self as he generally did. He said, "Christ was a man like ourselves, but an extraordinary man." Both Hans and his mother burst into tears, and that night the poor puzzled little boy prayed earnestly that God would please forgive his father for being so wicked. Later on, when war broke out, the shoemaker threw aside his work bench and entered the service. He had always idolized Napoleon as a hero, and now he fought for him. When peace was declared he returned home and took up his work afresh-not for long, however. Suddenly a change came over him; he had been languid and listless for a long time, but now he evinced such alarming symptoms that Hans was despatched, not to a doctor, but to a wise woman who was able, as they believed, to look into the future. Hans was bidden to hold out his arm, which the woman carefully measured with a woollen thread, and then made a strange and uncouth sign over him, and at last placed a green twig on his breast, which she said was a portion of the same sort of tree as that on which the Saviour was crucified, and would enable him to see his father's ghost, if he were about to die. The boy was enjoined to go home by the river, which he did with a loud beating heart, but no ghost appeared, so he felt comforted, and consoled his mother with the news that his father would certainly recover. But the old woman's charm proved false; three days after the gentle, sad-hearted shoemaker breathed his last, leaving his wife and son to battle through the world alone. The mother went out washing, the son stayed at home, and read every book he could get hold of, and weaved day-dreams just as his father had done. Sometimes a lady who lived near invited him to her house, where he first became acquainted with Shakespeare. It seemed a new world to him. He was very happy at this time; he heard poets spoken of as something holy; a great longing entered his soul to become a poet. He wrote a tragedy called "Aber and Elvira," and read it aloud to the neighbours, for his mother was proud of him. All praised it but one, and she made a jest of it, which so hurt the aspiring young poet that he kept his efforts to himself in future. Soon after this his mother sent him to work at the factory, where he used to sing to his companions and repeat whole scenes from Shakespeare and Holberg while they did his share of labour. He was so unlike the

factory people, so gentle and refined, sang so sweetly and recited such strange things, that they could not at all understand him. They were not sure whether to admire or mock him they decided upon the latter; it was easier, and so they scoffed at him, calling him a girl. Hans was heart-broken. He rushed home in an agony of shame and distress, and refused ever to return. Soon after this the boy accompanied his mother to the house of a family in which when a girl she had been servant. She with a great number of others was picking hops in a barn. One of the hop-pickers, an old man, awed Hans by saying that God knew everything; all that has happened and all that is going to happen. This puzzled him. He did not like to give up his individuality: he could not understand how it was possible for him to be a free agent if what the old man said was true. So he left the barn and thought over it in the fields. Presently he came to a stream of water dappled with shadows; there was no one near. He contemplated it in silence for a few moments, when all at once a dreadful idea darted through his brain. It seemed to grow stronger and more irresistible every moment. He would drown himself, and thus frustrate all God's plans for him. He was free; why should he not? He stood on the brink; his brain seemed on fire, he made a spring forward, but another thought, equally overpowering, came to his relief. It was the devil tempting him, trying to induce him to do this wickedness. He burst into a passion of tears; remorse and agony filled his soul; he hurried back to the barn, white and trembling. All the hop-pickers believed he had seen a ghost; he never told them how near he had been committing suicide. When he went home he went to the theatre several times and became so passionately fond of it that he made a puppet theatre, and cut out pieces of cloth to dress his puppets. So deftly did he use his scissors and needle that his mother began to discover that nature and Providence had destined him for a tailor. So great a talent must be cultivated and in nowise hidden behind a bushel; so Hans's future was cut -out for him. He was sent to school soon after this--a peasant's school, where religion, writing, and accounts were said to be taught. Hans did not much like his school life; the boys were too rough and rude for him. He used to write a poem

and present it with a garland of flowers to his teacher every birthday; sometimes, if in a good humour, the gift was accepted with a smile, and if not the verses were derided. When Hans was old enough to be confirmed he went to the Provost to inscribe his name instead of going to the Chaplain, to whom the poorer families always sent their children. He did this, although it was quite against the rule, not out of arrogance, but because he shrank from the boys in his own. position, and longed to mix with the scholars of the grammar school, whom he looked upon as beings of altogether another order. From his solitary seat in the churchyard gate he used to watch them at their play, and fancied that they would receive him among them at once when his name appeared among theirs on the list of candidates. He saw no barrier in his poverty: it never occurred to him that because his father had been a shoemaker and his mother went out washing, the better cultured lads of the grammar school would have nothing to say to him. We must all learn by experience, and poor Hans had to learn the lesson, rather a hard one at first. The little boys and girls, whose fathers were not shoemakers, would have nothing to do with the bright-haired wistful little dreamer. He had forced himself upon them, and though they were compelled to learn their catechism together they resolutely refused to cultivate his acquaintance. And so, when trooping out, they passed by him, pairing off, leaving young Andersen alone to reflect on social distinctions. He felt hurt and disappointed; he would have been most miserable had not one little girl lingered behind, and after eyeing him for a moment, flung a red rose at him. It was kindly done, and the flower healed a nasty wound which might perchance have cankered. The little girl was the daughter of one of the most influential men of the place, in a position far removed from his, and he was very grateful to her, and remembered this act of kindness long after the little maiden had forgotten it.

When the ceremony of confirmation took place, Hans was greatly troubled. He had new boots on for the occasion, which creaked loudly; he had, moreover, a new coat, and looked so smart and unlike himself, that his thoughts, instead of being fixed on the solemnity of the occasion, would fly off to

his unwonted finery. He felt very unhappy and repentant that night, when he took off the much-admired boots which had occupied his thoughts so much during the day. One day he told his mother a secret-it was that he had saved thirty shillings. No doubt his fondest mother praised him, and pursued her occupation of washing unperturbed. Presently it all came out; he had a plan in his head, and he wanted her permission to carry it into execution. He told her that before the confirmation he had gone to the theatre, that he had been taken behind the scenes, and even allowed to appear upon the boards in the capacity of a page. He had been dazzled by the brilliancy and charms of the theatre, and felt convinced that if he could once get a footing on the stage he would certainly make a name. His mother, good soul,.

was shocked; it was so inconvenient to have such a remarkable son as Hans Christian; he was so different from other lads. Here she had been arranging everything so nicely for his future. genius as he had for cutting out; it must have been trying. Then, while she bemoans, Hans tells her his plan. He will go to Copenhagen, to the theatre there; he had a letter of introduction to one of the chief dancers; he was certain to prosper. "I will become celebrated," he says; "one has first to go through very serious difficulties, and then become celebrated."

He was made to be a tailor, such

Perhaps the prudent mother doubted a little; at all events, she preferred the tailor plan, it seemed safer. But Hans still urged, and so at last she consented to let him go and seek his fortune, but made him promise, should he be unsuccessful, to return home and try tailoring. So he paid a visit to the wise woman, who bade him prosper, saying he was sure to succeed, and that hereafter his native place would be illuminated in his honour. Thus encouraged, the young adventurer started on his travels.

The poor little would-be actor must have had an amazing amount of faith at this time of his career. Here he was leaving his mother, his home, his friends, and travelling on foot to a city he had never seen to seek his fortune among strangers. He never seems to have wavered in his determination; backed by the gigantic sum of thirty shillings,.

he believed the world before him. When at length he reached Copenhagen, the grandeur of the shops and houses dazzled and delighted him; he felt more than ever sanguine as to the result of his mission. He made his way to the dancer's house without delay, and was ushered into her presence. She was not in her theatrical dress, and looked much as other women. Hans commenced his story; he felt no hesitation, he told everything-his hopes, aspirations, and all -and even went so far as to entertain the lady with an impromptu performance, gesticulating and reciting with so much energy that the actress became alarmed, attributing such extraordinary conduct to mental aberration. From that moment her sole aim was to get rid of him, which she did with all possible speed, telling him she could do nothing for him. Poor Hans! It must have been a terrible blow; he had never contemplated such a termination to his interview. Perhaps there is no drearier thing in life than to be alone in a great city, with no friend to whom to go. To a child the feeling of desolation must be tenfold, and to a child whose whole life had been passed in a small quiet village, surrounded by friends and neighbours, watched over by a tender mother, almost unendurable, one would think. But Hans had too much hope and faith to realize the desolation as yet. When the door was shut upon him, and he walked slowly away with the consciousness that his first dream had faded into nothingness and failure, he puzzled his poor little brain with the question, "Where shall I go next?" He decided that the manager of the theatre would be the proper person to whom to apply. He had never seen him in his life, but that seemed of little consequence. The manager looked at him critically, and smiled when he heard the boy's errand. he was too thin, much too thin to act. It was rather a lame excuse, but he wished to give him his congé kindly, no doubt. But it would not do. Hans always believed what people said, and never understood hints. He felt quite glad that thinness was the only objection, and accordingly enlarged to the manager how that with better food, which his earnings would enable him to obtain, he should very soon grow fat. The manager then explained that to act well it was necessary to be educated, and that only educated persons would be

He then said