the very document whose loss had well-nigh caused the dissolution of the budding academy. We visited the dormitories, each with its fifteen bedsboys arranged according to their ages and size-name on each bed-the washing-rooms, studies, gymnasium, and salle d'armes; many are the portraits of the worthy founders. Old Bridget looks well capable of smashing a table or a skull if she felt inclined-the last person in the world one would care to meet with on an excursion from the land of spirits. She was lady of honour to Queen Dorothea, and is said to have contributed more to the establishment of the Reformation than any one in Denmark, for, when Hans Tausen first preached the doctrines of Luther, she it was who induced Ronnøv, the Bishop of Zealand, not to treat the matter harshly. (Ronnøy was an admirer of Bridget before he entered into holy orders.) Lastly, we visit the chapel, where behind the altar lie the splendid black and white marble monuments of the founders; better kept they might be, and should be, for it is little to the credit of the authorities to allow them to be mutilated, and made restingplaces for brooms and brushes. Small boy brings us a cannon-ball, most uncomfortable affair, with a spike projecting from one end of it; he dragged it out from among some rubbish-the very ball from which the gallant old Admiral met his death-wound in a conflict with the Swedes in 1565.* *When about to start on this last expedition, a friend remonstrated with him on again risking his life after such long service. Trolle replied, "If I lose this life, I enter another. Do you know why we are called gentlemen, and why we wear chains of gold; why we possess lordships, and expect more respect from others? It is because we have the satisfaction to see our peasants live in peace, while we, with our But really the authorities-for we all know how immoveable learned corporations are all the world overhave made a move of late years; they have closed the coffin of Denmark's Lord Chancellor and historian, Hvitfeldt, who is here interred. Old Herlufsholmians recollect the time when, in the heyday of their youth and spirits, though perhaps not grace, they -on mischief bent-uncovered the sarcophagus of the old chronicler, dragged him from his resting-place, and, each giving him a hand, waltzed him round and round the church—a living Dance of Death, not painted in the designs of Cranach, or Hans Hemling either-irreverent monkeys! The evening is bright and autumnal; our young guides conduct us by a new way through the forest towards Nestved. We pass through their summer playground, a waving canopy of foliage overhead, not to be penetrated by the sun's rays. This forest is very charming, most enjoyable, doubly so to youth; and then, having taken leave of the little fellows with that mysterious pressure of the hand, a sort of freemasonry which makes a visit from "friends of home" extra acceptable, we dismiss them to their tuck-shop, bull's-eyes, hardbake, and toffy. May angels watch over their digestion! One advantage have Sorø and Herlufsholm over our public schools of Eton and Harrow-recollect I speak king, defend our country. If we wish for what is sweet, we must also taste the bitter." It was Herluf who commenced the collection of chronicles of which his nephew Hvitfeldt later made use. *He died at Herlufsholm 1608. Hvitfeldt was sent ambassador to the Court of Queen Elizabeth to restore the insignia of the Garter at the death of King Frederic II. His History of the Danish Monarchy extends from Dan Mikillati to Frederic II., and was edited and continued by Resen. as man, not with the feelings of a schoolboy, who prefers all that is wrong in this world to what is good for him. Being far removed from large towns, the boys are not encouraged to run into every kind of extravagance, and compelled to pay just three times the value of every article in which they invest their pocket-money—a system of robbery licensed, Heaven only knows why, by the authorities of the above-mentioned places. As regards learning, who ever learned anything useful at a public school in England except to be and conduct himself like a gentleman? with that we all rest satisfied: self-education will come later, somehow or other, when once a man feels the want of it. CHAPTER LV. Peter Thott and his høi- The Black Friis of Borreby - The enchanted bell of the Letter-room- Old Valdemar Daa the alchymist - The giant girl and the sandhills-The "Lady of the Morn" the curse of Zealand-Thorvaldsen at Nysø-The convent for noble ladies at Gisselfeld - Peter Oxe the minister of Frederic II. - The ladies of Vemmetofte - A starlight night - Spoliation of the goddess Freia, GAUNØ. October 4th.-THREE days' rain; it is over, and we have bright autumn weather again. We started this morning early, for the days close in fast, and it is well to have the daylight before you, to visit Gaunø, the sea-girt château of Baron Reedts Thott, at a mile's distance from the town of Nestved. A fine old place it is, and contains a great many picturesheirlooms to the family-how many thousands I dare not affirm. The Thott family, say some, existed centuries before the Christian era. One Peter Thott is mentioned as having rendered good service to King Valdemar in his wars against the Wends. Pagan he remained though patriot, but his son Thor the Bearded was baptised and became Governor of Iceland and Skaane. He stuck however to the good old customs, and was buried like a true Scandinavian under a høi in Skaane, called Kiøling-høi. On this hill were many stones, one of which, called Lille Tulle, bore the following inscription:- VOL. II. 2 B "Dalby mill and Kielby mead, But I myself lie under this høi." A peasant once carried off the stone to repair his house, but the ghosts made such a hideous noise, his family were scared out of their wits, and resolved to depart bag and baggage, when a ghost appeared before them, saying, "Replace Lille Tulle." They did so, and the noises ceased. Later, however, the stone was carried off by Tage Thott to use in the construction of his château at Eriksholm, but he was one of the family, and the ghosts said nothing. We had meant to extend our journey as far as Holstenborg and Skjelskør, the former the seat of the Counts of Holstein; Skjelskør a small town, remarkable for nothing except for the fact that no Danish king has ever visited within its walls since the days of Erik Menved. According to tradition, Skjelskør is one of the strongholds of the Elf King; and were a living monarch to attempt to cross the bridge which leads within its gates, the structure would straightway crumble down and immerse the royal party in the waters below. But though Skjelskør is a town of little historic interest, not far from it stands the picturesque château of Borreby, built, it is said, with the stones from Marsk Stig's stronghold at Stigs Næs. Borreby is the herregaard of a branch of the Friis family-the "Black Friis" as they were styled, from their bearing three black squirrels as their arms-one of whom, John Friis, was the * The Friis, of Friisenborg, bear a red squirrel cracking a nut. |