s more the complexion, than the substance of his
style. Here is the prelude to the book:

"It is a delightful spring: the birds warble, but you do not
understand their song! Well, hear it in a free translation.

"'Get on my back,' says the stork, our green island's sacred
bird, 'and I will carry thee over the Sound. Sweden also has
fresh and fragrant beech woods, green meadows and
cornfields. In Scania, with the flowering apple-trees behind
the peasant's house, you will think that you are still in
Denmark.'

"'Fly with me,' says the swallow; 'I fly over Holland's
mountain ridge, where the beech-trees cease to grow; I fly
further towards the north than the stork. You shall see the
vegetable mould pass over into rocky ground; see snug, neat
towns, old churches and mansions, where all is good and
comfortable, where the family stand in a circle around the
table and say grace at meals, where the least of the
children says a prayer, and, morning and evening, sings a
psalm. I have heard it, I have seen it, when little, from my
nest under the eaves.'

"'Come with me! come with me!' screams the restless
sea-gull, and flies in an expecting circle. 'Come with me to
the Skjaergaards, where rocky isles by thousands, with fir
and pine, lie like flower beds along the coast; where the
fishermen draw the well-filled nets!'

"'Rest thee between our extended wings,' sing the wild
swans. 'Let us bear thee up to the great lakes, the
perpetually roaring elves (rivers), that rush on with arrowy
swiftness; where the oak forest has long ceased, and the
birch-tree becomes stunted. Rest thee between our extended
wings: we fly up to Sulitelma, the island's eye, as the
mountain is called; we fly from the vernal green valley, up
over the snow-drifts, to the mountain's top, whence thou
canst see the North Sea, on yonder side of Norway.

"'We fly to Jemteland, where the rocky mountains are high
and blue; where the Foss roars and rushes; where the torches
are lighted as _budstikke,_ to announce that the ferryman is
expected. Up to the deep, cold-running waters, where the
midsummer sun does not set; where the rosy hue of eve is
that of morn."

Stockholm is thus pictured, with an allusion, at the close, to a
building dear to us all, now--as that which was f