hungry and thirsty. I left you blue cushions
and coverlids, and my children sleep on naked
straw. I left you tall flambeaux, and my
children are in darkness. If you often make
me thus return by night, misfortune will come
of it." At this the mother-in-law exclaimed,
"Henceforward I will be kind to your children."
And from that day, whenever the husband and
wife heard the dogs growl, they gave the children
beer and bread; and when they heard them howl
and bark, they went and hid themselves, lest they
should see the dead woman come back again.

The Kæmpeviser are songs and stories written
in the national language of Denmark. They
contain, amongst others, the touching history of
Queen Dagmar (Aurora, or Daybreak), who, for
seven years, was adored by the king and his
people, and who died in May, 1212. Her
arrival in Denmark is thus related:

King Valdemar and his noble, Strange Ebbeson,
are sitting in the castle hall, and are
discoursing together.

"Do you hear, noble Ebbeson, what I tell you?
You will set out for Bohemia, from whence you
will bring me back my young bride."

Noble Ebbeson, of handsome mien and elo-
quent speech, replied, "If I go to Bohemia,
who will accompany me?"

"Choose first," replied the king, "the young
Lord Limbek and Olaf Glück; choose the rich
Seigneur Peter Glob and others, according to
your liking."

At their departure, the king accompanied
them to the shore with a numerous and brilliant
suite. For three weeks they sailed over the
azure waves, and when they caught sight of the
land of Bohemia they gaily saluted it. They
cast anchor, furled their sails, and landed. The
retinue was dazzling to behold, preceded by the
noble Ebbeson.

"God be with you, King of Bohemia! You
are a prince worthy of all' honour. King
Valemar of Denmark sends me to you; he loves
your daughter, and demands her hand."

The king then entered his palace to consult
with the queen. "There are some noble
seigneurs from Denmark, who are come to take our
daughter away. If mighty Valdemar desires to
espouse her, we will leave her to these brilliant
lords, and give a rich dowry with her hand."

They dressed the princess in blue silk and led
her into the great hall. " Here is the princess
herself, so beautiful in modesty and virtue."
They then brought the chess-board and the table
of massive gold, that the noble Ebbeson might
play with the princess and converse with her
alone. At the third move they were agreed;
noble Ebbeson had won a good wife for his
king. The silken carpets were spread on the
ground, and a long train accompanied the
princess to the place of embarkation. She bade
adieu to her dear parents, and they blessed her
from a distance. She was gentle and delicate.
She arrived by the island of Manoe, to the west
of Schleswig. The King of Denmark made his
horse prance on the shore of Ripen.

"Noble Ebbeson," asked the princess,
"before we land, tell mo who is that bold cavalier
who rides to and fro along the bank?"

"You are welcome, princess," replied Ebbeson;
"but do not speak so loud. It is King
Valdemar of Denmark, come to offer three
crowns to his bride."

"Shame on you, noble Ebbeson! Have you
deceived me? Has King Valdemar of
Denmark only one eye?"

"King Valdemar is a hero worthy of the
blood of Oriog; he has reconquered for
Denmark all the land to the north of the Elbe. Such
glory must needs be purchased by something."

The wedding was brilliant, and the young
couple loved each other from the bottom of their
hearts. It was a happy time for all in Denmark.
Queen Dagmar took care of the honest peasant;
he lived without burthen, and in peace. She
was the sweetest flower in Denmark's garden.

DR. PEREGRINE'S PAGE,

I.

IN one of the earlier volumes of my diary I
find the following passage:

"Tuesday, January 17th, 18—. This morning,
at half-past three A.M., poor John Bentmore
expired. Conscious to the last—full of self-condemnation
for errors which were more those of
judgment than intention; pious, earnest, humble-minded,
he died, bitterly accusing himself of
having injured his boy's prospects. A touching
end. I promised to befriend his child. How
shall I fulfil that promise?"

Of all my humble protégés, John Bentmore
was the most grateful, and the least satisfactory.
He was emphatically an unlucky man. Nothing
prospered with him. He had tried everything.
Service in all sorts of capacities. He had been
a greengrocer, a lodging-house keeper; a
traveller for a wine merchant; a traveller in
the grocery line; foreman to an upholsterer. I
got up a subscription for him, and fitted him out
for Australia; but in less than two years he was
back again, with little besides the clothes which,
to use his own expression, he stood upright in.
By-and-by he set up for himself in the
upholstery trade with capital borrowed from one
of his old employers. He had been brought up
to it, his father having been an upholsterer;
and he ought to have understood it himself.
But his ill luck, or rather his want of business
habits, pursued him still. He employed the best
men; he bought the best materials. Yet, his
wood always warped; his blinds never worked
properly; his carpets wore white; his very
nails never held. He was wont to admit
himself with a sigh, as he wiped the perspiration
from his brow, that "there was a many
complaints. He didn't, know how it was, but
there was a many complaints."

At last he sunk under his ill fortune. On his
death-bed he accused himself bitterly, and
bewailed the destitute state of his son, whose
future prospects naturally formed his chief
anxiety. I had much ado to reconcile him to
the idea of the boy's seeking his living