mare without knowing it herself; she came every night to her bridegroom, who was soon made aware of her evil, for he remarked that she entered through a little hole which was in an oaken window-post. So he prepared a stick to fit into the hole, and, when she had come the next night, he fixed the stick in the hole, and she was forced to stay in the room. Then she instantly regained her human shape, and kept it. The peasant married her, and they had many children. Many years had passed quietly away, and they were both advanced in years, when it happened one evening that the husband thought of the stick, which was still fixed in the hole of the oaken post. Then he jokingly asked his wife if she knew how she had once entered the house, and, as she knew nothing about it, he told her, and even took out the stick, that she might see by what entrance she had come in. The wife peered through, but while standing there she became suddenly quite small, slipped out through the hole, and vanished for ever. Once upon a time there was in Jutland a queen who was a great admirer of horses. She had one of which she was especially fond, and which occupied her thoughts both while awake and in her dreams. Often at night, when the groom came into the stables, he perceived that the horse was uneasy, and thence he concluded that it had been ridden by the nightmare. One night he took a pailful of cold water and cast it over the horse, and the same moment he saw the queen sitting on the horse's back. The night-raven is a more mysterious creature still, being a "conjured ghost;" to become one was, as you recollect, the wish of Long Margaret of Vosborg. In the spot where such a spectre has appeared, a pointed stake must be driven into the earth, which will always penetrate the left wing of the "night-raven," and make a hole in it. The night-raven emerges only from the ugliest sloughs and moors. First, it begins to cry beneath the swamp, "Rock! rock! rock! up!" and when it is once out, it darts away, crying, Hey hey! he-y!" Then it lights upon the earth, at first resembling in shape a cross, hopping along like a magpie. Soon it flies away towards the east to the "holy grave," which if it can contrive to reach, it comes to rest. When it passes over our heads, we must take care not to look up, for if any one look through "the hole in the left wing" he becomes himself a nightraven, and the bird is released. It is a peaceful animal, and does no harm, only it seeks to fly further and further towards the east. Lastly, we have the old legend of the basilisk. When the cock is seven years old it lays an egg, from which comes forth the basilisk, an ugly monster, which kills people solely by looking at them. The basilisk can only be killed by holding a mirror before it, for it cannot survive the sight of its own ugliness. We have really now done with hobgoblins and supernatural monsters of all sorts; but if you require any more information on the subject, you may search for it yourself in a Danish book written by David Monrad, and aptly termed 'Heathenish Christianity.' FREDERICIA. We found Haderslev as we left it, in full fair time. We again passed through Kolding, whose castle-ruins appear to have suffered from the effects of the last VOL. II. R winter, and Hannibal, on his watch-tower, now bends forward, considerably out of the perpendicular. From thence to Fredericia, a beautiful drive along the fiorde's banks-a recompense due to us for our ugly seven miles journey of this morning. The town of Fredericia is a fortress of some consequence in the Danish dominions. It has had its affair with the Swedes, independent of its exploits in the last war, too fresh in the minds of the world in general to require relating. Its present interest consists in the two monuments erected to the memory of the Danish heroes who fell fighting in the cause of their country at the battle which bears its name: they are the work of Professor Bissen. One, a bas-relief, erected in the public cemetery, is as beautiful in design as admirable in execution; the subject, two soldiers bearing a dead comrade in their arms for interment from the battle-field. Unfortunately, it has been injudiciously placed too near to the churchyard wall, so that you catch, on arriving from either side, the rounded backs of the bearers en biais, which presents a most ridiculous appearance, and have to cross over to the opposite side of the road to judge of the general effect. It is, however, fine as a work of art, and adds much to the reputation of the artist by whom it was designed. Fredericia is restoring her church-red and white-in its ancient colours. Some carving on the pulpit is worthy of Grinling Gibbons, all fruits, flowers, and shells. The small boat which is to carry us across the blue waters of the Little Belt waits. Tide and wind contrary; but an hour will soon pass away. We can watch, as we sail along, the richly-wooded coast of Funen. We can gaze on the actiner-actineæ of a beauty unrivalled floating along in their course. Only look at them, in their filmy parasols of transparent white, hemmed with a deep feathery fringe! how they collapse! how they again reopen! The one resembles a star-fish in a balloon, gauzy transparent; the other has four eyes, if eyes they be. And now we ride on the Belt. Middelfart, with her imposing church, her trees, and her shipping, are near. Syren-like, she attracts us to her shores. Well, there is a charm in beauty, but the Syren must be powerful indeed, her fascinations great, and her potations drugged, who can ever cause us to forget the pleasant time we have spent, the hospitalities we have received, during our six weeks' wandering among the fiordes, the moses, the wild and original scenery, of that most historic of all provinces the ancient kingdom of North Jutland. CHAPTER XLVII. The island of Funen-Red cabbage of Sir Niels Bugge- Ploughing ghosts Blakke Odin and Odense - Murder of St. Knud· - The traitor feldts The lady who danced herself to death - The pet cats of Mrs. Mouse King John and his family- The Lear of Odense and his daughters. ISLAND OF FUNEN. July 26th.-WE land at Middelfart, and, whilst our carriages are preparing, wander down to the shore-side. The "red cabbage," sprung from the blood of Sir Niels Bugge, was not, however, there; perhaps we may next time be more lucky. Then on to Odense, twenty-four English miles, over a road straight as the crow flies, a hill always before you, and, when you are at the top, another. The land is rich and highly cultivated, but you sigh after the expansive wastes of Jutland. It is divided into small fields-like England were the hedges of quickset; here they are mostly of lilac. This division was rendered necessary by the dishonesty of the inhabitants. "Cursed is he that removeth his neighbour's landmark," we all know, but we are ignorant of the punishment assigned hereafter to those who commit this crime. The Fionese declare that the ghosts of the culprits are compelled to plough the fields from which they unlawfully removed the stones, to all eternity; and in the villages of Ryslinge and Lørup they may still be heard of a night speeding their ploughs |