them, and they still bear his name.

Balder retains as his property one of the hawkweeds, termed Balders Braa (brow).*

* The god Balder is said by tradition to be buried at Funen, under a høi called Balder's Hill. Great treasures are, of course, concealed within. Some peasants many years since came there by night to dig for the gold. But no sooner did they turn the sod with the pickaxe than a rushing stream of water burst forth from the hill-top, washing peasants, pickaxe, shovel, and wheelbarrow, half across the isle of Zealand.

CHAPTER LVI.

The dominions of the Elf King - Hospitality at Store Hedinge - The Trolles and the church of Høierup - Vallø, the Queen of Danish convents-The ancient house of Bille - Lucia the Flower of Denmark - The last of the Rosensparres-Ledreborg, the ancient Leira Court etiquette of King Ring - Legend of King Skiold, founder of Leira.

STORE HEDINGE.

WE were tired and sick of star-gazing, when a light appears at the road's-end, faint at first, and later brighter, and then quick flits across the horizon a line of welcome stars there is now no doubt we are at our journey's end, and before a few minutes have elapsed we drive into our haven, the town of Store Hedinge; we rattle down the street into the Place, where scarlet postilion stops and inquires, "Where shall I drive you to ?" "Drive to?-to the hotel, of course." "There is none." "None? to the kro then." "No kro." "Nonsense there must be." "The Gjæstgiver is in the churchyard, and the kro bankrupt.” "Where can we sleep, then ?" "At Kiøge, twelve miles further."

So we drive to the post-house, to order horses on to Kiøge. The postmaster was out, but we are ushered into a small, prettily furnished drawing-room, where we find his wife sitting working, together with her friends, round the table. How cosy and comfortable they did look! We tell our piteous tale, and the kind lady melts at our distress. Go on to Kiøge, impossible! such a cold night she will send out and find us rooms in the town

when her husband comes in. When did we dine? We own that we had eaten our smør brod at eleven o'clock at Rønnede kro, and had fasted ever since. Why, we must be faint she will give us some tea, will take no denial (I can't say we did stand out vigorously), and off she goes to call her maid. In ten minutes' time we were ushered into the next room, not only to our tea, but to an excellent supper of cold meat, smør brod, compôte, and fruit, prettily arranged on old Danish china, fine linen, and bright silver; no fuss, no bother; we were kindly welcome. There is a refinement about the middle class of Danes in their household arrangements, seldom to be met with in other countries; and so we ate, drank, and refreshed ourselves, our kind hostess attending on us, watching and anticipating our wants; our spirits raised, we talked and chatted away, all about our travels, and then came in Postmaster Jaspersen himself with the news of rooms at an old lady's, who had turned her house upside down for our accommodation. When supper was finished we all sat and talked over the legends of the place; all about the Elf King, of whom you will hear more to-morrow; then, as a message arrived to say our rooms were ready, we departed-after many thanks on our side, and much pleasure on hers, lantern-lighted by the maid-to our resting-place, where we were received by our hostess, a jolly old dame, who could not do enough to make us comfortable. Such questions as she made about our breakfasts for to-morrow; such caresses to the dogsLina and Vic-who she felt certain were starving; they had already supped-no matter, they must sup again: a little milk at any rate. At last we got to bed, and slept like tops, till awakened by the market

waggons rolling and rattling through the streets on the following morning.

October 6th.-We are in the dominions of the Elf King, a most important personage in these parts. Store Hedinge is his capital. According to the old tradition we mentioned at Skjelskør, no sovereign dares to plant his foot within the precincts of his kingdom-the Elf King would not allow it. "We'll soon see that," said King Christian IV.; so down he came in all the pomp and state of majesty, and made, after the manner of the day, a royal progress through the country. But the people did not believe in him a whit. "It's only," cried the peasants, "the Elf King, who, for good reasons known only to himself, has assumed the appearance of earthly royalty." A charming operetta, styled Elverhøi,' in which the best of the Danish national airs are introduced, has been composed on this subject. The Elf King was, however, affronted, quitted his residence at Stevns Klint, and took up his abode in the now deserted monks' prisons of the round church of Store Hedinge. We visited, as you may imagine, this celebrated edifice, but over its desecration let us drop a veil. What a deal of mischief well-intentioned ignorant people may and do do in this world. The sum of two thousand pounds English has been lately raised and expended on its restoration. It's too horrible to talk of; the architect deserves the fate of Marsyas. A pendent wooden roof of our own Henry VII.'s period; the character of the building entirely destroyed. On entering the churchyard my eyes first lighted on the stone cross erected to the memory of the defunct gjæstgiver, so vainly sought last night. He died some nine years ago, and has not since been replaced, speaking