174 STRAY -AW AYS 



some unexplainablc and pleasant way, a little 

 childish; above all, it was Danish beyond imitation, 

 and the people seem to revel in its uniqueness. We 

 were infinitely alien in their midst, and extraordinarily 

 remote from England. One link alone, the fellow- 

 hatred for strong tea, still bound us to the Dane, and 

 made England even more remote. We ordered, for 

 the third time that evening, a hot and pallid teapotful, 

 and felt that the heart of the Danish nation was not 

 inaccessible to us. 



XII 



October rain, thick and raw, October landscape, 

 bleared and faint, a very slow train, many little 

 stations. In the corner of the carriage a Danish lady 

 reading a closely-printed book, without a stir save 

 the regular movement of her eyes. It was a cheap 

 English edition of Oliver Twist, and neither the 

 dialect of Bill Sikes nor of Fagin checked the steady 

 progress through the pages ; we asked ourselves 

 where we should be with the ai'got of a thieves' kitchen 

 in Hanover or Paris, and my cousin's vacant triflings 

 with the Galway Vindicator seemed more than ever 

 insular. 



Hillerup, Gjentofte, and many more mild wayside 

 stations with outrageous names passed, dripping and 

 desolate, then Birkerod, Lillerod, Hillerod ; and at 

 Hillerod we got out. Oliver Twist and his attentive 

 Dane passed on into the blind north, whither, had 

 we a particle of self-respect or proper feeling, we 

 should have pursued our course, to Elsinore and the 

 grave of Hamlet. Any tourist can now see Hamlet's 

 grave ; Americans asked for it so untiringly that the 

 authorities gave in and erected one, to meet a long-felt 

 want, since when the tourist has found Shakespeare 



