This gift of form has given him his literary importance.  He built a bridge from the eighteenth to the nineteenth century; and when the new romantic school overstepped its privileges, it was he who called it to order.  The most conspicuous act of his literary life was the controversy with Oehlenschlaeger, and the wittiest product of his pen is the reckless criticism of Oehlenschlaeger’s opera ‘Ludlam’s Cave.’  Johann Ludvig Heiberg, the greatest analytical critic of whom Denmark can boast, remained Baggesen’s ardent admirer; and Heiberg’s influential although not always just criticism of Oehlenschlaeger as a poet was no doubt called forth by Baggesen’s attack.  Some years later Henrik Hertz made Baggesen his subject.  In 1830 appeared ‘Letters from Ghosts,’ poetic epistles from Paradise.  Nobody knew that Hertz was the author.  It was Baggesen’s voice from beyond the grave, Baggesen’s criticism upon the literature of 1830.  It was one of the wittiest, and in versification one of the best, books in Danish literature.

Baggesen’s most important prose work is ‘The Labyrinth,’ afterwards called ‘The Wanderings of a Poet.’  It is a poetic description of his journeys, unique in its way, rich in impressions and full of striking remarks, written in a piquant, graceful, and easy style.

As long as Danish literature remains, Baggesen’s name will be known; though his writings are not now widely read, and are important chiefly because of their influence on the literary spirit of his own time.  His familiar poem ‘There was a time when I was very little,’ during the controversy with Oehlenschlaeger, was seized upon by Paul Moeller, parodied, and changed into ‘There was a time when Jens was much bigger.’  Equally well known is his ‘Ode to My Country,’ with the familiar lines:—­

     “Alas, in no place is the thorn as tiny,
       Alas, in no place blooms as red a rose,
     Alas, in no place is there couch as downy
       As where we little children found repose.”

A COSMOPOLITAN

From ‘The Labyrinth’

Forster, a little nervous, alert, and piquant man, with gravity written on his forehead, perspicacity in his eye, and love around his lips, conquered me completely.  I spoke to him of everything except his journeys; but the traveler showed himself full of unmistakable humanity.  He seemed to me the cosmopolitan spirit personified.  It was as if the world were present when I was alone with him.

We talked about his friend Jacobi, about the late King of Prussia, about the literature of Germany, and about the present Pole-high standard of taste.  I was much pleased to find in him the art critic I sought.  He said that we must admire everything which is good and beautiful, whether it originates West, East, South, or North.  The taste of the bee is the true one.  Difference in language and climate, difference of nationality, must not affect