red Dalecarlia on this stage, and the frank fresh
faces of these people, their unmistakable expression of honesty and
integrity, and the hearty cordiality of their greetings, welcomed us
delightfully to the storied ground of Sweden.

Towards noon we reached the village of Tyngsjo, a little settlement
buried in the heart of the wild woods. A mile or two of the southern
slope of a hill had been cleared away, and over this a number of dark
wooden farmhouses were scattered, with oats and potato-fields around
them. An odd little church stood in midst, and the rich swell of a hymn,
sung by sweet Swedish voices, floated to us over the fields as we drove
up to the post-station. The master, a tall, slender man, with yellow
locks falling upon his shoulders, and a face which might be trusted with
millions, welcomed us with a fine antique courtesy, and at once sent off
for horses. In a little while three farmers came, saluting us
gracefully, and standing bareheaded while they spoke to us. One of them,
who wore a dark brown jacket and knee-breeches, with a clean white shirt
and stockings, had a strikingly beautiful head. The face was a perfect
oval, the eyes large and dark, and the jet-black hair, parted on the
forehead, fell in silky waves upon his shoulders. He was as handsome and
graceful as one of Vandyk's cavaliers, and showed the born gentleman in
his demeanour. He proposed that we should take one horse, as it could
be gotten without delay, while two (which the law obliged us to take and
pay for, if the farmers chose), would have detained us an hour. As the
women were in church, the postmaster himself cooked us some freshly-dug
potatoes, which, with excellent butter, he set before us. "I have a kind
of ale," said he, "which is called porter; if you will try it, perhaps
you will like it." It was, in reality, so good, that we took a second
bottle with us for refreshment on the road. When I asked how much we
should pay, he said: "I don't think you should pay anything, there was
so little." "Well," said I, "It is worth at least half a rigsdaler."
"Oh, but that may be too much," he answered, hesitatingly.

Our postillion was a fine handsome fellow, so rosy and robust that it
made one feel stronger and healthier to sit beside him. He did not spare
the horse, which was a big, capable animal, and we rolled along through
endless forests of fir and pine as rapidly as the sandy road would
allow. After we had gone about eight miles he lef