Swedes have a poet, BELLMAN, evidently who wrote Bacchanalian songs. They have a national holiday on July the 26th, and go to Fête in a Wood, where bronze head of BELLMAN is, cover it with garlands and roses, and sing and have a good time before it, just like an old Greek offering to Bacchus. I saw it. And in the evening a fête where they carry a child got up as Bacchus, and seated on a barrel with a wine-cup. A regular jolly drinking procession. They have a wonderful open air restaurant called The Hasselbacken, where you dine in delightful little green arbours, and lots of Swedish girls about. Capital dinners, A 1 wine, and first-rate music with full band. No charge to go in; you pay before leaving, though. Very good waiting.
The Swedes are very polite, and take their hats off on the slightest provocation, and keep them off a long time, specially whilst talking to a lady. When talking to two ladies, of course they keep 'em off double the time.
Altogether a delightful place. But they all say you should come in the winter. Wish I could. FLOTSAM, Y.A.
P.S.—The Swedish girls are as a rule very handsome. Tall, with long legs. Men good-looking also.
I can't very well do myself; I can "do myself" remarkably well, but I mean I cannot sketch myself in a cut; but Mr. Punch, in cuts I have done, is far more expressive than I can make anyone else.
THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON (with Mr. Punch's kind regards).—The most Popular of Colonial Strikers—Our illustrious guests, the Australian Cricketers.