the
glass in hundreds of windows. But the artillerymen were obliged to
put match to touch-hole, and a murderous fire of canister did
execution in the masses of the Dalecarlians. Many a white camisole
was stained with the red heart's-blood of its wearer; fifty men
fell dead upon the spot, eighty were wounded, and a crowd of others
sprang into the Norderstroem, or sought to fly. The regiment of
body-guards pursued them, and drove the discomfited boors into the
artillery court. A severe investigation now took place, and these
thirsters after liberty were punished by imprisonment and running
the gauntlet. Their leader and five others were beheaded.

"The Dalecarlians are a tenacious and obstinate people, and their
character is not likely to change; but God forbid that they should
again deem it necessary to visit Stockholm. They were doubtless
just as brave in the year 1743 as in 1521 and 1434; but though
_they_ had not altered, the times had. Civilization and cartridges
are powerful checks upon undisciplined courage and an unbridled
desire of liberty."

Returning from Dalecarlia to Stockholm, Mr Boas takes, not without
regret, his final farewell of that city, and embarks for Gothenburg,
passing through the Gotha canal, that splendid monument of Swedish
industry and perseverance, which connects the Baltic with the North Sea.
He passes the island of Moerkoe, on which is Hoeningsholm Castle, where
Marshal Banner was brought up. A window is pointed out in the third
story of the castle, at which Banner, when a child, was once playing,
when he overbalanced himself and fell out. The ground beneath was hard
and rocky, but nevertheless he got up unhurt, ran into the house, and
related how a gardener had saved him by catching him in his white apron.
Enquiry was immediately made, but, far or near, no gardener was to be
found. By an odd coincidence, Wallenstein, Banner's great opponent, when
a page at Innspruck, also fell out of a high window without receiving
the least injury.

On the first evening of the voyage, the steamer anchors for the night
near Mem, a country-seat belonging to a certain Count Saltza, an
eccentric old nobleman, who traces his descent from the time of Charles
XII., and fancies himself a prophet and ghost-seer. His predictions
relate usually to the royal family or country of Sweden, and are
repeated from mouth to mouth througho