- Project Runeberg -  Reminiscences : the Story of an Emigrant /
106

(1891) [MARC] Author: Hans Mattson
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Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - IX. Visit to Sweden in 1868–1869—The Object of my Journey—Experiences and Observations During the Same—Difference Between American and Swedish Customs—My Birth-place—Arrival and Visit There—Visit to Christianstad—Visit to Stockholm—The Swedish Parliament—My Return to America—Reflections on and Impressions of the Condition of the Bureaucracy of Sweden

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IS 4.2

Story of an Emigrant.

s a bras dragging and clashing against the pavement, and
their spurs rattling, they walked up to the parade line from
which they reviewed a couple of dozen soldiers with an air
of solemn dignity, which might have done honor to a Grant,
a Sherman, or a Sheridan, while reviewing our hundreds and
thousands of veterans of a hundred battlefields. Truly, if
the armv of Sweden is defective in anything it is not in
the dignity and style of the officers of the Yendes artillery;
but, joking aside, the splendid bearing and discipline of the
regiment made a good impression. This regiment has in
fact become noted as a training school for young men, who
are afterwards employed in the railroad service, and in large
establishments where ability, punctuality and practical
knowledge are necessary.

Christmas eve found me in Fjclkinge, at the old homestead
where my father was born, and where his people had lived
for generations. The place was now owned by a cousin of
mine, an excellent and very prominent man in his localitv.
The telegram had not reached this quiet, and, to me, sacred,
spot. The astonishment and surprise of my honored cousin
and my two aged uncles, who were still living, can more easily
imagined than described, and 1 was received with cordiality
and joy. That night, spent under the roof of my forefathers,
surrounded by the old people and the many dear
recollections, and by a new generation that had come into being
since my last visit there, stands vividly in my memory as
one of the most delightful of my life.

Another cousin of mine, a younger brother of Hans
Larson, ol Fjclkinge, was rector at Trolle-Ljungby, not far from
the old homestead. In his church there was to be an early
service Christinas morning. We consequently left Fjclkinge
very early, and arrived at Ljungby just as the candles were
lighted and the service commenced. We entered and sat
down in the sacristy just as my cousin had left it to enter the

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