“This is not certainly a locus docendi，” beganthe man; “still I must beg you to continue theconversation. You must be well read in ancientlore.”
“Oh yes，” replied the counsellor; “I am very fond of reading useful old books， andmodern ones as well， with the exception of every-day stories， of which we really have morethan enough.”
“Every-day stories?” asked the bachelor.
“Yes， I mean the new novels that we have at the present day.”
“Oh，” replied the man， with a smile; “and yet they are very witty， and are much read atCourt. The king likes especially the romance of Messeurs Iffven and Gaudian， which describesKing Arthur and his knights of the round table. He has joked about it with the gentlemen of hisCourt.”
“Well， I have certainly not read that，” replied the counsellor. “I suppose it is quite new，and published by Heiberg.”
“No，” answered the man， “it is not by Heiberg; Godfred von Gehman brought it out.”
“Oh， is he the publisher? That is a very old name，” said the counsellor; “was it not thename of the first publisher in Denmark?”
“Yes; and he is our first printer and publisher now，” replied the scholar.
So far all had passed off very well; but now one of the citizens began to speak of a terriblepestilence which had been raging a few years before， meaning the plague of 1484. Thecounsellor thought he referred to the cholera， and they could discuss this without finding outthe mistake. The war in 1490 was spoken of as quite recent. The English pirates had takensome ships in the Channel in 1801， and the counsellor， supposing they referred to these，aGREed with them in finding fault with the English. The rest of the talk， however， was not soagreeable; every moment one contradicted the other. The good bachelor appeared veryignorant， for the simplest remark of the counsellor seemed to him either too bold or toofantastic. They stared at each other， and when it became worse the bachelor spoke in Latin，in the hope of being better understood; but it was all useless.
“How are you now?” asked the landlady， pulling the counsellor's sleeve.
then his recollection returned to him. In the course of conversation he had forgotten allthat had happened previously.
“Goodness me! where am I?” said he. It bewildered him as he thought of it.
“We will have some claret， or mead， or Bremen beer，” said one of the guests; “will youdrink with us?”
Two maids came in. One of them had a cap on her head of two colors.3 They poured outthe wine， bowed their heads， and withdrew.
the counsellor felt a cold shiver run all over him. “What is this? what does it mean?” saidhe; but he was obliged to drink with them， for they overpowered the good man with theirpoliteness. He became at last desperate; and when one of them said he was tipsy， he didnot doubt the man's word in the least—only begged them to get a droschky; and then theythought he was speaking the Muscovite language. Never before had he been in such rough andvulgar company. “One might believe that the country was going back to heathenism，” heobserved. “This is the most terrible moment of my life.”
Just then it came into his mind that he would stoop under the table， and so creep to thedoor. He tried it; but before he reached the entry， the rest discovered what he was about，and seized him by the feet， when， luckily for him， off came the goloshes， and with themvanished the whole enchantment. The counsellor now saw quite plainly a lamp， and a largebuilding behind it; everything looked familiar and beautiful. He was in East Street， as it nowappears; he lay with his legs turned towards a porch， and just by him sat the watchmanasleep.
“Is it possible that I have been lying here in the street dreaming?” said he. “Yes， this isEast Street; how beautifully bright and gay it looks! It is quite shocking that one glass ofpunch should have upset me like this.”
Two minutes afterwards he sat in a droschky， which was to drive him to Christian'sHaven. He thought of all the terror and anxiety which he had undergone， and felt thankfulfrom his heart for the reality and comfort of modern times， which， with all their errors， werefar better than those in which he so lately found himself.
the Watchman's Adventures
TELL， I declare， there lies a pair of goloshes，“ said the watchman. ”No doubt， theybelong to the lieutenant who lives up stairs. They are lying just by his door.“ Gladly would thehonest man have rung， and given them in， for a light was still burning， but he did not wishto disturb the other people in the house; so he let them lie. ”These things must keep the feetvery warm，“ said he; ”they are of such nice soft leather.“ Then he tried them on， and theyfitted his feet exactly. ”Now，“ said he， ”how droll things are in this world! There's that mancan lie down in his warm bed， but he does not do so. There he goes pacing up and down theroom. He ought to be a happy man. He has neither wife nor children， and he goes out intocompany every evening. Oh， I wish I were he; then I should be a happy man.“
As he uttered this wish， the goloshes which he had put on took effect， and the watchmanat once became the lieutenant. There he stood in his room， holding a little piece of pink paperbetween his fingers， on which was a poem，a poem written by the lieutenant himself. Whohas not had， for once in his life， a moment of poetic inspiration? and at such a moment， ifthe thoughts are written down， they flow in poetry. The following verses were written on thepink paper