wholly unlike its usual aspect. The bridge vibrated as the sound of a carriage was heard coming across it: the gas lamp at this end was lit, and Loigerot stood under it, ready to examine the occupants of the coming vehicle.

As the carriage emerged from the covered bridge and was passing him, a cry was heard from within.

"Captain, captain," "Monsieur Loigerot," and from the box Lenoir joined in the duet between Riesen and Madame Bobineau in the carriage.

Lenoir stopped the coachman; but by the time Loigerot stood at the carriage door Madame Bobineau had sunk down in a heap and was shaking with terror. She had seen that the captain was alone. could not get out a word. "Here you are at last," said Loigerot, joyfully.

66

She

'Where is Mademoiselle Marie?" said the clockmaker.

"What have you done with the little one?" his wife cried.

"Yes, yes," said Lenoir, with a grin; we are anxious."

Madame Carouge did not say a word, but her face looked white in the gloom as she peered out at the captain.

He literally trembled, but he did not speak. He felt devoutly thankful to Madame Riesen's cackle. It gave him time to face the situation at all points, for, in addition to the dread of giving food for gossip, natural to a man of his age and circumstances, as he recovered from the shock of his discovery, he felt keenly that Marie's good character was involved in her disappearance. A sudden inspiration came to him.

"This is amusing"-he forced a smile"I came to find you, Madame Bobineau. Mademoiselle Marie wants you, and I have something to tell you as we go along. Come, let me take you home. You will not mind a little walk."

He opened the carriage door and let down the steps, then he took the old woman's hand and drew her out in such a masterful way that she meekly obeyed.

"But you will be tired, madame;" the widow spoke sweetly, in the sudden relief that had come to her with the captain's words, for just now she had been seized with a horrible fear when she saw Captain Loigerot standing alone under the gaslight. Good-night," she said, as the carriage rolled away.

"Mon Dieu!" said Madame Bobineau; "it is such a relief to hear that the dear child is safe. When I saw you alone I nearly fainted. I sent Monsieur Lenoir to find you, and when he came back without tidings I said to myself, 'Mon Dieu! it is all right; Marie is with the captain; he will take care of her; he is almost her husband.' So I came along with Madame Carouge."

"Please to tell me, madame"-the captain's voice was very harsh, and his manner was rude-"what all this means? Where is Marie? What have you done with the little girl? You know very well she is not with me."

"She is not with you!"-her consternation was too real to be mistaken, but as his frown softened she flew at him and grasped his arm. "I-I, indeed! What have I done with her! What do you mean, monsieur? I left Marie with you. What have you done with her? Do you venture to tell me you have not taken her home?"

"Confound you! I tell you I missed her; she-she went away. I thought she had gone to you. I have been to the Red Glove; but she is not there. I have been to her lodging; she is not there," he said, with slow and angry emphasis.

Madame Bobineau stood thinking. "What do you propose to do?" she said at last, very quietly, for she began to fear that it might be left to her alone to find the lost girl.

"I am going back to the gardens, madame. When I find I have lost my way, I always go back to the place I started from. It seems to me possible-I only say possible," he said, gravely-" that the poor child felt ill, and she may still be sitting under the trees at the Schänzli."

He turned away. Before he had gone many steps he came back to Madame Bobineau.

"You, madame," he puffed out his words sententiously, "had better wait here. There is a bench not far off. You must wait here till I return. If she passes, you will see her. Do you understand?"

He rolled rapidly away over the bridge. "Holy Virgin! he treats me as if I was dirt." Madame Bobineau's eyes gleamed with anger. "It must be bed-time. I am tired to death. I will give that hussy a beating to-night if I never give her another; and then I will not lose sight of her again until she is Madame Loigerot."

WHEN landed in Copenhagen, aft

er twelve hours on what the sailors call "a nubbly sea," we naturally felt the need of quiet and rest. The skies were friendly to our state of mind and body, for when we left the steamer low clouds swept the earth, bringing a chill drizzle which made shelter a necessity, and enforced a quiet day in-doors. "How much like Boston!" " Especially this northeaster!" "Behold the result of the reflex inVol. LXX.-No. 420.-61

fluence of Thorwaldsen's culture!" were the three phrases solemnly interchanged as we paddled along the sloppy streets. We had rest and quiet enough before that storm was over. All the costume we saw for nearly a week was water-proofs and umbrellas. We judged from what we saw that one of the peculiarities of the dress of Danish women was very short petticoats-an impression which speedily vanished with the cessation of the rain.

The object of our search was, at the end of two weeks, just as far off as ever. We made desultory inquiries about characteristic costumes, and found out that it was quite as profitable to ask a Copenhagen citizen where the peasantry of the peninsula still retain their ancient garb, as it would be to ask a New-Yorker where the most pic turesque American Indians live. In the market-places a few curiously dressed women attracted our notice, but we were assured that they wore the costume for adver

tisement. The remote districts fired our ambition to visit them. They looked so well on the map. Certainly in Jutland the people had not yet made the acquaintance with a sewing-machine and ready-made clothing. But who could tell us about the north? We were running off the maps of Baedeker and Murray, and must depend on volunteer information. The names of the Cattegat, the Skager - Rack, Skagen, and the Skaw had never lost any of their charm since we used to sing them over in

ence.

ache," "The Psyche." Even the kitchen utensils showed signs of Greek influThe absurdity of this fashion became tiresome, and we took a weak revenge by refraining from an inspection of the collection of the famous sculptor's masterpieces in the museum which is his mausoleum.

Suddenly we gathered ourselves together and tore ourselves away from Copenhagen and Thorwaldsen, and flew northward, armed with no information more useful than the report that one Danish artist visited Skagen every summer to paint the fishermen there. The sand hills of Jutland were now our Excelsior, Skagen the Ultima Thule of our ambition.

From Copenhagen to Aarhuus, a small sea-port on the eastern shore of Jutland, is very much like a night on Long Island Sound, except that the passengers on deck

fence, and we had plenty of leisure all day long to study the hundred and fifty miles of country over which we passed. The first half of the trip was through a pleasant rolling district, beautifully cultivated and populous. As we went northward occasional tracts of waste land were interspersed among the fertile farms, and extensive bogs, dotted with stacks of drying peat, took the place of the rich green meadows. At last the fertile spots appeared like oases in the midst of the heather and bog, low stone huts were the only habitations visible, and solemn storks and grazing cattle the only signs of life.

The narrow streets of Aalborg, where houses of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries crowd each other into all kinds of confusing perspective, welcomed us with a

picturesqueness grateful to the eye after the monotonous landscape of the peat

bogs and sand wastes. Here, then, at last we had found a congenial place. In more senses than one we certainly had, for we were put down at a hotel where the quaintness of the exterior was only equalled by the comfort of the interior. The landlord, an Alsatian by birth, out-Daned the Danes in politeness, and attention.

We did not think we were expecting too much when we visited the market the next morning confident of finding the peasantry in characteristic dress. But there was scarcely as much as one pair of homespun stockings in the crowd. It might have been a market in Jersey City for all the peculiarity of costume. We were rapidly yielding to the belief that there is no real peasantry in Denmark. Probably the railway is the direct cause of this universal modernization, we reasoned. The proof of this was seen in the new quarter of the town, near the railway station, where all the houses are built in the French style of the present decade. Even among the staggering old timbered houses, two or three centuries old, the gilded signs of ready-made clothing shops contrasted their brilliancy with the dingy brick and the smoke-stained beams, and through the formal rows of small-paned windows we could see heaps of garments to tempt the people with low prices and conventional cut. "After all," said the landscapist, wisely, "it is the sewing-machine, not the steam-engine, that has annihilated characteristic costume.'

Aalborg is not an overbusy town, although its position on the Lym-Fiord gives it considerable importance as the terminus of lines of steamers. Near the quays, mediæval streets cross and recross and wind in a labyrinth. Here is always seen some bustle and movement, and behind the heavy black oaken doors may be heard the sounds of active manufactories. In the grassy quadrangles of the solemn old public institutions and the khan-like courtyards of the old dwelling-houses the chirp of birds and the cackle of fowl sound shrill in the sleepy quiet. Many of the oldest houses carry out the plan of the Eastern khan in the long balcony under the eaves, and in the heavy assault-proof doors of the main entrance, which, firmly barred at night, transform the dwelling into a veritable castle.

In Aalborg we found that we were just as far from Skagen as in Copenhagen, for all we could learn about the place or how to

get there. But one bright morning we loaded ourselves with sketching materials enough to last a month and took the train for Frederikshavn, the terminus of the railway, about fifty miles distant. The LymFiord makes an island of the extreme northern part of Jutland, and this division is accented by the change in the topography of the country, the island being, on the east side at least, mostly flat and treeless. Some one remarked, as we crossed the great plain which reached to the horizon with scarcely a curve or a break, that if any dry land had been wasted in making hills, there wouldn't have been enough to last to Skagen.

At Frederikshavn, which, to our disgust, we found to be built upon strictly modern principles, differing only in style of architecture from hundreds of Western towns gathered around a railway station and a steamboat landing, we at last did gain some information about our destination. The hotel-keeper told us that we had better take provisions with us, especially wines, because there never were any visitors at Skagen, and we probably wouldn't find enough food there to keep us from starving. He advised us to go by private conveyance, because the post wagon went only twice a week, and could carry only two passengers at that. We were seriously assured that we were taking our lives in our hands in attempting the journey, for there were twenty-five long miles before us, mostly over sand wastes, where the wheels sunk up to the hubs, and the horses are often extricated with difficulty.

"Why," he said, "the Skagen church is always half buried up by sand, and the dwelling-houses have to be shovelled out of sand drifts after every hard blow."

This and much other equally valuable and interesting information was volunteered, and we took it all in with the eagerness of newspaper reporters. At the table d'hôte dinner, where we dutifully gorged ourselves in preparation for the season of starvation which we expected to endure, we felt ourselves to be the heroes of the day, quite like explorers about to look for the north pole, or like pioneers preparing to do battle with nature and the natives in some great wilderness. People whispered together, stared at us as much as Danish politeness permitted, and asked questions with an innocent curiosity quite resembling the New England variety. Our vocabulary did not admit of