d the rattle of iron gear and will notice that the
compartment suddenly becomes quite dark. But only when the monotonous
groaning and the constant vibration of the wheels has given place to a
gentle and silent heaving will he know that he is out on the Baltic Sea.

We are by no means content, however, to lie down and doze. Scarcely
have the carriages been anchored on the ferry-boat before we are on the
upper deck with its fine promenade. The ferry-boat is a handsome vessel,
370 feet long, brand-new and painted white everywhere. It is almost like
a first-class hotel. In the saloon the tables are laid, and Swedish and
German passengers sit in groups at breakfast. There are separate rooms
for coffee and smoking, for reading and writing; and we find a small
bookstall where a boy sells guidebooks, novels, and the Swedish and
German newspapers of the day.

[Illustration: MAP SHOWING JOURNEY FROM STOCKHOLM TO BERLIN.]

The ferry-boat is now gliding out of the harbour, and every minute that
passes carries us farther from our native land. Now the whole town of
Trelleborg is displayed before our eyes, its warehouses and new
buildings, its chimneys and the vessels in the harbour. The houses
become smaller, the land narrows down to a strip on the horizon, and at
last there is nothing to be seen but a dark cloud of smoke rising from
the steamers and workshops. We steam along a fairway rich in memories,
and over a sea which has witnessed many wonderful exploits and
marvellous adventures. Among the wreckage and fragments at its bottom
sleep vikings and other heroes who fought for their country; but to-day
peace reigns over the Baltic, and Swedes, Danes, Russians, and Germans
share in the harvest of the sea. Yet still, as of yore, the autumn
storms roll the slate-grey breakers against the shores; and still on
bright summer days the blue waves glisten, silvered by the sun.

Four hours fly past all too quickly, and before we have become
accustomed to the level expanses of the sea a strip of land appears to
starboard. This is Ruegen, the largest island of Germany, lifting its
white chalk cliffs steeply from the sea, like surf congealed into stone.
The ferry-boat swings round in a beautiful curve towards the land, and
in the harbour of Sassnitz its rails are fitted in exactly to the
railway track on German soil. We hasten to take our seats in the
carriages, for in a few minutes the German engine comes up and draws the
train on to the la