it was cold and without that splendid glow of colouring which is so general in American sunsets.
Returning to the log-house, we spent the evening, one and twenty Swedes altogether, in games, songs, and dancing, exactly as if in Sweden. I had during the whole time of my journey to the West, been conning over in my mind a speech which I would make to my countrymen in the West; I thought how I would bear to them a salutation from their mother country, and exhort them to create a new Sweden, in that new land! I thought that I would remind them of all that the old country had of great and beautiful, in memory, in thought, in manners and customs; I wished to awaken in their souls the inspiration of a New Scandinavia. I had often myself been deeply affected by the thoughts and the words which I intended to make use of. But now, when I was at the very place where I longed to be, and thought about my speech, I could not make it. Nor did I make it at all. I felt myself happy in being with my countrymen, happy to find them so agreeable and so Swedish still in the midst of a foreign land. But I felt more disposed for merriment than solemnity. I therefore, instead of making my speech, read to the company that little story by Hans Christian Andersen called “The Pine-Tree,” and then incited my countrymen to sing Swedish songs. Neither were those beautiful Swedish voices lost here in the New world, and I was both affected and impressed with a deep solemnity when the men, led by Bergvall, sang with their fresh, clear voices—
“Up Swedes, for king and father-land,”
and after that many other old national songs. Swedish hospitality, cheerfulness, and song live here as vigorously as ever they did in the old country.
The old lady Petterson had got ready a capital entertainment; incomparably excellent coffee and tea especially;
