e of persons walking were heard above the singing, and
besides that, there was an insupportable smell of garlic: almost all
the congregation had small bunches of garlic with them, of which they
ate as they sat. I could not bear it, and went out into the
churchyard: here--as it always is in nature--it was affecting, it was
holy. The church door stood open; the tones of the organ, and the
voices of the psalm-singers were wafted out here in the bright
sunlight, by the open lake: the many who could not find a place in the
church, stood outside, and sang with the congregation from the
psalm-book: round about on the monuments, which are almost all of
cast-iron, there sat mothers suckling their infants--the fountain of
life flowed over death and the grave. A young peasant stood and read
the inscription on a grave:

"Ach hur soedt al hafve lefvet,
Ach hur skjoeut al kunne doee!"[S]

[Footnote S: "How sweet to live--how beautiful to die!"]

Beautiful Christian, scriptural language, verses certainly taken from
the psalm-book, were read on the graves; they were all read, for the
service lasted several hours. This, however, can never be good for
devotion.

The crowd at length streamed from the church; the fiery-red and
grass-green aprons glittered; but the mass of human beings became
thicker, and closer, and pressed forward. The white head-dresses, the
white band over the forehead, and the white sleeves, were the
prevailing colours--it looked like a long procession in Catholic
countries. There was again life and motion on the road; the
over-filled boats again rowed away; one waggon drove off after the
other; but yet there were people left behind. Married and unmarried
men stood in groups in the broad street of Lacksand, from the church
up to the inn. I was staying there, and I must acknowledge that my
Danish tongue sounded quite foreign to them all. I then tried the
Swedish, and the girl at the inn assured me that she understood me
better than she had understood the Frenchman, who the year before had
spoken French to her.

As I sit in my room, my hostess's grand-daughter, a nice little child,
comes in, and is pleased to see my parti-coloured carpet-bag, my
Scotch plaid, and the red leather lining of the portmanteau. I
directly cut out for her, from a sheet of white paper, a Turkish
mosque, with minarets and open windows, and away she runs with it--so
happy, so happy!

Shortly after, I heard much loud talking in th