GODFATHER could tell stories， ever so many and ever so long； he could cut out paper figures and draw pic－tures，and when it came near Christmas， he would bringout a copy－book， with clean white pages； on this he pastedpictures， taken out of books and newspapers ；if he had notenough for the story he wished to tell， he drew them him－self． WhenI was little， Igot several such picture－books，but the loveliest of them all was the one from "the memo－rable year when Copenhagen got gas in place of the old oil－lamps"， and that was setdown on the first page．
"Great care must be taken of this book，" said Fatherand Mother；"it must only be brought out on grand occa－sions．"
Yet Godfather had written on the cover：
Though the book be torn， it is hardly a crime；
Other young friends have done worse in their time．
Most delightful it was when Godfather himself showedthe book， read the verses and the other inscriptions， andtold so many things besides； then the story became a realstory．
On the first page there was a picture cut out of "TheFlying Post"， in which one saw Copenhagen with its RoundTower， and Our Lady's Church； to the left of this waspasted an old lantern， on which was written"Train－oil"， tothe right was a chandelier—on it was written "Gas"．"See，that is the placard，" said Godfather；"that is the prologueto the story you are going to hear． It could also be given asa whole plny， if one could have acted it：' Train－oil andGas， or the Life and Doings of Copenhagen．' That is avery good title！ At the foot of the page there is still anotherlittle picture； it is not so easy to understand， soI shall ex－plain it． That is a Death－horse．He ought to have come on－ly at the end of the book， but he has run on ahead to say，that neither the beginning， the middle， northe end is anygood； he could have done it better himself—if he could have done it at all． The Death－horse， I must tell you， stands during the day tethered to the newspaper；but in the evening he slips out and posts himself outside the po－ et's door and neighs， so that the man inside may die in－ stantly； but he does not die if there is any real life inhim． The Death-horse is nearly always a poor creature who cannot understand himself， and cannot get a liveli－ hood； he must get air and food by going about and neigh－ing ． Iam convinced that he thinks nothing of Godfather's picture－book， but for all that it may well be worth the pa－ per it is written on．
"Now， that is the first page of the book； that is the placard．
" It was just the last evening on which the old oil－ lamps were lighted；the town had got gas ，and it shone so that theold lamps seemed to be quite lost in it．
" Iwas in the street myself that evening，" said God－ father．"The people walked up and down to look at the old and the new lighting． There were many people，and twice as many legs as heads． The watchmen stood about gloomily； they did not know when they might be dis－ missed， like the lamps ； these themselves thought so farback—they dared not think forward． They remembered so much from the quiet evenings and the dark nights． I leaned up against a lamp-post，"said Godfather；"there was a sputtering in the oil and the wick； I could hear what the lamp said， and you shall also hear it．
"' We have done what we could，' said the lamp， ' we have been sufficient for our time，have lighted up for joy and for sorrow；we have lived through many remark－able things； we have， so to speak， been the night－eyes ofCopenhagen． Let new lights now take our place and un－ dertake our office； but how many years they may shine， and what they may light up， remains to be seen！They certainly shine a little stronger than we old ones， but that is nothing， when one is made like a gas－chandelier， and has such connexions， as they have， the one pours into the other！ They have pipes in all directions and can get new strength in the town and outside of the town！ But each one of us oil－lamps shines by what he has in himself and not by family relationship． We and our forefathers haveshone for Copenhagen from immeasurably ancient times， far， far back． But as this is now the last evening that we stand and shine in the second rank， so to speak， here in the street along with you， ye shining comrades， we will notsulk and be envious； no，far from it， we will be glad andgood－natured． We are the old sentinels， who are relieved by new-fashioned guards in better uniforms than ours．We will tell you what our family， right up to the great－great－great-grandmother lantern， has seen and experienced—the whole of Copenhagen's history． May you and your succes－sors，right down to the last gas－chandelier， experience and be able to tell as remarkable things as we， when one day you get your discharge！ And you will get it， you may beprepared for that． Men are sure to find a stronger light thangas． Ihave heard a student say that it is hinted that they will yet burn sea－water！'The wick sputtered when the lamp said these words； just as if it had water in it al－ready．"
Godfather listened closely，thought it over and con- sidered that it was an excellent idea of the old lantem ，on this evening of transition from oil to gas ，to recount and display the whole of the history of Copenhagen ．"A good idea must not be let slip ，"said Godfather；"I seized it di-rectly，went home and made this picture-book for you ，it goes still farther back in time than the lamps could go ．
"Here isthe book；here is the history：
'openhagen' ife and oing；'
it begins with pitch－darkness， a coal－black page—
that is the Dark Ages．
"Now we shall turn the page！" said Godfather．"Do you see the pictures？ Only the wild sea and the blustering north－east wind；it is driving heavy ice－floes along；thereis no one out to sail onthem except great stone－blocks， which rolled down on to the ice from the mountains of Nor－ way． The north wind blows the ice away； he means to show the German mountains what boulders are foundup inthe north． The ice－fleet is already down in the Sound， off the coast of Zealand， where Copenhagen now lies；but there was no Copenhagen at that time． There were great sand-banks under the water，against one of these the ice－floeswith the big boulders struck； the whole of the ice－fleetstuck fast， the north－east wind could not float themagain， and so he grew as mad as he could be， and pro－nounced a curse upon the sand-bank，'the thieves'
ground，' as he called it；and he swore that if it ever lift－ed itself above the surface of the sea， thieves and robbersshould come there， gallows and wheel should be raised on it．
"But whilst he cursed and swore in this manner， thesun broke forth， and in its beams there swayed and swungbright gentle spirits， children of light； they dancedalong over the chilling ice－floes， and melted them， andthe great boulders sank down to the sandy bottom．
"' Sun－vermin！'said the north wind， 'is that com－rade－ship and kinship？I shall remember and revenge that． Now I pronounce a curse！'
"' We pronounce a blessing！'sang the children oflight．'The sand-bank shall rise and we will protect it！Truth and goodness and beauty shall dwell there！'
"' Stuff and nonsense！' said the north－east wind．
"Of all this the lantern had nothing to tell，" saidGodfather，"but I knew it， and it is of great importancefor the life and doings of Copenhagen．
"Now we shall turn the page！" said Godfather．
"Years have passed， the sand－bank has lifted itself； asea－bird has settled on the biggest stone，which jutted outof the water． You can see it in the picture． Years andyears have passed． The sea threw up dead fish on the sand． The tough lyme-grass sprang up， withered，rotted，and enriched the ground； then came several different kinds of grasses and plants； the bank became a green is－land． The Vikings landed there． There was level groundfor fighting， and good anchorage beside the island off thecoast of Zealand．
"The first oil－lamp was kindled，I believe， to cookfish over， and there were fish in plenty． The herringsswam in great shoals through the Sound；it was hard topush aboat through them；they flashed in the water as ifthere was lightning down there， they shone in the depthslike the Northern Lights．The Sound had wealth of fish，and so houses were builton thecoast of Zealand；the wallswere of oak and the roofs of bark； there were trees enoughforthe purpose．Ships came into the harbour； the oil－ lantern hung from the swaying ropes； the north－east windblew and sang—'U－hu－u．'If a lantern shone on the is－land， it was a thieves lantern． Smugglers and thieves ex－ercised their trade on' Thieves' Island．
"' Ibelieve that all the evil thatI wished will grow，'said the north－east wind．' Soon will come the tree，ofwhich I can shake the fruit．'
"And here stands the tree，" said Godfather．"Do yousee the gallows on Thieves'Island？ Robbers and murderershang there in iron chains，exactly as they hung at that time． The wind blew so that the long skeletons rattled， butthe moon shone down on them very serenely， as it nowshines on a rustic dance．The sun also shone down serene－ly， crumbling away the dangling skeletons， and from thesunbeams the children of light sang；'We know it！ Weknow it！It shall yet be beautiful here in the time to come！Here it will be good and splendid！'"
"'Cackle！ Cackle！' said the north-east wind．
"Now we turn over the page！" said Codfather．
"The bells were ringing in the town of Roskilde， where Bishop Absalon lived； he could both readhis Bible and swing his sword； he had power and will； thebusy fish－ermen at the harbour whose town was growingand was now a market－place， Absalon wished to protect these from as－sault．He sprinkled the unhallowed ground with holy water；Thieves'Island got a mark of honour． Masonsand carpen-ters set to work on it； a building grew up at the Bishop'scommand． The sunbeams kissed the red walls as they rose．There stood Axel's house：
The castle with its towers high in air， Its balconies and many a noble stair．
The north－east wind in fury blew， But the stronghold stood unyielding all the same．And outsids it stood'The Haven'， the merchants'har－ bour：
Mermaid's bower'mid gleaming lakes， Built in groves of green． "The foreigners came there and bought the wealth of fish， built booths and houses， with bladders for window-panes—glass was too dear； then came warehouses with gables and windlasses． look！ inside the shops sit the oldbachelors；they dare not marry：they trade in ginger andpepper，the pepper－lads．
"The north-east wind blows through the streets andlanes， sends the dust flying， and tears a thatched roofoff． Cows and pigs walk about in the street-ditch．
"'Ishall cow and subdue them，' says the north-eastwind；'whistle round the houses and round Axel's house！I cannot miss it！ They call it" Gallows'Castle onThieves' Island"．'"
And Godfather showed a picture of it， which hehimself had drawn． On the walls were stake after stake，and on every one sat the head of a captured pirate，and showed the teeth．
"That really happened，" said Godfather；"and it isworth knowing about．"
"Bishop Absalon was in his bath－room， and heard through the thin walls the arrival of a ship of freebooters．At once he sprang out of the bath and into his ship， blewhis horn， and his crew came． The arrows flew into the backs of the robbers， who rowed hard to get away． The arrows fastened themselves in their hands， and there wasno time to tear them out． Bishop Absalon caught every living soul and cut his head off ，and every head was set up on the outer wall of the castle． The north－east windblew with swollen cheeks—with bad weather in his jaw， as the sailors say．
"'Here I will stretch myself out，' said the wind；' hereI will lie down and look at the whole affair．'
"It rested for houre， it blew for days ；years wentpast．
"The watchman came out on the castle tower； he looked to the east，to the west， to the south， and thenorth． There you have it in the picture，" said Godfather， and showed it．"You see him there， but what he saw Ishall tell you．
"From Steileborg's wall there is open water right out to Kge Bay， and broad is the channel over to Zealand'scoast． In front of Serritslev and Solberg commons，where the large villages lie， grows up more and more the newtown with gabled timber houses． There are whole streets for shoemakers and tailors， for grocers and ale－sellers； there isa market－place， there is a guild－hall， and close by the shore，where once there was an island， stands the splendidChurch of St． Nicholas．It has a tower and a spire， im－mensely high； how it reflects itselfin the clear water！ Notfar from this stands the Church of Our Lady where masses are said and sung， incense gives out its odour， and wax－ta－pers burn．The merchants' haven is now the Bishop' s town；the Bishop of Roskilde rules and reigns there．
"Bishop Erlandsen sits in Axel's house． There is cooking in the Kitchen， there is serving of ale and claret，there is the sound of fiddles and kettledrums． Candles and lamps burn， the castle shines， as if it were a lantern forthe whole country and kingdom． The north－east wind blows round the tower and walls， but they stand firm enough．
The north-east wind blows round the western fortifications of the town—only an old wooden barricade， but it holds out well． Outside of itstands Christopher the First， the King of Denmark．The rebels have beaten him at Skelskr；
he seeks shelter in the Bishop's town．
"The wind whistles， and says like the Bishop，'Keep outside！ keep outside！ The gate is shut for thee！'
"It is a time of trouble；these are dismal days； everyman will have his own way．The Holstein banner waves from the castle tower． There is want and woe； it is thenight of anguish． Strife is in the land， andthe Black Death； pitch－dark night—but then came Waldemar．
The Bishop's town is now the King's town；it hasgabled houses and narrow streets； it has watchmen， and atown－hall；it has a fixed gallows by the west－port． Nonebut townsmen can be hanged on it：one must be a citizento be able to dangle there， to come up so high as to seeKge and the hens of Kge． "'That is a lovely gallows，'says the north－eastwind；'The beautiful grows！' and so it whistled and blew． From Germany blew trouble and want．
"The Hansa merchants came，"said Godfather；
"they came from warehouse and counter， the rich tradersfrom Rostock， Lübeck， and Bremen ； they wanted tosnatchup more than the golden goose from Waldemar's Tower；they had more power in the town of the DanishKing than the Danish King himself； they came with armedships and no one was prepared．King Eric had no mind either to fight with his German kinsfolk； they were somany and so strong．So King Eric and all his courtiershurried out at the west－port to the town of Sor， to thequiet lake and the green woods， to the song of love andthe goblet's clang．
"But one remained behind in Copenhagen，a kingly heart， a kingly mind．Do you see the picture here， theyoung woman， so fine and tender， with sea－blue eyes andflaxen hair？it is Denmark's Queen，Philippa，the Eng-lish Princess．She stayed in the distracted city，where inthe narrow lanes and streets with the steep stairs， sheds，and lath－and－plaster shops， townspeople swarmed andknew not what to do． She has the heart and courage of aman．She summons burghers and peasants， inspires and encourages them． They rig the ships and garrison the block houses；they bang away with the carbines；there isfire and smoke， there is lightness of heart； our Lord willnot give up Denmark！ And the sun shines into all hearts，it beams out of all eyes in the gladness of victory．Blessedbe Philippa！ And blessed she is in the hut and in thehouse， and in the castle of the King， where she looks af－ter the wounded and the sick． Ihave cut a wreath and putit round the picture here， said Codfather．"Blessed beQueen Philippa！"
"Now we spring years forward！" saia Godfather，"andCopenhagen springs with us ．King Christian the First hasbeen in Rome，has been blessed by the Pope， and greetedwith honour and homage on the longjourney．He is build- ing here a hall of red brick； learning shall grow there， anddisplay itself in Latin．The poor man's children from theplough or workshop come there too， can live upon alms， can attain to the long black gown sing before thecitizens'doors．
"Close to the hall of learning， where all is in Latin，lies a little house； in it Danish rules，both in language andin customs． Thereis ale－porridge for breakfast，and dinneris at ten o'clock in the forenoon．The sun shines in through the small panes on cupboards and bookcases；inthe latter lie written treasures， Master Mikkel's 'Rosary'and'Godly Comedies'， Henrik Harpestreng's'Leech－ book'，and Denmark's'Rhyming Chronicle'by Brother Niels of Sor．' Every man of breeding ought to knowthese，'says the master of the house， and he is the man tomake them known． He isDenmark's first printer， the Dutchman，Gotfred van Gehmen．He practises the blessed black art of book－printing．
"And books come into the King's castle， and into thehouses of the burgher． Proverbs and songs get eternal life．Things which men dare not say in sorrow and pleasure aresung by the Bird of Popular Song，darkly and yet clearly；
it flies so free， it flies so wide，through the common sit－ting－room， through the knightly castle； it sits like a falconon the hand of the noble lady and twitters； it steals in likea little mouse，and squeaks in the dungeon to the enslaved peasant．
"' It is all mere words！' says the sharp north－eastwind．
"'It is spring-time！' say the sunbeams．'See howthegreen buds are peeping！'
"Now we will go forward in our picture－book！"said Godrather．
"How Copenhagen glitters！There are tournaments and sports；there are splendid processions； look at the gallantknights in armour ， at the noble ladies in silk and gold！king Hans is giving his daughter Elizabeth to the Electorof Brandenburg；how young she is， and how happy！ shetreads on velvet；there is a future in her thoughts， a lifeof household happiness．Close beside her stands her royalbrother， Prince Christian， with the melancholy eyes andthe hot， surging blood． He is dear to the townsfolk； heknows their burdens；he has the poor man's future in histhoughts．'God alone decides our fortunes！'
"Now we will go on with the picture－book，" saidGodfather．"Sharp blows the wind， and sings about the sharp sword， about the heavy time of unrest．'
"It is an icy－cold day in the middle of April．Whyis the crowd thronging outside the castle，and in front ofthe old tollbooth， where the king's ship lies with its sailsand flags？ There are people in the windows and on the roofs． There is sorrow and affliction， expectancy， andanxiety． They look towards the castle， where formerly there were torch-dances in the gilded halls， now so stilland empty；they look at the window－balcony，from whichKing Christian so often looked out over the drawbridge， and along the narrow street， to his Dovelet， the littleDutch girl he brought from the town of Bergen．The shut-ters are closed， the crowd looks towards the castle； nowthe gate is opening， the drawbridge is being let down．
king Christian comes with his faithful wife Elizabeth；shewill not forsake her royal lord， now when he is so hardbeset．
"There was fire in his blood， there was fire in histhoughts； he wished to break with the olden times， tobreak the peasants' yoke， to be good to the burghers， tocut the wings of 'the greedy hawks'； but they were toomany for him！He departs from his country and kingdom，to win friends and kinsfolk for himself abroad． His wifeand faithful men go with him；every eye is wet now in thehour of parting．
"Voices blend themselves in the song of time， against him and for him；a threefold choir． Hear the words of the nobles； they are written and printed ：
"'Woe to thee， Christian the Bad！ The blood pouredout on Stockholm's market－place cries aloud and cursesthee！'
"And the monk's shout utters the same sentence：
"'Be thou cast off by God and by us！ Thou hast called hither the Lutheran doctrine；thou hast given itchurch and pulpit，and let the tongue of the Devil speak．Woe to thee， Christian the Bad！'
"But peasants and burghers weep so bitterly．'Chris－tian， beloved of the people！No longer shall the peasant besold like cattle， no longer be bartered away for a hound！That law is thy witness！'
"But the words of the poor man are like chaff beforethe wind．
"Now the ship sails past the castle， and the burghersrun upon the ramparts， so that they may once more see theroyal galley sail．
"'The time is long，the time is hard； trust not infriends or kinsmen．'
"Uncle Frederick in the Castle of Kiel would like tobe king of Denmark． king Frederick lies before Copen-hagen； do you see the picture here， 'the faithful Copen－hagen'？ Round about it are coal－black clouds，with pictureon picture； only look at each of them！ It is a resoundingpicture；it still resounds in song and story： the heavy，hard， and bitter time inthe course oftheyears．
"How went it with King Christian， that wandering bird？ The birds have sung about it， and they fly far， overland and sea． The stork came early in the spring， from thesouth over the German lands； it has seen what will now betold．
"'Isaw the fugitive king Christian driving on a heather－grown moor； there met him a wretched car，drawnby one horse；in it sat a woman，King Christian's sister，the Margravine of Brandenburg—faithful to the Lutheran religion，she had been driven away by her husband．On thedark heath met the exiled children of a king．The time ishard，the time is long； trust not in friend or in kin．'
"The swallow came from Snderborg Castle with a doleful song：'King Christian is betrayed．He sits here inthe dungeon－tower deep as a well；his heavy steps wear tracks in the stone floor， his fingers leave their marks inthe hard marble．'
What sorrow ever found such vent As in that furrowed stone？
"The fish－eagle came from the rolling sea！ it is openand free； a ship flies over it； it is the brave Sren Norbyfrom Fyn．Fortune is with him —but fortune is changeful，like wind and weather．
"In Jutland and Fyn the ravens and crows scream：' We are out for spoil．It is grand；it is grand！ Here liebodies of horses， and of men as well．' It is a time oftrouble； it is the Count of Oldenburg's war．The peasantseized his club and the townsman his knife， and shouted loudly：'We shall kill the wolves and leave no cub of them alive．' Clouds of smoke rise from the burning towns．
"King Christian is a prisoner in Snderborg Castle；he cannot escape， or see Copenhagen and its bitter dis-tress． On the North Common stands Christian Ⅲ， wherehis father stood before．In the town is despair；famine isthere， and plague．
"Up against the church wall sits an emaciated wom－an in rags； she is a corpse； two living children lie on herlap and suck blood from the dead breast．
"Courage has fallen， resistance falls． Oh， thou faithful Copenhagen！
"Fanfares are blown． Listentothe drums and trum- pets！In rich dresses of silk and velvet，and with wavingplumes，come the noble lords on gold-caparisoned horses；they ride to the old market． Is there a joust or tournamentafter the usual custom？ Burghers and peasants intheir best array are flocking thither．What is there to see？Hasa bonfire been made to burn popish images？or does the hangman stand there， as he stood at Slaghoek's deathfire？The king，the ruler of the land，is Lutheran，and thisshall now be solemnly proclaimed．
"High and mighty ladies and noble maidens sit with high collars and pearls in their caps， behind the open win－dows，and see all the show．On an outspread carpet，undera canopy， sit the councillors of state in antique dress， nearthe King's throne．The king is silent．Now his will is pro－claimed in the Danish tongue，the will of the state－council．Burghers and peasants receive words of stern rebuke for theopposition they have shown to the high nobility．The burgher is humbled； the peasant becomes a thrall． Nowwords of condemnation are uttered against the bishops of the land． Their power is past．All the property of thechurch and cloisters is transferred to the King and the no－bles．
"Haughtiness and hate are there， pomp and misery．
"The time of change has heavy clouds，but also sun-shine；it shone now in the hall of learning， in the student's home，and names shine out from it right on to our time．Hans Tausen， the son of a poor smith in Fyn：
It was the little lad from Birkendè who came， His name flew over Denmark ，so widely spread his fame；
A Danish Martin Luther，who drew the Gospel sword， And gained a victory for truth and for the Word．
"There also shines the name of Petrus Palladius； soit is in Latin， but in Danish it is Peter Plade， the Bish－op of Roskilde， also the son of a poor smith in Jutland．Among the names of noblemen shines that of Hans Friis，the Chancellor of the kingdom． He seated the students athis table， and looked after their wants， and those of theschoolboys too． And one name before all others is greet－ed with hurrahs and song：
While but a single student here At learning's desk is seated， So long shall good King Christian's name With loud Hurrahs be greeted．
"Sunbeams came amongst the heavy clouds in thattime of change．
"Now we turn the page．
"What whistles and sings in'The Great Belt'underthe coast of Sams？From the sea rises a mermaid，withseagreen hair；she tells the future to the peasant．Aprince shall be born，who will become a king，great andpowerful．
"In the fields，under the blossoming white-thorn，hewas born．His name now blooms in song and story，in theknightly halls and castles round about．The exchangesprang up with tower and spire；Rosenborg lifted itselfand looked far out over the ramparts；the students them－selves got a house of their own，and close beside it stoodand still points to Heaven the'Round Tower'，whichlooks toward the island of Hveen where Uranienborg oncestood．Its golden domes glittered in the moonlight，andmermaids sang of the master there whom kings and sagesvisited，the sage of noble blood，Tycho Brahe．He raisedthe name of Denmark so high，that along with the stars ofheaven it was known in all the cultured lands of theworld．And Denmark spurned him away from her．
"He sang for comfort in his grief：
'Is not Heaven everywhere？
What more then do I require！'
"His song lives in the hearts of the people，like themermaid's song about Christian the Fourth．
"Now comes a page which you must look at in earnest，"said Godfather；"There is picture after picture，as there is verse after verse in the old ballads．It is asong，so joyful in its beginning，so sorrowful in itsending．
"A king's child dances in the castle of the King；howcharming she is to see！She sits on the lap of Christian theFourth，his beloved daughter Eleonora．She grows in wom－anly virtues and graces．The foremost man amongst the no－bles，Corfitz Ulfeldt，is her bridegroom．She is still achild，and still gets whippings from her stern governess；she complains to her sweetheart，and with good right too．How clever she is，and cultured and learned；she knowsLatin and Greek，sings Italian to her lute，and is able totalk about the Pope and Luther．
"King Christian lies in the chapel-vault in RoskildeCathedral，and Eleonora's brother is King．There is pompand show in the palace in Copenhagen，there is beauty andwit；foremost is the Queen herself，Sophia Amalia ofLyneborg．Who can guide her horse so well as she？Whodances with such dignity as she？Who talks with suchknowledge and cleverness as Denmark's Queen？'EleonoraChristina Ulfeldt！'—these words were spoken by theFrench Ambassador—'in beauty and cleverness she sur－passes all．'
"From the polished dancing－floor of the palace grewthe burdock of envy；it hung fast，it worked itself in andtwisted around itself，the scorn of contempt．'The baseborncreature！Her carriage shall stop at the castle－bridge：where the Queen drives，the lady must walk．'There is aperfect storm of gossip，slander，and lies．
"And Ulfeldt takes his wife by the hand in the quiet－ness of the night．He has the keys of the town gates；heopens one of them，horses wait outside．They ride alongthe shore，and then sail away to Sweden．
"Now we turn the page，even as fortune turns itselffor these two．
"It is autumn；the day is short，the night is long；itis grey and damp，the wind so cold，and rising in strength．It whistles in the leaves of the trees on the rampart，theleaves fly into Peter Oxe's courtyard，which stands emptyand forsaken by its owners．The wind sweeps out overChristianshaven，round Kai Lykke's mansion，now a com－mon jail．He himself has been hunted from honour andhome；his scutcheon is broken，his effigy hanged onthe highest gallows．Thus is he punished for his wantonthoughtless words about the honoured Queen of the land．Shrilly pipes the wind，and rushes over the open placewhere the mansion of the Lord High Steward has stood；only one stone of it is now left—'that I drove as a boul－der down here on the floating ice，'whoops the wind．'The stone stranded where Thieves'Island has sincegrown，under my curse，and so it came into the mansionof Lord Ulfeldt，where the lady sang to the sounding lute，read Greek and Latin，and bore herself proudly：now onlythe stone stands up here with its inscription：
"'TO THE ETERNAL SHAME AND DISGRACE OF THE TRAITOR CORFITZ ULFELDT．'
"'But where is she now，the stately lady？Hoo－ee！hoo－ee！'pipes the wind with ear-splitting voice．In the Blue Tower，behind the palace，where the sea－water beatsagainst the slimy walls，there she has already sat for manyyears．There is more smoke than warmth in the chamber；the little window is high up under the ceiling．Christianthe Fourth's petted child，the daintiest of maids and ma－trons，in what discomfort and misery she sits．Memoryhangs curtains and tapestries on the smoke－blackenedwalls of her prison．She remembers the lovely time of herchildhood，her father's soft and beaming features；sheremembers her splendid wedding；the days of her pride，her hours of hardship in Holland，in England，and inBornholm．
Naught seems too hard for wedded love to bear， And faithfulness is not a cause for shame．
"Still，he was with her then；now she is alone，alone for ever．She knows not his grave，no one knows it．
Her faithfulness to him was all her crime．
"She sat there for years，long and many，whilst lifewent on outside．It never stands still，but we will do thatfor a moment here，and think of her，and the words of thesong：
I keep my promise to my husband still In want and great necessity．
"Do you see the picture here？"said Godfather．"Itis winter－time；the frost makes a bridge between Lollandand Fyn，a bridge for Carl Gustav，who is pushing on irre-sistibly．There is plundering and burning，fear and want，in the whole land．
"The Swedes are lying before Copenhagen．It is bitingcold and a blinding snow；but true to their king，and trueto themselves，men and women stand ready for the fight．Every tradesman，shopman，student，and schoolmaster isup on the ramparts to defend and guard．There is no fear ofthe red－hot balls．King Frederick swore he would die in hisnest．He rides up there and the queen with him．Courage，discipline，and patriotic zeal are there．Only let the Swedeput on his grave－clothes，and crawl forward in the whitesnow，and try to storm！Beams and stones are rolled downon him；yea，the women come with brewing cauldrons andpour boiling pitch and tar over the storming enemy．
"This night king and commoner are one united power．And there is rescue and there is victory．The bells ring；songs of thanksgiving resound．Burgherfolk，here you wonyour knightly spurs！
"What follows now？See the picture here．BishopSvane's wife comes in a closed carriage．Only the high andmighty nobility may do that．The proud young gentlemenbreak the carriage down；the bishop's wife must walk tothe bishop's house．
"Is that the whole story？—Something much biggershall be broken next—the power of pride．
"Burgomaster Nansen and Bishop Svane grasp hands for the work，in the name of the Lord．They talkwith wisdom and honesty；it is heard in the church and inthe burgher's house．
"One hand-grip of fellowship，and the haven isblocked，the gates are locked，the alarm bell rings．
"The power is given to the king alone，he who re－mained in his nest in the hour of danger；he governs，herules over great and small．It is the time of absolutemonarchy．
"Now we turn the page and the time with it．
"'Hallo，hallo，hallo！'The plough is laid aside，the heather gets leave to grow，but the hunting is good．'Hallo，hallo！'Listen to the ringing horn，and the bay-ing hounds！See the huntsmen，see the king himself，King Christian Ⅴ：he is young and gay．There is merri-ment in palace and in town．In the halls are wax－lights，in the courtyards are torches，and the streets of the townhave got lamps．Everything shines so new！The new no－bility，called in from Germany，barons and counts，getfavours and gifts．Nothing passes current now except titlesand rank，and the German language．
"Then sounds a voice that is thoroughly Danish；itis the weaver's son who is now a bishop；it is the voiceof Kingo；he sings his lovely psalms．
"There is another burgher's son，a vintner's son；his thoughts shine forth in law and justice；his law－bookbecame gold-ground for the king's name；it will stand fortimes to come．That burgher's son，the mightiest man inthe land，gets a coat of arms and enemies with it，and sothe sword of the executioner is raised over the head ofGriffenfeldt．Then grace is granted，with imprisonment forlife．They send him to a rocky islet off the coast of Trond－hjem， MunkholmDenmark's St．Helena．
But the dance goes merrily in the palace hall；splendourand pomp are there；there is lively music，and courtiersand ladies dance there "Now comes the time of Frederick Ⅳ！
"See the proud ships with the flag of victory！Seethe rolling sea！it can tell of great exploits，of the gloriesof Denmark．We remember the names，the victorious Se－hested and Gyldenlwe！We remember Hvitfeldt，who，tosave the Danish fleet，blew up his ship，and flew toHeaven with the Danish flag．We think of the time，andthe struggle of those days，and the hero who sprang fromthe Norwegian mountains to the defence of Denmark，Peter Tordenskjold．From the glorious surging sea，hisname thunders from coast to coast．
There flashed a lightning through the powder-dust， A thunder rumbled through the whispering age；
A tailor-lad sprang from the tailor's board， From Norway's coast sailed out a little sloop， And over Northern seas there flew again The Viking spirit，youthful，girt with steel．
"Then there came a fresh breeze from Greenland'scoast，a fragrance as from the land of Bethlehem；it boretidings of the Gospel light kindled by Hans Egede and hiswife．
"The half leaf here has therefore a gold ground；theother half，which betokens sorrow，is ashen-grey withblack specks，as if from fire sparks，as if from disease andpestilence．
"In Copenhagen the plague is raging．The streets areempty；the doors are barred，and round about are crossesmarked with chalk；inside is the plague，but where thecross is black，all are dead．
"In the night the bodies are carried away，without thetolling－bell；they take the half－dead from the streets withthem；the army wagons rumble，they are filled withcorpses．But from the ale houses sound the horrid songs ofthe drunkard and wild shrieks．In drink they seek to forgettheir bitter distress；they would forget，and end—end！Ev－erything comes to an end．Here the page ends with the sec－ond time of distress and trial for Copenhagen．
"King Frederick Ⅳ is still alive；his hair has growngrey in the course of the years．From the window of thepalace he looks out upon the stormy weather；it is late inthe year．
"In a little house by the Westgate a boy plays withhis ball；it flies up into the garret．The little one takes atallow－candle and goes up to search for it；he sets fire tothe little house，and so to the whole street．It flares in theair，so that the clouds shine．The flames increase！There isfood for the fire；there is hay and straw，bacon and tar，there are piles of firewood for the winter－time，andevery-thing burns．There is weeping and shrieking andgreat confusion．In the tumult rides the old king，encour－aging and commanding．There is blowing up with powder，and pulling down of houses．Now there is fire also in thenorth quarter，ane the churches are burning，St．Peter'sand Our Lady's．Listen to the bells playing their lasttune：'Turn away thy wrath，Lord God of Mercy！'
"Only the'Round Tower'and the castle are leftstanding；round about them are smoking ruins．KingFrederick is good to the people；he comforts and feedsthem；he is with them；he is the friend of the homeless．Blessed be Frederick Ⅳ！
"See this page now！
"See the gilded carriage with footmen round it，witharmed riders before and behind it，coming from the cas-tle，where an iron chain is stretched to prevent the peoplefrom coming too near．Every plebeian man must go overthe square with bare head；because of this not many areseen there，they avoid the place．There comes one nowwith downcast eyes，with hat in hand，and he is just theman of that time，whom we name with pride：
His words like a cleansing storm－wind rang For sunshine in days yet to come；
And smuggled in fashions like grasshoppers sprang In haste to escape and get home．
It is wit and humour in person；it is Ludwig Holberg．TheDanish theatre，the scene of his greatness，has beenclosed，as if it were the dwelling－place of infamy．Allmerriment is confined；dance，song，and music are for- bidden and banished．The dark side of religion is now inpower．
"'The Danish prince！'as his mother called him；now comes his time with sunshiny weather，with the songof birds，with gladness and gaiety，and true Danish ways．King Frederick Ⅴ is king．And the chain is taken awayfrom the square beside the castle；the Danish theatre isopened again；there is laughter and pleasure and good hu-mour．And the peasants hold their summer festival．It is atime of gaiety after the time of fast and oppression．Thebeautiful thrives，blossoming and bearing fruit in sound，incolour，and in creative art．Hearken to Gretry's music！Watch the acting of Londemann！And Denmark's queenloves what is Danish．Louisa of England，beautiful andgentle；God in his Heaven，bless you！The sunbeamssing in lively chorus about the queens in the Danishland—Philippa，Elizabeth，Louisa！
"The earthly parts have long been buried，but thesouls live，and the names live．Again，England sends aroyal bride，Matilda，so young，and so soon forsaken！Poets will sing of thee in times to come，of thy youthfulheart and time of trial．And song has power，an inde－scribable power through times and peoples．See theburning of the castle，King Christian's castle！They tryto save the best they can find．See，the dockyard menare dragging away a basket with silver plate and preciousthings．It is a great treasure；but suddenly they seethrough the open door，where the flames are bright，abronze bust of King Christian Ⅳ．Then they cast awaythe treasure they are carrying；his image is much more tothem！that must be saved，however heavy it may be tocarry．They know him from Ewald's song，from Hart－mann's lovely melody．
"There is power in the words and the song，and itshall sound even twice as strong for the poor QueenMatilda．
"Now we shall turn farther on in our picture－book．
"On UIfeldt's Place stood the stone of shame；where is there one on the earth like it？By the Westgatea column was raised；how many are there like it on theearth？
"The sunbeams kissed the boulder，which is thefoundation under the'Column of Freedom'．All thechurch bells rang，and the flags waved；the people hur－rahed for the Crown-Prince Frederick．In the hearts andon the lips of old and young were the names of Bernstorff，Reventlow，Colbjrnson．With beaming eyes and thankfulhearts they read the blessed inscription on the column：
"'The King has decreed it：Serfdom shall cease；theagrarian laws shall be set in order and put in force，thatthe free yeoman may become brave and enlightened，dili-gent and good，a worthy citizen，and happy．'
"What a day of sunshine！What'a Summer festi－val'！
"The spirits of light sang：'The good grows！Thebeautiful grows！Soon the stone on UIfeldt's Place willfall，but Freedom's column shall stand in sunshine，blessed by God，the king，and the people．'
We have a highway old and wide And to the ends of earth it goes．
"The open sea，open for friend or foe；and the foewas there．It sailed up，the mighty English fleet；a greatpower came against a little one．The fight was hard butthe people were brave．
Each stood firm with dauntless breath， Stood and fought and met his death．
"They won the admiration of the foe，and inspiredthe poets of Denmark．That day of battle is still commem-orated with waving flags—Denmark's glorious second ofApril，the battle-day at the Roadstead．
"Years passed．A fleet was seen in re Sound．Wasit bound for Russia or Denmark？No one knew，not evenon board．
"There is a legend in the mouth of the people，thatthat morning in re Sound，when the sealed orders werebroken open and read，and instructions given to take theDanish fleet，a young captain stepped forward to hischief，a son of Britain，noble in word and deed：'I swore，'was his word，'that to my death I would fight for England's flap in open and honourable fight，but not to overpowerthe weak．'And with that he sprang overboard！
And so to Copenhagen sailed the fleet．
While far from Where they fought the battle stark， Lay he，the Captain—no one knows his name A corpse sea-cold，hidden by waters dark， Until he drifted shorewards，and the Swedes， Beneath the starry sky who cast their nets．
Found him，and bore him in their boat to land， And—cast the dice to win his epauletts！
"The enemy made for Copenhagen；the town went upin flames，and we lost our fleet，but not our courage andour faith in God；He casteth down，but He raiseth upagain．Our wounds were healed as in the battles of Valhal－la．Copenhagen's history is rich in consolation．
Our faith has been from times of old That God is ever Denmark's friend， If we hold firm，He too will hold， And still the sun shine in the end．
"And soon the sun shone on the rebuilt city，on therich cornfields，on the workers'skill and art；a blessedsummer day of peace，where poetry raised her Fata Mor－gana so rich in colour，with the coming of Oehlenschlger．
"And in science a discovery was made，far greaterthan that of a goldhorn in olden days，a bridge of gold wasfound：
A bridge for thought to dart At all times into other lands and nations．
"Hans Christian Oersted wrote his name there．Andsee！beside the church by the castle was raised a buildingto which the poorest man and woman gave gladly theirmite．
"You remember from the first part of the picture－book，"said Godfather，"the old stone－blocks，which rolleddown from the mountains of Norway，and were carrieddown here on the ice；they are lifted again from the sandybottom at Thorwaldsen's bidding，in marble beauty，love－ly to see！Remember what I have shown you and what Ihave told you！The sand－bank in the sea raised itself upand became a breakwater for the harbour，bore Axel'shouse，bore the bishop's mansion and the king's castle，and now it bears the temple of the beautiful．The words ofthe curse have blown away，but what the children of thesunlight sang in their gladness，about the coming time，has been fulfilled．So many storms have gone past，butmay come again and will again pass．The true and thegood and the beautiful have the victory．
"And with this the picture－book is finished；but notthe history of Copenhagen—far from it．Who knows whatyou yourself may yet live to see！It has often looked blackand blown a gale，but the sunshine is not yet blownaway—that remains；and stronger yet than the strongestsunshine is God！Our Lord reigns over more than Copen－hagen．"
So said Godfather，and gave me the book．His eyesshone，he was so certain of the thing．And I took thebook so gladly，so proudly，and so carefully，just as Ilately carried my little sister for the first time．
And Godfather said："You are quite welcome toshow your picture-book to one or another；you may alsosay that I have made，pasted，and drawn the whole work．But it is a matter of life or death，that they know at oncefrom where I have got the idea of it．You know it，so tellit them！The idea is due to the old oil－lamps，who just，on the last evening they burned，showed for the town'sgas－lights like a Fata Morgana，all that had been seenfrom the time the first lamp was lighted at the harbour，till this evening when Copenhagen was lighted both withoil and gas．
"You may show the book to whom you please，thatis to say，to people with kind eyes and friendly hearts；but if a death-horse should come，then close GODFATHER'S PICTURE－BOOK．"