The boats were drawn up on the sand:  it was a fine subject for a painter, particularly one point—­the way up the slope, where the whole mass moved on between the trees and bushes.  The most prominent figures there, were two ragged urchins, clothed entirely in bright yellow, each with a skin bundle on his shoulders.  They were from Gagne, the poorest parish in Dalecarlia.  There was also a lame man with his blind wife:  I thought of the fable of my childhood, of the lame and the blind man:  the lame man lent his eyes, and the blind his legs, and so they reached the town.

And we also reached the town and the church, and thither they all thronged:  they said there were above five thousand persons assembled there.  The church-service began at five o’clock.  The pulpit and organ were ornamented with flowering lilacs; children sat with lilac-flowers and branches of birch; the little ones had each a piece of oat-cake, which they enjoyed.  There was the sacrament for the young persons who had been confirmed; there was organ-playing and psalm-singing; but there was a terrible screaming of children, and the sound of heavy footsteps; the clumsy, iron-shod Dal shoes tramped loudly upon the stone floor.  All the church pews, the gallery pews, and the centre aisle were quite filled with people.  In the side aisle one saw various groups—­playing children, and pious old folks:  by the sacristy there sat a young mother giving suck to her child—­she was a living image of the Madonna herself.

The first impression of the whole was striking, but only the first—­there was too much that disturbed.  The screaming of children, and the noise of persons walking were heard above the singing, and besides that, there was an insupportable smell of garlic:  almost all the congregation had small bunches of garlic with them, of which they ate as they sat.  I could not bear it, and went out into the churchyard:  here—­as it always is in nature—­it was affecting, it was holy.  The church door stood open; the tones of the organ, and the voices of the psalm-singers were wafted out here in the bright sunlight, by the open lake:  the many who could not find a place in the church, stood outside, and sang with the congregation from the psalm-book:  round about on the monuments, which are almost all of cast-iron, there sat mothers suckling their infants—­the fountain of life flowed over death and the grave.  A young peasant stood and read the inscription on a grave: 

    “Ach hur soedt al hafve lefvet,
     Ach hur skjoeut al kunne doee!"[S]

[Footnote S:  “How sweet to live—­how beautiful to die!”]

Beautiful Christian, scriptural language, verses certainly taken from the psalm-book, were read on the graves; they were all read, for the service lasted several hours.  This, however, can never be good for devotion.