journed during his stay in Denmark, and where he called many
of his immortal works into existence.

But little Tuk was no longer lying down: all at once he was on
horseback. On he went at full gallop, still galloping on and on. A
knight with a gleaming plume, and most magnificently dressed, held him
before him on the horse, and thus they rode through the wood to the old
town of Bordingborg, and that was a large and very lively town. High
towers rose from the castle of the king, and the brightness of many
candles streamed from all the windows; within was dance and song,
and King Waldemar and the young, richly-attired maids of honor danced
together. The morn now came; and as soon as the sun appeared, the whole
town and the king's palace crumbled together, and one tower after the
other; and at last only a single one remained standing where the castle
had been before,* and the town was so small and poor, and the school
boys came along with their books under their arms, and said, "2000
inhabitants!" but that was not true, for there were not so many.

*Bordingborg, in the reign of King Waldemar, a considerable place, now
an unimportant little town. One solitary tower only, and some remains of
a wall, show where the castle once stood.

And little Tukey lay in his bed: it seemed to him as if he dreamed, and
yet as if he were not dreaming; however, somebody was close beside him.

"Little Tukey! Little Tukey!" cried someone near. It was a seaman,
quite a little personage, so little as if he were a midshipman; but a
midshipman it was not.

"Many remembrances from Corsor.* That is a town that is just rising
into importance; a lively town that has steam-boats and stagecoaches:
formerly people called it ugly, but that is no longer true. I lie on
the sea," said Corsor; "I have high roads and gardens, and I have given
birth to a poet who was witty and amusing, which all poets are not. I
once intended to equip a ship that was to sail all round the earth; but
I did not do it, although I could have done so: and then, too, I smell
so deliciously, for close before the gate bloom the most beautiful
roses."

*Corsor, on the Great Belt, called, formerly, before the introduction
of steam-vessels, when travellers were often obliged to wait a long time
for a favorable wind, "the most tiresome of towns." The poet Baggesen
was born here.

Little Tuk looked, and all was red and green before his eyes; but as
soon as the confusion of col