The  friends  who  read  this  narrative  of
the  events  of  a  journey  from  Stockholm  to
Rome,  will  know  that  it  was  made  at  a  time
when  the  elements  of  revolution  were  every-
where at  work,  or  ready  for  explosion.  They
will  know,  also,  that,  while  it  ended  with
the  author's  arrival  in  England  almost  si-
multaneously with  the  King  of  the  French,
its  complete  record  on  paper  could  not  be
commenced  until  tidings  reached  us  of  the
Pope's  flight  to  Gaeta.
May  9,  1849.
EVELYN.
CHAPTER  I.
Stockholm.
It  was  in  the  Djurgard,  on  one  of  those  fes-
tive occasions  in  which  the  good  people  of
Stockholm  delight,  that  I  first  saw  Evelyn.
There  was  a  royal  supper  in  honour  of  his
present  majesty  of  Denmark,  at  the  pretty
villa  of  Rosendal,  or  the  Vale  of  Roses,  built
by  the  late  king,  Bernadotte,  in  that  charm-
ing deer-park,  or  djurgard,  wherein,  however,
there  are  no  deer.
All  the  world  poured  forth  thither  from
the  capital  of  Sweden;  the  shops  were  closed
— the  streets  deserted.  My  good  friend  Fru
P.  was  as  much  alive  as  any  of  the  com-
munity, and  quite  as  anxious  to  go  forth
with  due  loyalty  to  see  King  Oscar  eat  his
supper ;  so  she  took  me  with  her  in  a  pretty
boat  with  a  square  green  and  white  awning,

VOL.  I.  B


2  EVELYN.
paddled  by  the  stout  Dahlkuller,  across  the
lovely  Millar,  to  behold  a  scene  which,  in
some  respects,  was  certainly  unlike  any  fes-
tive scene  I  had  ever  witnessed.
Independently  of  the  human  creatures  who
have  rendered  that  evening  to  me  one  of
almost  romantic  interest,  the  season  and  the
scenes  were  too  singularly  beautiful  and
novel  to  be  easily  effaced,  even  from  an  over-
loaded memory.
