honest folk
shunned it. Under the heather the old landmarks are sometimes found
yet, and deep ruts made by wheels that long since ceased to turn.

In the Eighteenth Century men began to think of reclamation. A
thousand German colonists were called in and settled on the heath,
but it was stronger than they, and they drifted away until scarce
half a hundred families remained. The Government tried its hand, but
there was no one who knew just how, and only discouragement
resulted. Then came the war with Germany in 1864, that lost to
Denmark a third of her territory. The country lay prostrate under
the crushing blow. But it rose above defeat and disaster, and once
more expectant eyes were turned toward the ancient domain that had
slipped from its grasp. "What was lost without must be won within"
became the national slogan. And this time the man for the task was
at hand.

Enrico Mylius Dalgas was by the accident of birth an Italian, his
father being the Danish consul in Naples; by descent a Frenchman; by
choice and training a Dane, typical of the best in that people. He
came of the Huguenot stock that left France after the repeal of the
Edict of Nantes in 1685 and scattered over Europe, to the great good
of every land in which it settled. They had been tillers of the soil
from the beginning, and at least two of the family, who found homes
in Denmark, made in their day notable contributions to the cause of
advanced, sensible husbandry. Enrico's father, though a merchant,
had an open eye for the interests which in later years claimed the
son's life-work. In the diary of a journey through Sweden he makes
indignant comment upon the reckless way in which the people of that
country dealt with their forests. That he was also a man of
resolution is shown by an incident of the time when Jew-baiting was
having its sorry day in Denmark. An innkeeper mistook the
dark-skinned little man for a Jew, and set before him a spoiled
ham, retorting contemptuously, when protest was made, that it was
"good enough for a Sheeny." Without further parley Mr. Dalgas seized
the hot ham by its shank and beat the fellow with it till he cried
for mercy. The son tells of the first school he attended, when he
was but five years old. It was kept by the widow of one of
Napoleon's generals, a militant lady who every morning marshalled
the school, a Lilliputian army with the teachers flanking the line
like beardless sergeants in stays and petticoats, and distr