A Summer Holiday in Scandinavia

HAVING rested after the travelling of the last few days, it was decided that we should start for Sweden on the homeward journey. To leave Christiania and go due west into Sweden, was not only to get a peep at fresh regions of Scandinavia; but we were by no means sorry to shirk the North Sea, and the rough experiences we had had in coming over to Norway. So, as there was still a week or ten days of P.'s leave of absence unexpired, we had made up our minds -- at the cost of a long round, some hard travelling, and a considerable extra expense -- to pass through Sweden, Denmark, Germany, Belgium, and the north of France, and so to Calais, by which flank movement we should get the minimum of salt water, and the maximum of new scenes and cities.

Our packing consisted in putting all rougher articles of clothing, the greater part of our fishing and shooting-traps, all our Norwegian purchases, and a host of trifles, into the great trunk in which we had brought the saddles, which, by the way, had proved utterly useless to us, and had been left in Christiania during the whole time of our sojourn in the country. This was sent on board a steamer before we left, and arrived safely in London much sooner than we did. Of luggage proper, we took nothing but a couple of portmanteaus, which were regularly overhauled and their contents emptied out by the German officials wherever we came. Our packing was completed overnight, so that when we were called in the morning at the early hour of 5 a.m., we had plenty of time for a substantial breakfast, and a leisurely walk down to the railway station.

Very quiet and old-fashioned Christiania looked in the fresh morning air, nothing moving but a few early country-people bringing in the day's supply of fowls, eggs, and vegetables, and an occasional market-cart lumbering over the rough stone paving.

They seem to have a painful sense of fair play at continental railway stations, or why is it that the passengers are penned up like sheep until a few minutes before the train starts, and then suddenly let loose from the waiting-room to scramble and fight for seats in the carriages? It is all very well to talk about going early and getting good seats; but on the Continent this is a delusion. You may go as early as you like, but that will not necessarily improve your chance; you will be imprisoned in a place where there is perhaps scarcely standing-room, and there you must wait with all your fellow-passengers until the doors are unlocked and thrown open, when you will find yourself swept out by the rush of people, and the comfort of the seat you secure will depend on your agility. We gained, however, a carriage for ourselves; and shortly after six o'clock the engine gave its farewell scream, and we slowly rolled out of the station, through the outskirts of the town, and into the open, country beyond.

We had often before read, in Mr. Lear's delightful nonsense rhymes, of the "slow train to Sweden " but had never thought we should appreciate its force by actual experience. However, that was our fate today, for the train was painfully deliberate. It was constantly stopping for something. At one place the stoker dropped a shovel overboard, and we paused to pick it up; at another -- rather a picturesque spot, on the bank of a river -- we stayed long enough on somebody's invitation for M. to make a rough sketch of the view. Another cause of delay was the stations, which were not only numerous, but at each of them the station-master and our engine-driver would enter into a long and interesting talk about politics, or the markets, which both seemed very reluctant to interrupt. Our Norwegian fellow-passengers were perfectly well accustomed to all this, and directly we reached a station they quitted the carriages, and strolled about, or took placid little naps in the waiting-rooms, as pleased them best. But we found such easy-going habits somewhat trying.