a scene of an opera where a crowd is to
be represented, he edges himself upon the stage. He is very conscious of
the ill condition of his attire: the confirmation coat did but just hold
together; and he did not dare to hold himself upright lest he should
exhibit the more plainly the shortness of the waistcoat which he had
outgrown. He had the feeling very plainly that people would be making
themselves merry with him; yet at this moment, he says, "he felt nothing
but the happiness of stepping for the first time before the footlamps."

Of his superstition he records the following amusing instance. "I had
the notion that as it went with me on New Year's Day, so would it go
with me through the whole year; and my highest wishes were to obtain a
part in a play. It was now New Year's Day. The theatre was closed, and
only a half-blind porter sat at the entrance to the stage, on which
there was not a soul. I stole past him with a beating heart, got between
the moveable scenes and the curtain, and advanced to the open part of
the stage. Here I fell down upon my knees, but not a single verse for
declamation could I recall to my memory. I then said aloud the Lord's
Prayer. I went out with the persuasion that, because I had spoken from
the stage on New Year's Day, I should, in the course of the year,
succeed in speaking still more, as well as in having a part assigned to
me."--(p. 50.)

We must quote the paragraph that immediately follows this extract,
because it shows that, after all, there was something better stirring at
his heart than this vague theatrical ambition, this empty vanity. There
was the love of nature there. "During the two years of my residence in
Copenhagen, I had never been out into the open country. Once only had I
been in the park, and there I had been deeply engrossed by studying the
diversions of the people and their gay tumult. In the spring of the
third year, I went out for the first time amid the verdure of a spring
morning. I stood still suddenly under the first large budding
beech-tree. The sun made the leaves transparent--there was a fragrance,
a freshness--the birds sang. I was overcome by it--I shouted aloud for
joy, threw my arms around the tree, and kissed it. 'Is he mad?' said a
man close behind me."

His good fortune provided him at length with a sincere and serviceable
friend in the person of Collins--conference-councillor, as his title
runs, and one of the most influential men at that time in