tobiography, but
from many conversations. An account of My Acquaintance with Hans
Christian Andersen will be found in The Century Magazine, March,
1892.

In 1831 Andersen made his first trip abroad. "By industry and
frugality," he says, "I had saved up a little sum of money, so I
resolved to spend a couple of weeks in North Germany."

The result of this journey was the book "Shadow Pictures," which was
followed in 1833 by "Vignettes on Danish Poets," and a chaplet of verse
entitled "The Twelve Months of the Year." It is quite true, as he
affirms, that in his "Vignettes," he "only spoke of that which was good
in them" [the poets]; but in consequence there is a great lack of Attic
salt in the book. In 1833 he went abroad once more, visited Germany,
France, Switzerland, and Italy, and sent home the dramatic poem "Agnete
and the Merman," the comparative failure of which was a fresh grief to
him. After his return from Rome (1835) he published his "Improvisatore,"
which slowly won its way. It was the reputation this novel gained abroad
which changed public opinion in Denmark in its favor. A second novel,
"Only a Fiddler" (1837), is a fresh variation of his autobiography, and
the lachrymose and a trifle chaotic story, "O. T." (being the brand of
the Odense penitentiary) scarcely deserved any better reception than was
accorded it.

It is a curious thing that misconception and adversity never hardened
Andersen or toughened the fibre of his personality. The same lamentable
lack of robustness--not to say manliness--which marked his youth
remained his prevailing characteristic to the end of his life. And I
fancy, if he had ever reached intellectual maturity, both he himself and
the world would have been losers. For it is his unique distinction to
have expressed a simplicity of soul which is usually dumb--which has, at
all events, nowhere else recorded itself in literature. We all have a
dim recollection of how the world looked from the nursery window; but no
book has preserved so vivid and accurate a negative of that marvellous
panorama as Andersen's "Wonder Tales for Children," the first collection
of which appeared in 1835. All the jumbled, distorted proportions of
things (like the reflection of a landscape in a crystal ball) is
capitally reproduced. The fantastically personifying fancy of childhood,
where does it have more delightful play? The radiance of an enchanted
fairy realm that bursts like an iridescent soa