t was also
understood that I would only be absent about one year, for it was hardly
to be expected that a person of my age could stand the dangerous climate
of India much longer.

The 17th of August, 1881, was an important day for our little family,
for on that day I left my home for a journey of thirteen thousand
miles,--to distant Calcutta, the capital of India. Passing through
Chicago on the following day, a number of my Swedish friends at that
place had arranged a splendid banquet in my honor. About sixty of us
spent a most delightful evening around the bountiful table; but what I
prized more highly than anything else were the friendly and cordial
feelings which were expressed in speech and song.

In Washington I spent a few days in order to receive the last
instructions from the state department. Hon. W. Windom, who was
secretary of the treasury under the administration of Garfield,
accompanied me to the White house, where the president was yet hovering
between life and death. We were not admitted to the inner room, which
was separated from the front room only by draperies. I can vividly
recall the picture of the president's noble wife as she stepped out to
us, and, with an expression of the deepest suffering, affection and hope
in her face, told us that the patient had taken a few spoonfuls of
broth, and that he now felt much better, and would soon recover. Thus
life and hope often build air-castles which are destined to be torn down
again by the cruel hand of fate.

When the steamer touched the coast of Ireland the first news which the
eager passengers received was that the president was still living and
had been taken to a place on the coast. The voyage across the Atlantic
from New York to Liverpool was a pleasure trip in every respect, and was
favored by the most delightful weather. On board the White Star Line
steamer Celtic,--a veritable palace of its kind,--the passenger had all
he could wish, as far as solidity, speed, reliability, order, comfort,
and good treatment are concerned. On September 9th I arrived in Paris.
It seemed to me as if it had been only a couple of days since I was
sitting in the midst of that happy company of friends in Chicago, whose
tender and cordial farewell still sounded as an echo in my ears--or
maybe in my heart. Nevertheless I was already in the grand and happy
capital of the third French republic.

I had time and opportunity to stay a few days in the large cities
through wh