to land; but it was extremely dark, and the lanterns
gave very little light. However, all was wonderful to me, who had
never been in any other town but Odense.

"'Here Baggesen was born,' said my father, 'and here Birckner lived.'

"It seemed to me that the old town, with its small houses, became at
once larger and more important. We were also rejoiced to have the firm
earth under us once more; but I could not sleep that night, I was so
excited thinking over all I had seen and encountered since I had left
home two days before.

"Next morning we rose early. We had before us a bad road, with
frightful hills and many valleys, till we reached Slagelse; and beyond
it, on the other side, it was but little better; therefore we were
anxious to get to Krebsehuset, that we might early next day go on to
Soroe, and visit Moellers Emil, as we called him. He was your
grandfather, my worthy husband, the dean. He was then a student at
Soroe, and very busy about his second examination.

"Well, we arrived about noon at Krebsehuset. It was a gay little town
then, and had the best inn on the road, and the prettiest country
round it: you must all admit that it is pretty still. She was a very
active landlady, Madame Plambek, and everything in her house was as
clean as a new pin. There hung up on her wall a letter from Baggesen
to her. It was framed, and had a glass over it; it was a very
interesting object to look at, and to me it was quite a curiosity. We
then went into Soroe, and found Emil there. You may believe he was very
glad to see us, and we were very glad to see him--he was so good and
so attentive. We went with him to see the church, with Absolon's grave
and Holberg's coffin. We saw the old monkish inscriptions, and we
sailed over the lake to Parnasset--the sweetest evening I remember. I
recollect well that I thought, if one could write poetry anywhere in
the world, it would be at Soroe, amidst those charming, peaceful
scenes, where nature reigns in all her beauty. Afterwards we visited
by moonlight the 'Philosopher's Walk,' as it was called--the
beautiful, lonely path by the lake and the moor that leads towards the
highway to Krebsehuset. Emil remained to supper with us, and my father
and mother thought he had become very clever and very good-looking. He
promised us that he would be in Copenhagen within a few days, and
would join us there: it was then Whitsuntide. We were going to stay
with his family. These hours at Soroe and