I have spoken of the square red tower which, though part of the Domkirke, and its great and distinguishing feature seen from afar, did yet belong under the civil government as the stronghold of the burghers in time of trouble, typifying curiously the union of church and state, and crumbling slowly like that in my day. It had given fair warning to more than one generation. There was a house in Priest Street, straight up from the tower, with the old arms of the town picked out in colors above its door, which I never could pass without a shudder. As far as that, tradition had it, the tower fell on Christmas morning in the year 1283, when it collapsed during early mass while the church was full of people. Very many were killed. It was in the time after the death of the great Valdemar when the country was torn by dissension within and onslaught from without. An earthquake had shaken the land eleven years before, probably contributing its share to the insecurity of the tower, and one can imagine the “great fear that prevailed” among the people. Again in 1594 the upper part of the tower fell, and in the rebuilding it received the shape and height which it has kept. The tower falcon, a fierce-eyed, solitary bird of prey, was its rightful tenant in my day; had been, I fancy, from the beginning. He seemed to fit in with its warlike traditions. The boys caught him in traps, sometimes, and kept him chained about the house, but never for long, for he was utterly untamable and his shriek was not melodious. Furthermore, his diet of meat, preferably live mice, kept us scurrying in a way we quickly tired of. The falcon has moved. A score of years ago they overhauled the village church at Seem, three miles up the river, and dislodged a family of rooks that lived there. In search of new quarters they struck the Domkirke, liked it, and stayed. The newcomers were great chatterers, while the falcon is a silent bird, and moreover they brought all their relations. In disgust, I suppose, at the racket they made, the falcon betook himself to the Plantage and became a dweller in trees. My boy reports that he is there yet. He has been up to see. The rooks stayed and multiplied exceedingly. At least I supposed them to be rooks, till, last summer, I stood on the top of the tower in Windsor Castle and was told by the caretaker that the black birds hopping about were jackdaws. They were the very same.