face looked for all the world like a granite boulder covered with barnacles and sea-weed, and ornamented by a bunch of mussels for a nose, and a pair of shining blue pebbles by way of eyes; and when he spoke, which was not often, his voice sounded like the keel of a fishing-smack grating over a bank of gravel. I strongly suspect his father was a sea-lion and his mother a grampus or scragg whale, and that he was fished up out of the sea when young by some hardy son of Neptune, and subsequently trained up in the ways of humanity on board a fishing-smack, where the food consisted of polypi, lobsters, and black bread. Yet there was something wonderfully genial about this old pilot. He chewed enormous quantities of tobacco, the stains of which around his mouth greatly improved the beauty of his countenance; and when he was not chewing pigtail he was smoking it, which equally contributed to soften the asperities of his features. Having sailed in many seas, he spoke many languages, but none very intelligibly, owing to some radical defect in the muscles of his mouth. As to the channel between Abo and Stockholm, which lies partly through the Aland Islands and numerous adjacent rocks, above and below water, I believe he had traveled over it so often that he could steer a vessel through it standing backward as readily as box the compass, or shut both his eyes and tell where the deepest water lay by the smell of the air and the taste of his tobacco.

The passage across the Gulf of Bothnia was somewhat rough, and most of the passengers were sea-sick, owing, no doubt, to the short chopping motion which prevails on board of all kinds of sea-going vessels in these inland seas. Having performed various voyages in various parts of the world, I was, of course, exempt from this annoyance; but my digestion had been impaired in Russia by the vast quantity of tea, cucumbers, veal, cabbage-soup, and other horrible mixtures which I had been forced to consume while there, and which now began to tell on my constitution. Notwithstanding repeated doses of cognac, taken from time to time as I walked the decks, the sea began to whirl all round, the clouds overhead to swing about at random through the rigging, and the odor of the machinery to produce the strongest and most disagreeable sensations. I went below to see how things looked there; but, finding the atmosphere dense and the prospect gloomy, returned in great haste and looked over the bulwarks to see how fast we were going through the water. While thus engaged, an amusing thought occurred to me. Suppose the mermaids who lie down in the briny depths form their ideas of the beauty of the human countenance from the casual glimpses thus afforded of our features, would it be possible for the most susceptible of them to fall in love with us? The idea was so droll that I was almost convulsed with laughter; but, not wishing to attract attention by laughing aloud at my own thoughts, I merely clung to the bulwarks and doubled myself up, trying to avoid the appearance of eccentricity. At or about the same moment, the old Finnish pilot, with whom I had formed an acquaintance, came along, and said good-naturedly, "Hello, sir! I dink you pe sea-sick." "Sea-sick?" said I, a little nettled. "Oh no, Herr Pilot, I'm an old sailor, and never get sea-sick." "Vel, I dought you was sick—you look bad, sir," answered the good old pilot; "de sea is very rough, sir." Here the steamer took a notion to pitch down into the water and jump up again suddenly, and then rolled on one side and then on the other, and at the same time a number of the passengers began to make grotesque and disagreeable noises, which amused me so much that I had to turn away my face and look at the water again to avoid laughing. "Sir," said the old pilot, who observed the contortions of mirth by which I was moved, "vil you have some schnapps? I dink schnapps is goot for de sea-sick." "Thank you," said I, the tears streaming from my eyes, "I won't have any just now." "Vel, 'twon't last long, any how," suggested the good-natured monster. "By'm-by we be up to Vaxholm—in pout two hours. Dere's land! Don't you see it?" I saw it, and right glad I was too, for it is always refreshing to see land from the deck of a steamer. In half an hour more we entered a smooth stretch of water, and soon the wood-covered islands and shores of Sweden were close ahead.

Passing the fortress of Waxholm, we entered the magnificent fjord or arm of the sea which extends for a distance of ten or twelve miles up to the city. The scenery on this part of the route is very fine. All along the shores of the main land and adjacent islands rugged cliffs of granite reared their hoary crests over the waters of the fjord. Forests of oak and pine cover the rolling background, and beautiful villas, with parterres and blooming gardens, peep from every glen. Sometimes for miles the solitude of the forests and rock-bound shores is unbroken, save by an occasional fisherman's hut or an open patch of green pasture; then suddenly, upon turning a point, a group of red-roofed villas glimmer through the foliage; sail-boats are seen gliding over the water with gay companies of ladies and gentlemen from the city enjoying the fresh breeze that sweeps up from the Gulf; now a hay-boat or a clumsy lugger laden with wood drifts along lazily toward the grand centre of trade; and as we approach nearer to the dim smoke-cloud that hangs over the city, big and little craft gather thicker and thicker before us, till the whole fjord seems alive with masts and sails. Soon the outlines of the churches and castles break through the dim distance, and, like some grand optical illusion, the whole city gradually opens up before us.

To say that I was charmed with the first view of Stockholm would but faintly express the feelings with which I gazed upon this beautiful metropolis of the North. Though different in almost every essential particular, it has been not unaptly compared to Venice; and certainly, if the sparkling waters from which it seems to rise, the wood-covered islands, the rich and varied outlines of its churches and castles, the forests of shipping at its wharves, the many-colored sail-boats and gondolas sweeping hither and thither, the glowing atmosphere, and surrounding gardens, villas, temples, and pavilions, can entitle it to that distinction, Stockholm well deserves to rank with the Queen City of the Adriatic.

The landing for the Baltic steamers is at the head quay called the Skepsbron, which in summer is well lined with shipping, and presents rather an animated appearance. Very little formality is observed in regard to the baggage of passengers, and passports are not required, or at least no demand was made upon me for mine. All I had to do was to show my knapsack to the custom-house officer, who put a chalk-mark upon it, signifying, no doubt, that it contained nothing contraband; after which I stepped ashore, and, aided by a friendly fellow-passenger, found lodgings at a dirty little hotel close by, called the "Stadt Frankfort." If there is any worse place to be found in Stockholm, it must be the very worst on the face of the earth, for the "Stadt Frankfort" is next thing to it. Being dirty and foul of smell, and abounding in vermin, of course the charges are, as usual in such cases, proportionally high, for which reason I recommend it to any gentleman traveling in this direction whose main object is to get rid of his money for an equivalent of filth, fleas, bugs, bad bread, and worse coffee. The main part of the city, embracing the King's Palace, the Bourse, the Church of St. Nicholas, the Barracks and public buildings, is built upon an island fronting the Baltic on the one side and the Malar Lake on the other. This is the most populous and interesting part, though the streets are narrow and irregular, and the houses generally old and dilapidated, with dark, gloomy fronts, and a very fishy and primitive expression of countenance. The new parts of the city, called the Normalm to the north and the Sodmalm to the south, which are connected with the island by bridges, have some fine streets and handsome rows of buildings in the modern style, especially the Normalm, which contains the King's Garden, the Arsenal, the Opera-house, and the principal hotels and residences of the foreign ministers. This part of Stockholm will compare favorably with second or third-rate cities in Germany; for it must be borne in mind that, striking as the external aspect of Stockholm is, the interior is very far from sustaining the illusion of grandeur cast around it by the scenic beauties of its position. In nothing is the traveler more disappointed than the almost total absence of business excitement. With the exception of a few stevedores at work on the wharves and a trifling jostle at the market-places, the whole city seems to be sitting down in its Northern solitude, waiting, like Mr. Micawber, for something to turn up. In some parts one may walk half a mile without hearing a sound save the echo of his own footsteps. It is, emphatically, a "slow" place—so slow, indeed, compared with the marts of commerce to which I had been accustomed in California (especially the city of Oakland), that I was constantly impressed with the idea that every body was fast asleep, and that if three or four of them should happen to wake at the same time, it would be fearfully startling to hear their eyelids crack open and the hollow streets echo to their yawns.

But don't understand this as a reflection upon the Swedish race. They are industrious and energetic when occasion requires, but, like all people who live at the extreme North, acquire tropical habits of indolence from the climate. During the tedious winters, when the days are but six hours long, all who can afford it become torpid, like frogs, and lie up in their houses till the summer sun thaws them out. Balls, parties, and sleigh-riding occasionally rouse them up, but lethargy is the general rule. The warm weather comes very suddenly, and then the days are eighteen hours long. This being the season of outdoor pleasure, it is spent in visits to the country or lounging about the gardens, sitting on spring benches and enjoying the sunshine.

The Swedish soldiers are a fine-looking race of men, far superior in stature and general appearance to the soldiers of Russia. They are well drilled, bold, and manly, and have fine faces, full of spirit and intelligence. Wherever these men are led, they will now, as in past times, give the enemies of their country some trouble. I consider them the finest soldiers in Northern Europe.

The general aspect of the citizens of Stockholm is that of extreme plainness and simplicity. I take them to be an honest, substantial, and reliable people, well educated and intelligent; satisfied with themselves and the world, and proud of their country and its history. Politeness is a national characteristic. Every person, of high and low degree, upon entering a shop, takes off his hat, and remains with uncovered head while making his purchase. Gentlemen who meet on the street knock the tops of their "tiles" against their knees, and continue to bow at each other long after they have passed. In feature and general appearance the Swedes are handsomer than the southern races of Europe, and for that reason wear a nearer resemblance to the Americans. I saw several men in Stockholm who would not have done discredit to California, in point of fine faces and commanding figures. The Swedish ladies are proverbially beautiful. It was really refreshing, after my visit to Russia, to see so many pretty women as I met here. Light hair, oval features, sparkling blue eyes, and forms of intoxicating grace and beauty—ah me! why should such dangers be permitted to threaten the defenseless traveler with instant destruction, when the law provides for his protection against other disasters by land and sea, assault and battery, false imprisonment and highway robbery? Yet here were lovely creatures, gliding about at large, shooting mutilation and death out of their bright blue eyes, and apparently as indifferent to the slaughter they committed as if it were the finest fun in the world! Talk of your French beauties, your Italian beauties, your Spanish beauties! Give me, for the impersonation of soul expressed in the human form divine—for features "woven from the music of the spheres and painted with the hues of the aurora borealis"—a Swedish beauty, the nearest approach upon earth to an American beauty, which, being altogether angelic, must ever remain the highest type of perfection known to mankind.

I don't wonder Swedenborg made so many heavens for his female characters. His "conjugal felicity" required at least seven. One small heaven, constructed upon the Swedish plan, would certainly afford but limited accommodations for all the beauties of Stockholm.

A day or two after my arrival in Stockholm I called to Mr. Fristadius, the American consul, from whom I obtained the latest news in reference to the progress of the rebellion. Accustomed as we are in the United States to read the newspapers every morning, wherever we may happen to be, the deprivations in this respect to which an American traveler in Europe is subjected must be experienced to be fully appreciated. Even in the principal cities of Germany it is difficult to find a newspaper that contains any thing more than a notice of the price of stocks, a few telegraphic items about the petty court movements of neighboring cities, a rehash of slander upon our country from the London Times, or an item of news about the war, in which the states are misplaced, the names misspelled, and the most important points omitted. I do not think there is a village press in California that would not be ashamed to turn out such trashy little sheets as are issued in Frankfort; and as for the matter of fairness and honesty, it is rare to find an independent newspaper in any part of Europe. To suppress truth and subserve some military or financial interest is the business for which they are paid. Making due allowance for party prejudices, you may guess at the truth in most of our American journals, but it would be a waste of time to search for it in the newspapers published on this side of the water. While they studiously refrain from indecorous language, they are corrupt and unreliable beyond any thing known in California, and have not even the merit of being energetic and entertaining liars. This is the case in Russia and Finland as well as in Germany. Where the press is subjected to a rigid censorship, it is of course useless to look for reliable information, and as for late intelligence, it does not travel through official bureaus. Before leaving Frankfort I had news to the 28th of June. A week after my arrival at St. Petersburg the same news was promulgated in that city. On my return from Moscow I had the pleasure of reading the details in an American newspaper. One or two mutilated telegraphic dispatches seemed to sharpen my appetite during the trip to Revel, Helsingfors, Abo, and Stockholm; and now, arrived at the head-quarters of Swedish civilization, after searching in vain for a late English or American newspaper at the principal cafes, I was compelled to make application to our consul, in the faint hope that he might be an occasional reader of that ephemeral species of literature. Fortunately, Mr. Fristadius had spent some time in the United States, and learned to appreciate the magnitude and importance of the struggle in which we were engaged.

I had the pleasure, during my sojourn in Stockholm, of getting a glimpse of Swedish social life in one of its most agreeable phases. Mr. Fristadius, who is a Swede by birth and education, and occupies a prominent position as one of the leading iron-merchants of Stockholm, was kind enough to invite me to an entertainment at his villa, situated about four miles from the city, on one of the prettiest little islands in the Malar Lake.