IN THE STATE OF DENMARK 



On an autumn Saturday evening, to be exact, 

 in September 1893, a lodging in the neighbour- 

 hood of Sloane Street. A dusty wind shaking the 

 fohage of the window-boxes and agitating the 

 starehed cornueopias of the lace curtain. Within, 

 at an oval table where lately glowed the wool-mat 

 and the shell-rose, my second cousin and I, in hats 

 and veils, swallowing over-cooked tea and under- 

 cooked chops, and conversing gloomily about the 

 prevalence of cholera on the Continent; while in 

 from the street, on the heavy air, came a hoarse shout- 

 ing that silenced the elfin warble of the milkman, and 

 announced two cases of the plague in London. 



On the following Tuesday morning, a cold bright 

 sunshine filling two French windows flung wide open ; 

 a room with two fat little beds in it ; a street far below, 

 paved with rough-hewn boulders, over which ramps 

 with a deafening clatter a regiment of light blue and 

 silver cavalry on heavy-crested horses ; a red cathedral ; 

 a shop that describes itself as Boghandel, and a grateful 

 remembrance of recent coffee, made as coffee is not 

 usually made in England. 



This is Denmark, the town of Aarhus in the heart 

 of Denmark, and between Saturday night and Monday 

 evening sprawls the journey to it. 



Till to-day my second cousin and I knew between 

 us just two things about Denmark — that it has given 

 England the Princess of Wales ^ (an achievement 



^ This Expedition was made in the year 1893. 

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