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ica, these places are at first clothed with a peculiar charm. The very name of palace, as it falls upon the ear, brings with it fairy memories. And to grope about the stately apartments, and to glean some idea of what a veritable king and queen may be in their habits of every-day life, is a pleasure which we Americans are at first very likely to indulge in. But the traveler soon becomes tired of wandering from one palace to another. The immense saloons, lofty ceilings, and marble walls, are far from presenting a picture of home life. For myself, I must say, that I have never yet visited a large royal residence that looked inhabitable. I should about as soon think of making myself at home in the open street, and under the broad canopy of heaven.

But the palace of Stockholm presents one great advantage over most town residences of this class, in its command of charming views, which in every direction meet the eye. On the one side is the harbor and mart of commerce, the distant wooded hill-sides stretching away beyond, with here and there a villa embowered in trees; this is a part of the Djurgard which I have before described. Immediately under the windows, looking in the same direction, is a little gem of a flower garden, which fills up the space between two wings of the palace. The plants and shrubs were exceedingly beautiful in the early luxuriance of a northern summer. From the other front, looking over the Lion's staircase, the scene slightly brings Venice to mind

Here we see the bridge, with its throng of passengers, the palace of the Crown Prince, and the Opera-house near it, presenting altogether a most pleasing combination. Again, when the eye ranges in another direction, overlooking the houses of this portion of the city, the beautiful Lake Malar comes in view, shut in by wooded and picturesque hills, the quiet of the scene disturbed only by an occasional steamer or sail - boat gliding over its smooth surface.

But to return to the interior: perhaps the most interesting rooms exhibited are those once occupied by Bernadotte, (Charles XIV.) They remain in precisely the same state in which they were left by their former occupant. Here are the bed, bedstead, and hangings, which served the king during his lifetime, and

on which he expired. When we are admitted to those apartments, where sovereigns and the mighty of the earth have yielded to the stern summons of death, one is likely to be impressed with the nothingness of earthly grandeur, its rank, and its position. Here was a brave soldier, springing from the humble ranks of life, a native of the little town of Pau, in the south of France. Surely "fortune smiled upon his humble birth.” Early in life we find him advanced to the rank of one of the most distinguished generals of his own time, and that an age so rich in military prodigies. Next we see him a marshal of France and a prince; but even in this distinguished position fortune was not contented to leave her favorite; but, unexpected and unsought, a crown is offered him, and he finds himself and family firmly established on the throne of the Wasas. It was with no common force that the words of the Psalmist were brought to mind, “I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the Most High. But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes."



Here was Bernadotte's sword, his military cloak of heavy blue cloth, which he had worn through so many campaigns. Books were lying about the room as he had left them, among which I observed a well-worn copy of Doctor Franklin's works-a French edition. Upon the table, at which he was accustomed to sit, lay some spectacles of ordinary silver bows, and much worn, which he is said to have always clung to during life; a bottle containing Cologne water, with a quill inserted in the cork, through which he was in the habit of sprinkling his visitors when they approached closely to him-truly a genuine Frenchman's conceit. There was much here to remind one of the simplicity of the old king's habits, as well as the lingering of his martial tastes.

The private apartments of the present reigning family exhibited, in all respects, a taste refined and cultivated, and at the same time simple; here nothing was overgilded or over-mirrored. A few Swedish historical pictures are shown in the different rooms, among which I paused for a considerable time before a picture of the coronation of Bernadotte, by Craft, a Swedish artist. This work is, unquestionably, of great historical value, as presenting a truthful delineation of the scene by a co


temporaneous artist, with portraits taken from life of most of the actors. But, like our own historical paintings by Trumbull, more valuable because of the fidelity of the original portraits, than for any extraordinary artistic merit. In the private rooms I observed some few very fine paintings; in fact some that would do honor to any collection. The works of Rubens, Tintoretto, Guido, and Cannalletto, were, perhaps, the most remarkable. The king does not appear to have forgotten his Norwegian subjects; for among the modern pictures, the works of Norwegian artists are numerous and highly creditable. Among these I observed some of those peculiar and striking scenes of the ellemarken district. There were also views of scenery, which I recognized as that in the province of Nordland, of the most savage character, presenting ragged and fantastic mountain outlines, amid scenes of desolate grandeur and eternal snows. A fine picture of the North Cape was particularly striking. The weather-beaten cliff lifts itself high above the waters of the relentless ocean which wash its base, presenting an outline so bold and striking against the sky, that one might almost mistake it for a line of time-worn towers of the feudal ages.

tion at Florence, one contemplates, with peculiar interest, that of Nero as a child; his little cherub face is one of almost angelic purity; uniting those remarkable characteristics of beauty which Raphael and Correggio were so fond of introducing in their pictures.

I paused for a considerable time before the portrait of a man in the full vigor of life; the haughty brow and compressed lip, with the eye of fire, so strikingly delineated by the artist, were those of the fiery Northern warrior. Opposite hangs a family group; a child is represented at play with his little sister. How joyous the face! how full of affectionate confidence the look with which the little boy regards his playmate! Surely here is innocence and affection; yet this is the same boy to whose portrait, in more advanced years, I have just called your attention to. And the little girl, his sister and successor, and, shall I say, the instigator of his murder? This terrible suspicion has attached itself to her memory.

There is always a peculiar interest in dwelling upon the portraits or busts taken in childhood of any person who has filled a more than ordinary space in the history of his own times, and particularly when the person represented with the innocence of childhood has become, in after years, an unscrupulous warrior, or a bloodthirsty tyrant.


THE KING AND QUEEN-ROYAL LIBRARY. ONE morning, during my residence in Stockholm, on my way to the Royal Library, I passed across a little flower-garden, which fills up the space between two wings of the palace on its water front. Passing rapidly through one of the walks, I chanced to encounter a gentleman and lady walking. The figure of the gentleman was tall, and his carriage stately. He was enveloped in the ample folds of a blue military cloak, looking as if it had seen some service. A luxuriant head of hair, slightly frosted by time, was confined by a light military undress cap; a heavy black mustache, aquiline nose, and an eye beaming with life and kindness, made up the tout ensemble of his appearance, as it struck me at a passing glance. A lady, with a most mild and amiable expression of countenance, was leaning upon his arm. There was a something in their very manner toward each other, which suggested the happy and confiding husband and wife. As we passed, the stranger very courteously raised his hat, quite uncovering his head, after the Swedish fashion. I am obliged to confess that I was rather slow in returning his courtesy; in fact, it did not occur to me who he might be, as this was the ordinary path which every one pursued to and from the library; and, indeed, I imagined that the amiable-looking stranger, in the worn military cloak, had mistaken me for some acquaintance. A winning and kindly smile from the lady, apparently excited by the idea of some misapprehension on my part, reassured me. And although somewhat late, I at last returned the compliment fully.

Stepping up the staircase, I inquired of a guard, who were the gentleman and lady walking in the garden, and learned that my rencontre was with no less personages than his Swedish majesty, King Oscar, and his amiable and accomplished queen.

There is, perhaps, no sovereign in Europe at this moment more universally Among the busts in the Uffizii collec- beloved by his people than the King of

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Sweden and Norway. He has two countries to govern; and two nations differing as greatly in character as do the constitutions of the two kingdoms; and these almost as widely as the government of the Czar differs from that of the United States. Sweden is highly aristocratic in her character, and Norway is essentially a republic. Yet, with all these differences in the two countries, King Oscar succeeds in governing them so as to secure the most kindly feeling and respect in both. The Norwegians have a very excusable vanity, if such, indeed, it may be considered, in believing that the sovereign is the most attached to Norway, and to the Norwegian people. His name is ever mentioned with the greatest degree of enthusiasm by the Norwegians, while few cabins, among their hills and dales, are so poor as to be destitute of a lithograph portrait of this beloved sovereign, which one sees often hanging by the side of that of Luther. At the same time, I think the love and admiration for the king, extending, indeed, to all the members of his family, are in Sweden equal to what they are in Norway. The traveler cannot remain long in either country without feelings of strong sympathy for a king who has rendered himself

an object of such love and veneration to his people.

The queen is a daughter of Eugene Beauharnais, duke of Leuchtenberg, and consequently grand-daughter to the Empress Josephine; whose pictures she certainly seems to resemble.

The king, as all the world knows, is the second of his dynasty, having sueceeded to the throne on the death of his father, Bernadotte, who was crowned under the title of Charles XIV. Endowed with fine abilities, possessing a peculiarly active mind, as well as a strong desire for the welfare of all classes of his people, the interests of none seem to escape his attention. Notwithstanding the many inevitable calls upon his time, yet the king appears to have found sufficient leisure for literary productions, which have been most favorably reviewed, and have secured him the reputation of an able writer. Says a diplomatic gentleman, with whom I have conversed, long resident here: "The interest which the sovereign takes in all the petty affairs of his kingdom is most remarkable. Occasionally visiting the private apartments of the king, I have been astonished at the multiplicity of objects which appeared to occupy his attention. On his table was, perhaps, lying a gun

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lock, which he had been inspecting, with the view of its introduction in the army; near it, perhaps, a model of some improvement in the process of grinding wheat; or, again, some new idea proposed to be introduced in distilleries. In short, there is nothing, however trifling, that concerns even the most humble of his people, which does not possess an interest to the sovereign."

One of the wings of the palace is at present occupied by the Royal Library, and by the Gallery of Paintings and Statuary.

All of these will soon be removed to a new building, now in process of construction, and which, when completed, will be, with the exception of the palace, the finest architectural monument of Stockholm.

This library is neither as large as the one at Christiania nor at Upsala. It is, however, respectable in size, containing nearly eighty thousand volumes. It is well

known that the collection suffered much during the reign of Queen Christina, who, becoming a devoted Catholic, enriched the Library of the Vatican at the expense

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of that of her own capital. The books | known as the Devil's Bible, which name seem well selected and well arranged, al- is derived from the fact of its being ornathough the space at present devoted to mented with a rather grotesque, but strikthem is exceedingly limited. I observed ing representation of his Satanic majesty. upon the walls some choice proof engravings, by Raphael Morghen, Stange, Wille, and others, a class of works which always give character to any place where they may be found. The library, being of comparatively recent formation, is not rich in ancient manuscripts or rare works. It contains, however, some few that are rare and extremely interesting. Among these is a celebrated copy of the Scriptures,

Tradition says that it is the work of a monk, and that the whole manuscript was produced in one night. Having been condemned to death, he was offered pardon on condition that he would complete such a work in the short period of time allotted him. The monk pledged himself to the devil, for the assurance of his aid in finishing the task set before him. He was, therefore, through Satanic influ

ence, enabled to produce this wonderful desired effect, amid brick walls, and withwork. in the crowded atmosphere of a city, when the great physician, nature, will alone effect the cure.

Leaving this institution, I proceeded to a hospital, erected under the auspices of the crown princess, designed for the reception of the orphan children of persons who die of the cholera. The little ones appeared to receive every care which humanity could suggest to render them comfortable, and I left the institution with a favorable impression of the benevolent character of the princess in question.

On another occasion I extended my walk along the borders of the harbor, for a distance of, perhaps, a mile, which brought me to the Lunatic Asylum. Having before received favorable impressions of the charitable institutions I had visited, I was particularly desirous of seeing how this class of unfortunates were provided for. I found them crowded into an inconsiderable building, with two small inclosures adjoining it, one for the male, the other for the female patients, occupying, altogether, scarcely sufficient space to serve as a breathing place for the inmates. Upon the other side, the buildings fronted the harbor, and through the iron gratings of this sad prison-house, some few only of the patients were enabled to catch glimpses of a scene of great beauty. Here was the harbor, with its wooded hills beyond, and stretching away to the right a view which brought to mind our own charming Hudson. The scene was altogether one of great life and animation, presenting every variety of craft, varying in size and character from the tiny sail and paddle-wheel boat up to vessels of the largest class. The importance of the situation, in establishments where diseases of the mind are treated is too often lost sight of. It is certainly highly desirable that the inmates of lunatic asylums, suffering, as they usually do, from various forebodings of evil, should find some constantly varying objects for the mind to rest upon. To secure this, perhaps nothing is as desirable as a water view, where vessels are constantly within sight. Even the furling of a sail will sometimes have the effect to arrest the attention of the patient, and to divert the mind from the all-absorbing world of his own sorrows.

I remember once, as an invalid in the country, suffering from mental disease,

Here is also the celebrated Codex Aureus, a manuscript of the Gospels, supposed to belong to the sixth century. It is written in Gothic characters, of gold, upon folio leaves of vellum, alternately white and violet. This book possesses a peculiar interest, from an Anglo-Saxon inscription that it contains, which has been translated as follows:

"In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I, Alfred, Aldorman, (senior or prince,) and Werburg, my wife, got us this book from a heathen war-troop, with our pure treasure, which was then of pure gold. And this did we two, for the love of God, and for our souls' behoof, and for that we would not that this holy book should remain longer in heathenesse; and now will we give it to Christ's Church, God to praise, and glory, and worship, in thankful remembrance of his passion, and for the use of the holy brotherhood, who, in Christ's Church, do daily speak God's praise; and that they may, every month, read for Alfred and for Werburg, and Alhdryd, (their daughter,) their souls to eternal health, as long as they have declared before God that holy rites shall continue in this place. Even so, I, Alfred Dux, and Werburg, my wife, pray and beseech, in the name of God Almighty, and all of his saints, that no man shall be so daring, as to sell or part with this holy book, from

Christ's Church, so long as baptism there may stand. Signed:

ALFRED, WERBurg, Ahldryd."


My walk one morning, in Stockholm, led me quite near to the general Hospital. As nothing is more indicative of the degree of civilization and character of a people than the public establishments designed for the reception of suffering humanity, I resolved to pay this institution a visit. On my first entrance into the grounds of the establishment, I remarked the peculiar costume of the patients, their white linen blouses and caps reminding one somewhat of a body of French cooks. In every department of the institution I was delighted with the apparent attention to the comfort and cleanliness of the unfortunate inmates. The buildings were surrounded by a garden, handsomely laid out with numerous flowers, clumps of shrubbery, and shaded walks. How important are these breathing places, under the broad canopy of heaven, to the patients of such an institution. The charms of nature are particularly conducive to render the mind of the invalid forgetful of present sorrow; and the most skillful medical treatment may fail of producing the

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