with many specimens of the artists' work, is a
unique and interesting picture-gallery.

On the outskirts of the town the white tower of the old church of Skagen
may be seen peeping over the sand-dunes. This "stepped" tower, with its
red-tiled, saddle-back roof, forms a striking feature in this weird and
lonely landscape. The church itself is buried beneath the sand, leaving
only the tower to mark the place that is called the "Pompeii of
Denmark," sand, not lava, being answerable for this entombment. It is
said that the village which surrounded the church was buried by a
sandstorm in the fourteenth century. This scene of desolation, on a
windy day, when the "sand fiend" revels and riots, is best left to the
booming surf and avoided by those who do not wish to be blinded.

To the south of Skagen lie other curious phenomena created by this
"Storm King." The "Raabjerg Miler" are vast and characteristic dunes of
powdery sand in long ridges, like huge waves petrified in the very act
of turning over! In the neighbouring quicksands trees have been planted,
but refuse to grow.

Viborg, the old capital of Jutland, possesses an historically
interesting cathedral. In the crypt stands the tomb of King Eric
Glipping, as well as those of other monarchs. The interior of the
cathedral is decorated with fine frescoes by modern artists.

As we journey to Silkeborg we pass through the vast heathland, "Alhede,"
and are impressed by the plodding perseverance of the heath-folk. The
marvellous enterprise of the Danes who started and have so successfully
carried out the cultivation of these barren tracts of land deserves
admiration. The convicts are employed in this work, planting, trenching,
and digging, making this waste land ready for the farmer. These men have
a cap with a visor-like mask, which can be pulled over the face at will.
This shields the face from the cold blasts so prevalent on these moors;
also, it prevents the prying eyes of strangers or fellow-workers.

Many baby forests are being nursed into sturdy growth, as a protection
for farm-lands from the sand and wind storms.

This monotonous-looking heath is not without beauty; indeed, it has a
melancholy charm for those who dwell on it. The children love it when
the heather is in bloom, and spend happy days gathering berries from out
of the gorgeous purple carpet. The great stacks of peat drying in the
sun denote that this is the principal fuel of the moor-folk.

From Silke