A residence in Jutland, the Danish isles and Copenhagen . y, July 22nd.—We again cross our ferry. Horsesordered in advance, but not ready; the boer-cart fetchesus in the water, and lands us at the kro—strax. Strax—^how I abominate that word! The carriage is however? there, but when that is loaded, and not before, do theyharness the horses, and when the horses are at lastharnessed then they make out the tune seddel. Andthe postilion? coming strax, gone to dress , its the very old man whos been loitering aboutwith a pipe in his mouth, as composed as if he wasgoing nowhere. We are off,
A residence in Jutland, the Danish isles and Copenhagen . y, July 22nd.—We again cross our ferry. Horsesordered in advance, but not ready; the boer-cart fetchesus in the water, and lands us at the kro—strax. Strax—^how I abominate that word! The carriage is however? there, but when that is loaded, and not before, do theyharness the horses, and when the horses are at lastharnessed then they make out the tune seddel. Andthe postilion? coming strax, gone to dress , its the very old man whos been loitering aboutwith a pipe in his mouth, as composed as if he wasgoing nowhere. We are off, a tiresome, dull, uninter-esting drive of twenty English miles. Let no one evertake the west coast of Jutland, from the Liimfiordedo^vawards; it does not repay. We have amused om*-selves well enough with visits to om various friends,and a good dose of historical associations—historymixed uj) with locality and legend, as it should , wise in their ovm. conceit, are apt to considerthey do the Avorld a service in disproving the traditions. CATHEDRAL, RIBE. Vol. II., p. 225. Chap. XLVL THE CATHEDRAL. 225 of centuries; but they find out nothing new; upset oldassociations, deprive their history of its romance, -svhich,if not true, is at least, as the proverb says, ben weather is piping hot, and our horses, fresh fromthe fields and not in the best conchtion, are sufferingin consequence. We bread them at one kro, hay andwater them at a second, ahvays keeping to our chausseetime of five miles an hour. Then the tower of EibeDomkirke appears m sight. Another kro—more water. There, says the old postilion, look at that river;here we are in Jutland. On the other side Slesvig,or, as the Danes delight to call it, South Jutland. Theworld and his wife are now a haymaking; such forks,too, as they are!—our own Plantagenet portcullis witha handle tacked on it;—it seems to make very goodhay all the same. We at last arrive at Ribe, cross theriver by a wooden bridge,
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