The Siècle's correspondent wanted a pair of
waterproof boots, to potter amongst the mud
and snow of Duppel. A friend took him to his
shoemaker, M. Storm, at the sign of "The Red
Boot," in Ostergade.

"Monsieur Storm?" inquired the friend, of an
apprentice shoemaker.

"He is busy for the present," the lad
replied.

"Will he soon be visible?"

"I think not, monsieur."

"What is your master busy about?''

"He is deciphering."

"Deciphering! What the deuce is he
deciphering?"

"Some new music, which he received this
morning."

"Ah, that is all!" the friend exclaimed.
"Come with me, then, I know the way to the
piano."

They went, listened outside the door, and
were astonished at the way in which the
harmonious shoemaker deciphered his music. They
entered the temple of Apollo, and were graciously
received. The shoemaker-pianist informed his
customer that the whole of his family cultivated
music, and that he would have devoted himself
entirely to that charming art, were it not that
in Denmark, as elsewhere, boots and shoes met
with a readier sale than quavers and semi-
quavers. After hearing one of Beethoven's
sonatas, the visitors returned to the shop, where
a pair of unexceptionable boots were supplied to
them.

The Danish ladies have a peculiar carriage,
determined by a slight undulatory movement,
which is neither that of French nor English
women, but rather approaches the North
American style of female deportment. When
they are pleasing—and they please very
frequently—all the merit is due to nature. Simply
clad in woollen dresses—a silk gown is a rarity
in the streets of Copenhagen—they employ, to
attract attention, none of the thousand stratagems
which constitute the arsenal of coquetry
in other countries. If the men never turn
their heads to have a second look at a passing
pretty woman, the women never deign,
by the slightest provocation, to trouble the
serenity of the serious and thoughtful
passenger. We ought to be grateful for their
self-denial, remembering that they have an
intelligent smile, white teeth, an abundance of
fair and silky hair, and eyes like morsels of the
azure sky.

In Denmark, where the men have not yet
thought of selling their name for a woman's
dowry, every marriage is what nature and
morality pronounce that it ought to be
everywhere a marriage of inclination. The young
man whose position is not yet assured, does not,
the more for that, renounce a union with a girl
whose charms and innocence are her only
capital.

After having made—almost always in the
presence of the lady's parents—the mutual
avowal of their inclination, the young man
announces his matrimonial intentions, and solicits
the favour of a betrothal. The parents accept;
and from that moment the lovers are left
completely at liberty. They go to the theatre, or
out walking, unaccompanied. They are
constantly together, and wait as patiently as they
can for the time when the church shall bless
their union. It is a very rare case indeed that
the betrothed abuses the privilege allowed him.
A man would be justly considered indelicate, if,
after intimate acquaintance with a respectable
girl, his affianced wife, he ran after other
"flirtations," as the Americans phrase it.

Nevertheless, it must be confessed, there are
men sufficiently careless of public opinion, and
light enough, to make an amusement of these
preliminaries to wedlock, which they have the
boldness to say they prefer to wedlock itself.
One old bachelor in Copenhagen was said to
have been betrothed the ominous number of
thirteen times. Another faithless female turtle-
dove, somewhat advanced in life, was spoken of
in indignant terms, because she broke off her
engagement after a courtship of eighteen years.
Just at the moment of a definite union, she had
the audacity to ask for a little longer time for
reflection. Subsequently, she married quite a
boy, without relations, advice, or experience,
whom she caught in his budding affections, as
you take a young magpie from the nest. When
she expected some manifestation of the wrath
and resentment of her former sweetheart, she was
not a little surprised to see him come to church
and remain to witness the matrimonial rite. He
pressed her hand more warmly than ever, and
betrayed his secret thoughts by whispering, "Oh,
my dear madam, you don't know what a service
you have rendered me!"

To which the bride replied with equal
emotion,

"Ah, Henrick! I love this lad because he
reminds me of what you were twenty years
ago."

                 NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS.
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
              "Pickwick," "Copperfleld," &c.
         Now publishing, PART X., price 1s., of
                     OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
                   BY CHARLES DICKENS.
             IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
         With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
   London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

  Just published, bound in cloth, price 5s. 6d.,
               THE TWELFTH VOLUME.