calls of hunger, each course proving a
novelty, and every dish a fresh voyage of gastronomic discovery!

Copenhagen was a large commercial port many centuries ago, and has
several times been partially destroyed by war and conflagration. It
has some two hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, and is about six
miles in circumference. The site of the city is so low as to render
it necessary to protect it from the waters of the Baltic by
artificial embankments. Like Amsterdam and Venice, it may be said to
possess "remarkable water-privileges." We were told that the citizens
were making earnest remonstrance as to the inefficient drainage of
the city, which is believed to be the prime cause of a somewhat
extraordinary percentage of mortality. In past times it has more than
once been visited by the plague, which so late as 1711 caused the
death of over twenty-eight thousand of its inhabitants. It is only
some thirty years since, that over five thousand persons died here
of cholera in one season. Fevers of a typhoid character prevail
annually, which are no doubt with good reason attributed to want of
proper drainage. Notwithstanding Copenhagen is situated so nearly at
tide level, modern engineering could easily perfect a system of
drainage which would render it independent of this circumstance. The
safe and spacious harbor is formed by the channel between the islands
of Zeeland and Amager, where there is ample depth and room to answer
the demands of a far more extended commerce than the city is ever
likely to maintain. The houses are mostly of brick, some of the
better class being built of Norwegian granite, while the newer
portion of the town presents many examples of fine modern
architecture. The streets are of good width and laid out with an eye
to regularity, besides which there are sixteen spacious public
squares. Taken as a whole, the first impression of the place and its
surroundings is remarkably pleasing and attractive. As one approaches
the city, the scene is enlivened by the many windmills in the
environs, whose wide-spread arms are generally in motion, appearing
like the broad wings of enormous birds hovering over the land and
just preparing to alight. One is hardly surprised that Don Quixote
should mistake them for palpable enemies, and charge upon them full
tilt. Perhaps the earliest associations in its modern history which
the stranger is likely to remember, as he looks about him in
Copenhagen, is that of the d