ly began to yield to a morbid sensibility. His days were dark, and despair sometimes whispered to him that his talents were all a self-delusion. But the good Collin again came like a ministering angel, and provided him with means to travel into Germany, by which his mind might regain its elasticity. He made acquaintance with Tieck in Dresden, who wished him a poet's success, gave him a parting embrace, and kissed him. In Berlin he met Chamisso, who became his friend for life,

He returned soon to Copenhagen, but his countrymen had not yet forgotten to blame him for vanity and to criticise. From the year 1823 to 1839, he maintained himself mostly by his writings, although the Danish public was small. Some of his works were translations, but most were original. He translated La Quarantaine and La Reine de Seizeans; wrote his opera text of the Raven, from the subject of Il Corvo; prepared, for a young composer, Walter Scott's "Bride of Lammermoor;" prepared the text for the compo ser Weyse, who wished to compose an opera from Walter Scott's Kenilworth; wrote and published a new collection of poetry, called "The Twelve Months of the Year," and "Vignettes to the Danish Poets." In "The Monthly Review of Literature" he was severely handled by Molbeck, neglected by Heiberg in his "Flying Post," and eclipsed by the young lyrical poet, Paludan Muller and by Heinrich Hertz, who published at that time his "Letters from the Dead."

In the beginning of that year his affairs were in the worst condition; but happily he obtained, through the intervention of his friends, a travelling stipend from government. Of parting with his friends at Copenhagen he says, "when the traveller leaves the mountains behind him, then for the first time he sees their true form: so it is with friends."

By way of the Rhine and Cassel, he soon reached Paris, where he stayed a month, and saw Louis Philippe, Duke of Orleans, the poet Heine, Paul Düport, and Victor Hugo. He went from Paris to the little city of Lodi, in a valley of the Jura mountains, where he dwelt in the amiable family of a wealthy watchmaker, who would receive no payment. From this place he sent home his poem of " Agnete and the Mermain."

Just fourteen years from the very day in which he entered Copenhagen, he first set foot in Italy. He sailed on Lago Maggiore; ascended Milan Cathedral; passed some days in Genoa; thence made a journey along the shore of Carrara. In Florence his eyes were first opened to the beauties of statuary on beholding the Venus de Medici. At Rome he met with the poet Hertz, who became from that time his friend, and the great artist Thorwaldsen, who sincerely sympathised with him in his misfortunes. He left Rome for Naples; saw at Capri the Blue Grotto; visited the temple at Paestum; returned to Rome; went through Florence and Venice to Vienna and Munich; and returned to Denmark in August, 1834.

Soon after his return, for a pitiable sum he published his Improrisitori, the first chapter of which was written at Rome. This book reconciled to him Hauch, the opponent of Heiberg, and raised his sunken fortune. It was at once translated into German, and has since been translated into English. The critics again treated him with severity; and with a feeling between gaity and ill-humor, he wrote his next novel, "O. T." In the next year, 1837, appeared "Only a Fiddler;" but still the reviews gave him no rest.

In the year in which he published "Only a Fiddler," he visited Sweden. On his romantic voyage to Stockholm, he became acquainted with the Swedish authoress, Frederika Bremer. He says of her, "in Stockholm, the acquaintance with her increased, and year after year the letters which have passed between us have strengthened it. She is a noble woman; the great truths of religion, and the poetry which lie in the quiet circumstances of life, have penetrated her being."

He went from Stockholm to Upsala, where he met with the celebrated Berzelius, who gave him a good reception; he returned from that place by way of Stockholm. While in Sweden he wrote a Scandinavian song which is now sung in all the Scandinavian nations. His journey, more than anything else, effected a reconciliation, and produced a harmony of feeling between Denmark and Sweden.

When he returned home, he devoted himself more to history and foreign literature. He still lived with his friend and benefactor, Collin, at whose house he enjoyed the best society in Copenhagen. His writings were sought, and for every new work he received a higher payment. The prime minister of Denmark, Count Conrad Von Rantzau-Breitenburg, became his friend, and procured for him an annual pension from government of two hundred rix dollars banco, which placed him above dependence.

In the summer of 1839, he wrote the vaudeville of "The Invisible One on Sprogo," which was a great favorite with the public, and survived a greater number of representations than he had ever anticipated. "The Mulatto," wrought out of a little French narrative," Les épaves," was rejected by Molbeck, the manager. The assistant manager accepted it, but at the moment of representation, the minute guns pealed-Frederick VI. was dead. Two months after the theatre was opened with "The Mulatto," which was received with great applause. It was translated into Swedish and was acted at the royal theatre in Stockholm. A Danish company gave it, in the Swedish city, Malmo. It was welcomed with enthusiasm by the students of the old university town of Lund, who gave him a public dinner, and honored him with a serenade.

After his return from Lund, he wrote "The Picture-Book without Pictures," which was better received abroad than at home. The tragedy of The Moorish Maiden was rejected, and secured the opposition of Heiberg. In distress he determined to leave his country; at his departure, in October of 1840, a banquet was prepared for him by his friends, among whom were the students, Collin, Oehlenschläger and Oersted.

He remained some days in Holstein with his friend Count Rantzau-Breitenburg, and then hastened by Nuremburg to Munich, where he met with Cornelius and Schelling, and was kindly entertained by Kaulbauch and Schelling. He crossed the Brenner in winter, stayed some days in Florence, and reached Rome about Christmas, where he met old friends, and passed a Carnival and Moccoli. He was there very ill; and news from home that he had been ridiculed on the stage by Heiberg, made him very unhappy. He met there the Danish poet Holst, who had written an elegy on King Frederick VI. which awoke an enthusiasm, like that of Becker's Rhine Song in Germany.

With Holst he went to Greece, where he became cheerful and happy. In Athens he was welcomed by Professor Ross, found hospitality with the noble Prohesch-Osten, was graciously received by the king and queen, and celebrated his birth-day in the Acropolis.

He sailed from Athens to Smyrna; passed eleven days in Constantinople, where he found a cordial reception with the Austrian Chargé, Von Sturmer; and in August, 1841, returned to Denmark by way of the Black Sea and the Danube.

On his return home he published a description of his journey in a "Poet's Bazaar." He was again attacked by an infinitely stupid newspaper criticism, which did not hinder him from receiving a handsome remuneration from its sale.

He then spent most of his time with some of the best families in the country, inasmuch as he did not wish to take part in politics, which were

exciting the metropolis. After the triumphal return of Thorwaldsen from Italy, he became the constant companion of the great sculptor, whose ability has been testified to by Ware and others of our countrymen. While enjoying the society of that excellent man, he wrote many of his tales for children. At the sculptor's death, Andersen wrote a funeral hymn, which was sung by the Danish students over his coffin.

In the summer of 1842, he wrote a little piece called "The Bird in the Pear-tree," which was hissed. In the winter of 1843, he went by way of Belgium to Paris. Marmier had written, in the Revue de Paris, an article on him, La vie d'un Poéte, and had translated some poems of his, which were printed in the Revue. His name had thus gone before him, and he was kindly received.

He saw the abused Burggraves of Victor Hugo; met Martinez della Bosa and other distinguished men, at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Amelot. He was most pleased with Lamartine. He must speak of the French dramatist in his own words. "I generally found the jovial Alexander Dumas in bed, even long after mid-day; here he lay with paper, pen and ink, and wrote his newest drama. I found him thus one day; he nodded kindly to me, and said, 'sit down a minute, I have just now a visit from my muse-she will be going directly.' He wrote on; spoke aloud; shouted a viva! sprang out of bed, and said, 'The third act is finished.'"

He was introduced by Alexander Dumas to the celebrated actress, Rachel, who kindly received him at her house, and the last time they parted, wrote in his album, L'art c'est vrai, j'espère que cet aphorisme ne semblera pas paradoxal à un ecrivain si distingué comme M. Andersen." He met with the amiable Alfred de Vigny, the sculptor David, Balsac, and Madame Reybaud, the authoress of Les Epaves, which he had made use of for the Mulatto. He there seen again the poet Heine.

On his return home, at St. Goar, on the Rhine, he first met with the poet Frieligrath, to whom the king of Prussia had given a pension. He was also a friend of Chamisso, and received Andersen very warmly.

There had but one person abroad written anything against him, and that was a German by the name of Boas, who had received his information from Andersen's enemies in Copenhagen. Every one denied having given any information, and a collection of stories that were published at Christmas, 1843, produced a reaction throughout Denmark in his favor.

In the autumn of 1843, Jenny Lind, at the request of Andersen and others, first made her appearance out of Sweden, on the Danish stage. He had merely seen her in 1840 at the same place, but was not very much impressed with her appearance. The whole town were taken captive by her liquid lays of flowing music, that came from a voice of silver sweetness. Her purity of character, her childlike goodness of heart, her enchanting voice, made a deep impression on his soul, and gave him the most perfect ideal of art; and for whom that has ever heard her, has she not done as much ?—herself the embodiment of the purest, holiest ideal of art,—the living Consuelo! In the summer of 1844, he visited once more northern Germany. He then saw Count Rantzau, who had a presentiment of death. On his former visit to Germany he was at Hartz, not far from Weimar, the residence of Goethe, but he did not then go to see the great poet. Now it was, alas! too late. On his return from Constantinople he had met with Mrs. Von Goethe, the daughter-in-law of the poet, and he now determined to see the city where Goethe, Schiller, Wieland, and Herder had lived. Chancellor Müller gave him a good reception, and Beaulieu insisted that he should remove to his own house. The Grand Duke and Duchess also gave him a gracious reception. He was shown by the young Duke the tree on which Goethe, Schiller, and Wieland had cut their names. Emulous Jove had also added his mark,

with a thunderbolt. Von Müller accompanied him to the princely burialplace, where Karl August, Goethe, and Schiller, sleep under the same vault. After spending eight days in Weimar, he went to Leipzig. There he met Robert Schumann, the composer, who had dedicated to Andersen some of his music, and the lady of Dr. Fregl, the great vocalist. He found in Dresden, Dahl, the great Norwegian painter, and Voglestein, who painted his portrait for the royal collection. The Baroness Von Decken received him as a mother would her son.

With Major Serre and his wife, at the residence of Maren, where he became acquainted with Kohl, the traveller, and Countess Hahn Hahn, the authoress, he learned to enjoy country life in Germany.

He returned by way of Berlin, where he found his dearest friend, Chamisso, was dead. The Minister Savigny gave him a cordial reception, and here he had an hour's talk with the gifted Bettina, who is known by her writings the world over. At the house of Professor Weiss, he met Cornelius from Rome, Schelling from Munich, Steffens, the Norwegian, and once more Tieck, from whom he received proofs of the kind regard of the King and Queen of Prussia.

He returned by Stettin to Copenhagen, and then went to Count Moltke's in Funen, where he received a letter from the Minister Count Rantzau-Breitenberg, containing an invitation to dine with the King and Queen of Denmark, at the watering-place of Fohr.

"It was now," says he, "just five and twenty years since I, a poor lad, travelled alone and helpless to Copenhagen. Exactly the five and twentieth anniversary would be celebrated by my being with my King and Queen, to whom I was faithfully attached, and whom I at that very time learned to love with my whole soul. Everything that surrounded me, man and nature, reflected themselves imperishably in my soul. I felt myself, as it were, conducted to a point from which I could look forth more distinctly over the five and twenty years, with all the good fortune and happiness which they had evolved for me. The reality frequently surpasses the most beautiful dream."

After his journey to Fohr, he says, "I was soon established in my quarters, and every day, until the departure of their Majesties, had I the honor of an invitation from them to dinner, as well as to pass the evening in their circle. On several evenings I read aloud my little stories (Marchen) to the King and Queen, and both of them were gracious and affectionate towards me. It is so good when a noble human nature will reveal itself, where otherwise only the king's crown and the purple mantle might be discovered."

He returned in the train of the King and Queen. As he sat at dinner on board the royal steamer, he says, "I was obliged to summon all my strength to prevent myself bursting into tears. There are moments of thankfulness in which, as it were, we feel a desire to press God to our hearts. * * After dinner the King and Queen wished me happiness, and that so-graciously is a poor word-so cordially, so sympathizingly ! The King wished me happiness in that which I had endured and won. He asked me about my first entrance into the world, and I related to him some characteristic traits.

"In the course of conversation he inquired if I had not some certain yearly income. I named the sum to him.

"It is not much," said the King.

"But I do not require much," replied I, " and my writings procure me something.

"The King in the kindest manner inquired further into my circumstances, and closed by saying,

"If I can, in any way, be serviceable to your literary labors, then come to me."

His annual stipend was increased by the King, so that he could live free from care.

"So many flattering circumstances," he says, "some people argue, may easily spoil a man, and make him vain. But no; they do not spoil him, they make him on the contrary better; they purify his mind, and he must thereby feel an impulse, a wish, to deserve all that he enjoys."

We have followed him from the depths of poverty and obscurity to the height of fortune, but have neither time nor space to track him farther. He again travelled south, mostly in the countries over which he had travelled before. In closing, we cannot resist copying one more scene; it is so beautiful, that yielding to the temptation can hardly be a sin.

"Jenny Lind came to Weimar. I heard her at the court concerts and at the theatre. I visited with her the places which are become sacred through Goethe and Schiller: we stood together beside their coffins, where Chancellor Von Müller led us. The Austrian poet, Rollet, who met us here for the first time, wrote on this subject a sweet poem, which will serve me as a visible remembrance of this hour and this place. People lay lovely flowers in their books, and as such, I lay in here this one of his :

:

Weimar, 29th January, 1846.

Marchen rose, which has so often
Charmed me with thy fragrant breath;
Where the prince, the poets slumber,
Thou hast wreathed the hall of death.

And with thee beside each coffin,
In the death hushed chamber pale,
I beheld a grief enchanted,
Sweetly dreaming nightingale.

I rejoiced amid the stillness,

Gladness through my bosom passed,
That the gloomy poets' coffins
Such a magic crowned at last.

And thy rose's summer fragrance

Floated round that chamber pale,
With the gentle melancholy

Of the grief-hushed nightingale."

Andersen has seen dark days, but none that have ever staggered his resolution. Poverty, after all, has been to him as to others, the greatest blessing. No other master is sufficiently relentless for the school of genius. He might say with Jean Paul, who wrote some of his best works in the little room where he had to listen to the buzzing of his poor sorrowing widowed mother's wheel, to the hissing of frying-pans, and to the clatter of pots and kettles, "I cannot help saying to Poverty: Welcome! so thou come not at too late a time! Wealth bears heavier on the shoulders of talent than Poverty. Under gold-mountains and thrones, who knows how many a spiritual giant may be crushed down and buried! When, among the flames of youth, and above all, of hotter powers as well, the oil of riches is also poured in, little will remain of the phoenix but his ashes; and only a Goethe has force to keep, even at the sun of good fortune, his phoenix-wings unsinged !"

Andersen's habitual cheerfulness, even amid his sorest misfortunes and saddest wants, seems to us a peculiar and lovely trait of character. In these days of complaining we like to hear a man say, "How bright and beautiful is the world! How good are human beings! That it is a pleasure to live becomes ever more and more clear to me." How much better