Thus, by 878, the wretched Saxons were at their wit’s end, and have never been able to take a joke since at less than thirty days.

Some fled to Wales and perished miserably trying to pronounce the names of their new post-office addresses.

[Illustration:  Alfred, disguised as A gleeman, is introduced to guthrun.]

Here Alfred’s true greatness stood him in good stead.  He secured a number of reliable retainers and camped in the swamps of Somersetshire, where he made his head-quarters on account of its inaccessibility, and then he made raids on the Danes.  Of course he had to live roughly, and must deny himself his upright piano for his country’s good.

In order to obtain a more thorough knowledge of the Danes and their number, he disguised himself as a harper, or portable orchestra, and visited the Danish camp, where he was introduced to Guthrun and was invited to a banquet, where he told several new anecdotes, and spoke in such a humorous way that the army was sorry to see him go away, and still sorrier when, a few days later, armed cap-a-pie, he mopped up the greensward with his enemy and secured the best of terms from him.

While incog., Alfred stopped at a hut, where he was asked to turn the pancakes as they required it; but in the absence of the hostess he got to thinking of esoteric subjects, or something profound, and allowed the cakes to burn.  The housewife returned in time to express her sentiments and a large box to his address as shown in the picture.

[Illustration:  Alfred letting the cakes burn.]

He now converted Guthrun and had him immersed, which took first-rate, and other Danes got immersed.  Thus the national antagonism to water was overcome, and to-day the English who are descended from the Danes are not appalled at the sight of water.

As a result of Guthrun’s conversion, the Danes agreed to a permanent settlement along the exposed portion of Great Britain, by which they became unconsciously a living rampart between the Saxons and other incursionists.

Now peace began to reign up to 893, and Alfred improved the time by rebuilding the desolated cities,—­London especially, which had become a sight to behold.  A new stock-law, requiring the peasantry to shut up their unicorns during certain seasons of the year and keep them out of the crops, also protecting them from sportsmen while shedding their horns in spring, or moulting, it is said, was passed, but the English historians are such great jokers that the writer has had much difficulty in culling the facts and eliminating the persiflage from these writings.

Alfred the Great only survived his last victory over the Danes, at Kent, a few years, when he died greatly lamented.  He was a brave soldier, a successful all-around monarch, and a progressive citizen in an age of beastly ignorance, crime, superstition, self-indulgence, and pathetic stupidity.