een for centuries to the sympathy of his kind, and
smiling, he muttered to the trembling slave,

"It is well! I am glad that there are yet _men_ in Denmark."

The serf returned to earth as soon as permission was obtained, and,
relating the story exactly as I have repeated it, received his freedom
and a pension from the king.

The Castle of Cronenborg was commenced by Frederick II. in 1574, and
finished by Christian IV.

The boat returned at eight o'clock, and brought off some bread; but it
was so hard and heavy, we could not touch it, though some Danes, who had
accompanied our men from the shore, assured us it was the best bread
baked in Elsineur, and eaten by the native nobility. It was darker in
colour than the brown bread in England; and so acid, that the sailors,
who were cormorants at food, and ostriches in digestion, declined the
loaf as a gift. Sailor ate it, and had the cholic for three weeks.

Earlier than the sun I arose on Saturday morning. From the spot where
the yacht lay at anchor, the town of Elsineur had an imposing
appearance; and, besides the number of fishing-vessels which kept
popping out of the harbour, one by one, round the pier-head, at this
early time, amidst the shouts and merry laughter of their crews,
betokening the light hearts with which they went forth to their daily
labour,--the wind-mills on the tops of the neighbouring hills, outvying
each other in velocity, showed that the inhabitants entertained, at
least, habits of industry, and were not, perhaps, unacquainted with the
advantages of traffic. But, since we did not land to-day, I will revert
to this celebrated little town on our return from Copenhagen, when, I
hope, to make myself more familiar with it.

CHAPTER IV.

THE PILOT--TEMPESTUOUS WEATHER--DISTANT VIEW OF
COPENHAGEN--LORD NELSON--THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC
--THE HARBOUR-MASTER--INTEREST EXCITED BY THE
YACHT'S ARRIVAL--THE ARTIST--THE ANGLER--WE GO
ASHORE.

At twelve o'clock the pilot stepped on board, and, in a few minutes,
with a freshening wind from the westward, we were on our way to the
Danish capital. To a warm, unclouded morning, a wet dark day succeeded;
and, except between the chasms of flying clouds, the sun wholly withheld
its light. The rain fell, at intervals, in torrents; and, concealing
myself under the lee of the gig, which was hoisted on the davits, I
endeavoured to enter into conversation with the pilot. The silvery hand
of time, or heavie