ve longings after the old
world down here!"

"After Odense fair?" asked Sophie ironically.

Otto stood wrapped in his own thoughts. This day, he felt, would be one
of the most remarkable in his life. German Heinrich must give him
an explanation. Sophie must do so likewise Could he indeed meet with
success from them both? Would not sorrow and pain be his fairings?

The carriage rolled away.

From the various cross-roads came driving up the carriages of the gentry
and the peasants; the one drove past the other; and as the French and
English Channel collects ships from the Atlantic Ocean, so did the
King's Road those who drove in carriages, those who rode on horseback,
and those who went on foot.

Behind most of the peasant-vehicles were tied a few horses, that went
trotting on with them. Mamsells from the farms sat with large gloves on
their red arms and hands. They held their umbrellas before their faces
on account of the dust and the sun.

"The Kammerjunker's people must have set off earlier than we," said
Sophie, "otherwise they would have called for us."

Otto looked inquiringly at her. She thought on the Kammerjunker!

"We shall draw up by Faugde church," said Sophie. "Mr. Thostrup can
see Kingo's [Author's Note: The Bishop of Funen, who died in 1703.]
grave--can see where the sacred poet lies. Some true trumpeting angels,
in whom one can rightly see how heavy the marble is, fly with the
Bishop's staff and hat within the chapel."

Otto smiled, and she thought also about giving him pleasure.

The church was seen, the grave visited, and they rapidly rolled along
the King's Road toward Odense, the lofty tower of whose cathedral had
hailed them at some miles' distance.

We do not require alone from the portrait-painter that he should
represent the person, but that he should represent him in his happiest
moment. To the plain as well as to the inexpressive countenance must
the painter give every beauty which it possesses. Every human being
has moments in which something intellectual or characteristic presents
itself. Nature, too, when we are presented only with the most barren
landscape, has the same moments; light and shadow produce these effects.
The poet must be like the painter; he must seize upon these moments in
human life as the other in nature.

If the reader were a child who lived in Odense, it would require nothing
more from him than that he should say the words, "St. Knud's fair;"
and this, illumi