The night is now about us, but in these latitudes it makes little difference for seeing the country whether it is night or day. There was no sleeping to be done, for some of the rising generation rose all night, and made the little cabin vocal with their cries, so that only those who enjoy the music of sleepless babes could be said to have a pleasant night in that vicinity. Out of my little window I see the islands, with their stunted firs, shores rarely rising so as to be entitled to the dignity of hills, sometimes a forest, and here and there a house, red and neat, with no signs of slovenliness or poverty. It was very early in the morning when we left the canal-boat, and in the midst of a drizzling rain followed a porter who had been directed by the captain to take our luggage to a hotel, the best hotel in the village of Soderkoping. This was the village we had selected as a quiet, retired, obscure, but pleasant place to pass a sabbath in, to see the Swedes in their rural churches and in their humble homes. It was so early when we came to the little wooden tavern that no one was astir. We went around to the back door, as the porter led us, and there knocked long and loud, till a maid thrust her head out of the window, and made signs that she would come down and let us in, which she did. The American language was of no use now. French was no better. But we managed to let her know, morning as it was, we wanted beds. She led us to the chambers, and when we pointed to the sheets as having already seen service since the last wash, she took the hint in a moment, and, pulling them off, supplied their places with linen without wrinkles. After a few hours sleep we rose for breakfast, taking what should be set before us. It proved to be comfortable. Coffee with delicious cream, bread and beefsteak on a novel plan, chopped fine, made into cakes and fried in butter with spices. It was our FIRST SABBATH IN SWEDEN. An ancient brick church with a spire, a venerable structure, stood near a swiftly flowing stream of water, embowered in majestic trees, and surrounded with the graves of buried generations of those who had worshipped within its old walls. It was a solemn, yet beautiful spot, and all its surroundings were in keeping. The graveyard was laid off in little plats, and the graves were bordered with flowers. On some graves pots of flowers were set, and on others fresh-plucked flowers were strewn, soon to wither and to be replaced. The bell was tolling and the people were assembling; all came on foot and by walks leading through the yard from various parts of the village. Some had come evidently from a distance in the country, with books in their hands. All were decently devout in their deportment as they came; even among the young there was no levity, they were on a solemn errand, and were sensible of the time and place.